Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Pedal Power

We are what we consistently Do.
Excellence, then, is not an Act,
But a Habit...

My wife possesses one of the world's great self-deprecating senses of humor.  Perhaps it is indicative of just how often either or both of us engages in behavior that we think might cause at least one eyebrow to arch in the world at large but we both are imbued with the ability to have a little bit of fun at our own expense.

If you are among the many who call Margaret "friend" in the world of virtual interaction, then you have been getting kept abreast of her bicycling exploits.  I assure you that she is greatly underselling her achievements to date - although she is doing so in an utterly hilarious manner. 

Misunderstand not.  My wife is not decked out in head to toe in garb that makes her look as if she is some sort of Spandex billboard.  Nor is she auditioning for the role of Dave in the as-yet-unannounced remake of "Breaking Away"...

...what she is doing is something far more important than either of those things.  She is doing something that she enjoys.  It makes her happy.  And the fact that it makes her happy and is good for her makes me happy too. 

She had a bit of good-natured fun at my expense on Sunday when I went to Sports Authority to purchase her a Timex Ironman Watch so that she can track not only the time spent on the bike but the distance covered while she is on it.  Truth be told I did it for two reasons.  First, I gave her my Garmin Forerunner 410 to use on her ride Sunday morning and it was far too big for her wrist.  Second, because I know as someone whose love for running began in a manner quite similar to Margaret's interest in bike riding that she not only wants to to it, she wants to know how long she is doing it for and how far she is going when she does it. 

She has promised me that even with her new time-keeping swag she will not become one of "those" cyclists.  You know the ones of whom I write.  The ones who ride several abreast in Phalanx formation as if they have arrived directly from a Spartan landing party upon the winding, two-lane road where you are trying to drive your automobile.  The ones who only seem to ride once they have coordinated the day's outfit with the other seventeen members of their cycle posse.  The ones who sport several hundred dollars worth of riding attire and accessories whether they could pass as Lance Armtrong's doppleganger or more closely resemble a piece of Premio Italian sausage.  The ones who torment those of us who are runners by refusing to break formation as we approach one another on the road until the very last moment in an effort to act like some sort of physical fitness bullies.  

Actually, if she breaks her promise and becomes just that type of cyclist I shall care not at all - unless she falls in with a crew that rides the same roads on which I run.  As long as she enjoys doing it and remains safe while doing it, I am about as happy as one fellow can be.  

Well, maybe not as happy as Dave Stohler.  Then again, I am not sure anyone could be as happy as Dave Stohler.  Not in this lifetime anyway...


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