Leadville Race Report

It’s been a quest of mine to merge fatherhood, husbandry, and my competitive spirit into something that resembles success.  And by success I mean that you have things in the correct order and do things to the best of your ability with what you have, when you have it.  Sometimes that meant that our family had an awesome time on a vacation but my race tanked.  Other times it meant driving to a race early and returning home quickly after crossing the finish line.  There’s lots of early, early morning bike rides for training and while the legs might complain there’s a whole days’ worth of activity that lies ahead with what the boys do.  I spend time coaching kids at a local high school and some days I chase faster and younger athletes and other days I simply encourage from the sideline or by sprinting across fields.  To keep things rolling it’s often a matter of giving the most important areas the best part of myself and give the other areas what’s left.  Every day is a different recipe!

So our family plotted out a western road trip with a ton of adventure planned and a little race called the Leadville 100 near the tail end of our travels.  This had been a trip that perkulated around the dinner table for a few years and things seemed to align this summer for an epic trip.  I had qualified for the race, we had the time, and we saved enough to make the trek out west for a total of 12 days.

I had done as much training on a bike as I could fit in and I spent the two days before leaving packing and preparing our truck for the trip.  You would think that a serious athlete would have their feet propped up but the thought of a 4500 mile trip made me go through a ton of maintenance items on the truck to get ready.  When it was all ready I had new brakes, fluids, and found a way to stuff 4 bikes, 4 suitcases, countless bags, all of my race gear, fishing supplies, scooters, and two coolers into and onto our truck.  We were ready and left at 3am on a Thursday.

Our destination for the first half of our trip was near Ouray, Colorado.  The plan was to get there in two and a half days.  Eight hours into the trip we found ourselves sliding into the rear of a tractor trailer that changed lanes and stopped in front of us.  As I prepared for impact I remember pushing our new brakes to the limit and trying to steer us clear of the giant steel bumper on the trailer.  We almost made it but not quite and I heard the sound of metal shearing off the truck and the thud of our bumper taking the direct hit. 

No glass shattered and no airbags popped out, although our boys eyes nearly did at the sight and sound of their favorite truck getting demolished by a big rig.  My fender blocked my door and I gingerly push it away as I got out to see the damage.  This was not the right way to start a vacation!

After surveying the damage and rolling over in my mind how to get the 4 of us and all of our belongings back to Pennsylvania I mulled over Uhauls, trailers, and the sheer disdain of driving 8 hours east to turn around and drive another 8 hours back to this point.  The boys were quiet and Jan was watching me watching our truck.  With a few pushes on the fender and some moments of reflection my mind started to change.  Rather than bail on the trip or go home and switch vehicles I started to think of how to pull things back into place so we could perhaps go a little further.  If we could go down the road another 20 miles maybe it would hold together for, oh, say another 4000 miles!

The zipties and duct tape came out.  Things were strapped and taped into place.  The biggest issue was the bumper that was pushed back to the tire, only allowing left hand turns.  I used the winch on my bumper and tried to pull and pry the bumper somewhat straight but that was not helpful.  With the police officer standing by, entertained by my ingenuity and perhaps grit I kept buttoning up my truck to make its return trip to the Interstate.  We found a Home Depot two miles down the road and we set our “left turn only” navigation to that parking lot.

Once there we walked the aisles and bought more duct tape and an angle grinder.  I had some battery powered tools along for other potential mishaps but I neglected my angle grinder…because who thinks they need to cut off pieces of their truck while on vacation?!  So with a light rain failing my sweet, sweet, wife and my two boys watched as I started cutting off our trucks bumper in an Indianapolis Home Depot parking lot.

The cutting wheel made quick work of the steel and we headed out on the road yet again, this time with some battle scars but also a nervous laughter that somehow, someway, we were going to get to our promised land!  Our laughter grew even more nervous when our hood flipped open when we started down the highway on ramp.  At that point I could have gone full “Clark Griswald” but I just chuckled and peered under the hood and guided the truck to the shoulder…and then proceeded to pound the hood down so it would stay latched for the next 400 miles if not forever!  We were pointed west and not stopping until the Rockies!

The next two days the race was about the furthest thing on my mind and we drove across the prairie and into the mountains.  We ended up in Ouray and settled in for 4 days.  The bikes came out of the truck and we started exploring and well, doing all of the things the Becks do on vacation, which is see as much as possible in the least amount of time!

We headed up to a Jeep road called Ophir Pass on our first full day.  I had read about this road and it seemed like it was a great way to get into the backcountry and over to Telluride.  The road was described as “easy” and while we would need four wheel drive I wasn’t overly concerned.  It wasn’t like it could hurt my truck any more than it already was!

Ophir Pass turned into a very narrow shelf road.  The kind where the rocks were loose and our mirrors hung out over a cliff.  There wasn’t a whole lot of room for error, much less to pass another vehicle.  It was exciting and exhilarating and the kind of road that most would never, ever, venture onto.  But some do, and did on this day and when we came across them we knew it.  The one man was white as a ghost and asked how much further he had to go.  He was convinced that he should back down the mountain, which sounded like an absolutely terrible idea unless his goal was to make his truck look like ours.  We encouraged him to keep going and take a break if needed.  Another guy had two very agitated women with him.  When we approached they were pretty snarky with their comments but I think it was because they didn’t want to be there spotting their man-friend in their dress sandals and purses.  I don’t know where they thought they were going but there wasn’t a boardwalk or mall anywhere close to Ophir Pass!  I think it was Sam that called them “Karens” after we passed and I snorted in laughter but also had to remind him how some people just don’t like the same things as our adventurous family! 

Once over Ophir Pass we descended to Telluride and stuck out like a sore thumb with our truck.  I didn’t help matters by taping a number 3 to the door since the boys thought we should have a race number so it looked like we got damaged in a race.  Laughter can be the best medicine in a lot of cases.

I would spin my legs out for relatively short rides on the following days, just getting used to the altitude and checking out the area we were staying in.  I’d wrap up as my family was getting started with their day.  Those rides and runs helped me scope out the area so we could find adventure together later on.

The last day in Ouray we tackled Corkscrew Gulch, Hurricane Pass, California Pass, and Cinnamon Pass in our truck.  If that sounds like an adventure it was…most of these peaks were close to 13,000 feet and we could see for miles.  It has always been a goal of mine to drive these roads and more and it was glorious!

From there we went over to Leadville and I started to wrap my head around this 105-mile race of attrition and elevation.  I wasn’t nervous in my ability to do it but as we poked around others that were doing the race and entered the whole race scene you can’t help but notice that most folks are extremely nervous and anxious.  When the moment that goal setting meets the time to achieve the goal you always get a tangible tension!

I rode a 10 mile section of the course to see what I thought would be the most difficult climb and descent of race day.  I’m glad I saw it but I was also happy to see this on a Wednesday.  I could effectively escape all other racers and all of the craziness leading up to the race on Saturday. 

Once at our house we went back to doing the Beck-family adventures and visited skate parks, ate ice cream, and tried to hook any kind of Colorado fish in the lake.  It’s good to normal things before tackling things most think are crazy!

I woke up at 3 am on race day.  We had everything packed and ready to go and we were in Leadville proper by 5am.  The bike was ready, Jan and the boys had a pile of food and water for the aid station they were going to hang in and I had a spot in the 3rd wave of riders heading out on the course.

I lined up at the front but my plan was to ride very conservatively for the first 45 miles.  I had warmer clothes on but they were all pretty easy to shed when the sun really started blazing.  I had everything I needed to start but there was going to be a loooooong time before I would roll back up this street and hopefully cross the finish line.  My first goal was to finish under 9 hours so I would get a sweet, big belt buckle.  My second goal was to not crash.  My third goal was to feel like I pushed myself as fast as I could go on my first attempt at this race.  I hate feeling like I had more to give at the end of a race…I’d rather know that I left it all out on the road or trail.

The race began and I think I made it a quarter of a mile until I felt like I had to go to the bathroom.  Maybe it was too much hydration and too much 4am coffee but I had to roll to a stop 4 times in the first 40 miles.  I would get to the front of the group and then relinquish that position when I had to duck behind a pine tree to take care of business.  It got to the point where my friend just shook his head as I yo-yo-ed back and forth ahead of him after my nature breaks.

At mile 40 I wheeled through the main aid station where Jan and the boys waited with their bags of goodies. Many racers take these stops very serious because the clock is running.  It’s like mini pit crews servicing riders with specific bottles and methods of keeping riders rolling.  I subscribe a bit more to the “Just open the bag and let me root around and find what I want” approach.  It was glorious to see Jan and the boys and I left with two bottles full of Coke, a few gels, and a clif bar.

The next 10 miles we wound our way up towards the big climb of the day, Columbine mountain.  This brute was a 3300-foot climb over 7 miles and would take the longest to ascend of any of the climbs on the course.  I settled into a rhythm and before long I had a 21 year old perched on my wheel and we started picking off other riders. 

Along the way we struck up a conversation and while the air was thin it was nice to ramble on about life.  I found out he was formally an intern to be a train conductor.  He was going to try the 100-mile running race the following weekend.  And he felt a little behind in life because his friends were all graduating college this year and he was reinventing himself after his train conductor experiment didn’t pan out.  We had a lot to talk about and more similarities than pedaling up Columbine mountain at the same speed on an August day.  It was really nice to have a conversation and give each other encouragement about life while spinning along.

Once at the top we were above treeline and made the u-turn to scream back down the mountain.  Every boulder that I previously balanced myself over at 4 miles per hour was now under my tires at 30 miles per hour.  The descent was minutes of high speed, high vibration, skidding, and quick flicks of the bike to get to anything remotely flat.  I enjoyed it but that is something impossible to duplicate back in Pennsylvania.  You simply would never have that long of a downhill where you had to be on your game to avoid catastrophe!  I did feel prepared with our family trip on Ophir Pass and our exit ramp debacle in Indianapolis…a rocky downhill seemed like a breeze compared do that!

Once at the bottom I found myself in my favorite spot…flat, wide open roads, with riders ahead of me.  I started picking off riders and motoring through groups in pursuit of a faster time.  This was a part of the course where many riders subscribe to the theory that it’s best to sit in a group and minimize the work load.  Common sense would say to work together and save energy since it’s a race that last many hours and use others to cover ground so that you don’t use energy you’ll need on the remaining climbs.  Once again, I kinda tossed that out the window and went with my head down towards the finish line, even though it was 40 miles away. I’ve done this long enough to trust myself; if I had felt like I needed a helping hand I would have taken it but the legs felt good enough to keep on pounding away!

I went into the fabled “Powerline” climb at mile 80 with a large group just a few seconds behind me.  I had ridden through several large groups and no one had jumped on my wheel so I imagined riding at home in Pennsylvania.  I would have to just get comfortable in that solo zone of doing something I love and keeping tabs on my nutrition and energy levels.  This particular climb is a doosy, it’s several miles but the early part is very steep.  I rode it once a few days prior to race day and “cleaned” it, meaning I didn’t have to unclip from my bike and walk but I could feel the 6 hours of pedal pushing now.  I also had a fantastic borrowed bike that I was on but it didn’t quite have the gearing range that might have been ideal.  So there was a point that it was literally faster to walk than to ride so I did.  I even passed a few folks doing this.  After a few minutes I remounted and grinded out the rest of the climb and continued on my merry way.

The next few miles had a rocky descent and then finally a nice road section with a few miles of uphill.  My tank started to run empty here and my spinning started to slow down to a grind.  I had nothing left in my pockets and my bottles were empty but I paced myself down a bit so that I could somehow get to the next food zone.  There was a period of about 15 minutes where I was a little loopy and had to conserve; it seemed as though the altitude was bonk multiplier!  The feed zone finally appeared and I happily stopped and wolfed down 2 cokes, 6 oreos, and filled my two bottles with whatever they had. 

The magic of really cheap food is that it spikes your blood sugar quickly and within minutes I was back rolling again.  The last sections went by really fast; I thought for a little bit I could actually get under 7 hours and 40 minutes but it wasn’t meant to be; I was riding hard, my energy was getting low again and there were just a few too many hills to snag that time. 

Once over the last little rise I could see the finish line and the last half a mile or so was all on pavement.  It was pretty fun to cross the finish line and be with Jan and the boys in just a few seconds.  Once I dismounted I grabbed a water, a towel, and was handed the prized large belt buckle.  It may be time to get some cowboys boots and a hat so I complete the outfit!  My official time was 7 hours and 42 minutes; good enough for 10th in my age group and 28th overall out of the 1300 or so people that started earlier that morning.

One that I am keenly aware of is the sacrifice that my family makes to spectate these events.  They do enjoy the scene and the adventure of making new friends.  In fact, Levi, our oldest, came to the rescue of a retired NFL player on the course.  His wife asked in the feed zone if anyone had a pocket knife and leave it to Levi…he was ready and willing to help!  So he played a small role in helping a football player ride Leadville.

After I changed we rolled down the mountain to our condo.  Within that 30 minutes we decided that we needed to visit the Frisco Adventure Park!  So within an hour of finishing a crazy hard mountain bike race I was standing at a skate park/pump track/obstacle course where the boys rode their bikes over jumps and berms for quite a long time.  If they waited for me earlier I could watch them…it’s how it works!

The next morning I was up at 5am and repacked our truck for the journey home.  All the bikes were disassembled and placed in the truck first and then came the mountain of suitcases and bags.  It all fit though and we headed down the road to visit Pikes Peak before turning East.  We did everything we dreamt of doing and more on this trip, even with an accident thrown in for good measure!  Twenty-four hours of driving later we pulled back into the driveway of our beloved home and we were reunited with our pup Kobe.  It was good to be back but good to make memories of a life on the road.  I wouldn’t want to revisit the accident but it was a key part of our journey.  It will be a few months until the truck gets patched up but between the smashed sheet metal and my shiny belt buckle we will have reminders of the amazing trip that almost didn’t happen!

WHO ARE YOU?!

We were two dads, hanging out at the pool, trying our best to not embarrass our kids or wives with our attire and jokes.  It was a spectacular place; a hot springs swimming pool in Ouray, Colorado.  It was the kind of place you could sit back and just stare at the endless mountain peaks as entertainment, without ever dipping a toe in the warm water.  As we made small talk we learned where home was, where we had been in Colorado, and a brief story telling of the adventures we had with our families while we were there.

For a complete stranger we had a great conversation.  It was manly as we talked about the trails around Ouray that challenged driver and machine.  We talked about mountain biking, which was one of the reasons we were in Colorado in the first place.  And then I made a small quip, a seemingly minor comment about leaving a career so that I could give my family the best of me instead of what was left of me.  And that sparked the rest of the conversation…

As we talked I realized my fellow friend of fatherhood was wrestling with a similar situation.  He was a few years older but had a similar longing that I had experienced.  There has to be something MORE…not to make more money or have more status or more prestige.  There has to be something that fills the soul and not just a bank account.  He mentioned wanting to make a difference; not that he hadn’t this far in his career but so far he was very successful in making his company profitable.  He had an itch to do something that lit his spirit up and used his gifts.  I told him that I understood…boy do I understand!

I could have rambled on but I felt like I was better served to answer his questions and respond to his comments.  I have a story like everyone else does but something told me it’s more important to help others write, or rewrite, their own with practical encouragement.

A few days later I was rolling along dusty roads at 10 thousand feet on my mountain bike.  I had traded my swimming trunks for spandex and was a participant in the Leadville 100 bike race.   I was loving life, I am uniquely wired to actually enjoy long days in the saddle and pushing myself and machine up and over mountains and flying through the valley roads.  Along the route there were aid stations where riders could have support crews to help fuel the ride.

I was participating in this race with a good friend and we both had the same cycling kit.  We both had goals for this race but a very different approach to tackling the terrain.  He was organized, data-driven, and prepared with a plan that would be executed by himself and his friends and family.  It was impressive to watch and to see the organization!  Then there was me…driven by experience and a willingness to adjust on the fly and read the race as I saw fit.  Think “live in the moment” combined with “we’ll figure it out as we go”!  Both ways were appropriate for us as we both exceeded our goals and finished well.

But it almost went sideways at mile 70.  I was riding through an aid station where I was looking for the “neutral” support.  This is the group of volunteers that have food and water for the riders that don’t have a team at this particular aid station.  Jan and the boys helped me at two aid stations along the way but these neutral stations were very important to my plan as I could grab what I needed without burdening my family with chasing me all over rural Colorado. 

As I slowed my pace down and scanned for the neutral tent I saw two guys waving an identical jersey that I was wearing and yelling for me to stop.  Not knowing any better I rolled up to these eager athlete advocates and skid to a stop.

Within seconds I had two fresh water bottles on my bike and my jersey was emptied of its contents.  I almost felt violated at how quickly and thorough these complete strangers pick-pocketed me and simultaneously filled me up with random supplies.  I was startled and confused…but not nearly as much as my new friend when he actually looked me in the face and went…

“You are ahead of schedule!  You’re crushing it!  Wait…WHO ARE YOU?!”

And then I realized that I had just received the royal treatment and plan of my friend, who was minutes behind me.  He had a crew ready and willing to help him ride his race.  Within 30 seconds I had his plan in my race, which messed up my loosey-goosey plan and certainly would have messed up his strategic plan!  His vision and execution of a plan was not for me.  And my “take it as it comes” plan was not a good way for him to race!  We had a case of mistaken identity!

After I introduced myself and explained who I was I undid all their hard work and told them it was a trial run for later.   I lost a bit of time but meandered down the row of spectators where I found the food and fluids I was really looking for; my race was back in the flow and my friends race was restored!

When the dust settled (and with my prized Belt Buckle in my hand from a successful race) I thought back to the Hot Springs Pool and my Dad talk.   I think we can all relate to wanting to have a life of value, meaning, and to make a difference in our own unique way.  We want our life’s work to make a difference whether that’s in our career, our family life, or even racing bicycles.  My jaunt across the Rockies showed me that there is not a scalable, sure-fire, or certain way to get to difference making.

When we have that desire in our heart to make a difference, I believe we have to know and do the Will of God.  It sounds simple but it looks different to me, to you, and to each person on this planet!  It involves a lot of faith, sometimes a lot of doubt, and a lot of time seeking, looking, and praying.  To follow someone’s recipe or game plan may help but it places you into a structure that may not be best for you.  What works for some might not work for you and vice versa.  Sure, we can take bits and pieces of advice along the way but to fall in line with others master plan won’t answer our hearts desire to make a personal positive influence on this world. I believe when we align our game plan with the work God is already doing then we will be difference makers.  It may look different than others but it’s personal and perfect!

When I pulled over and received someone else’s bottles and nutrition I was getting a lot of attention and good stuff.  But I had no idea what it was, how I would respond to it, and I lost my ability to choose based on the moment!  Those were important factors to me.  Furthermore, I would have probably ruined my friends race by taking what was his and riding away with it.  I had to pedal my own race while he pedaled his…we were both going to end up at the same place but had a different way to get there!

So if you are a dad pondering change on a pool-side or you’re a mom slinging water bottles at a bike race trust that there is a way, a path, and a purpose to difference making.  It may look unconventional and unique but that’s exactly the point.  You were made with vision and value that no one else can duplicate or replicate.  Ride your race with the One that created it!

Hope on a Hook

Ah, fishing.  A true test to someone’s patience.  There’s the hopeful casting lobbed into the water where a fish will hopefully find its way onto a hook and give a tug.  There’s the eager reeling in of a big fish, a big dinner, or a tall tale of length and weight.  There’s also a lot of waiting.  Daydreaming.  Hoping.  Each cast is a new session of the same.  Hope lobbed into the water and waiting for an answer with a hooked fish!

My youngest son has taken to fishing and since I have had zero patience for the game of fishing my entire life we are learning together.  Actually, I learn from him since he reads, watches, and studies all things fishing.  I just provide the transportation to our local spots and the little general stores to buy nightcrawlers, worms, and other slimy critters that fish apparently like.

One week he tried his hand at surf fishing.  I was happy to sit back and watch as wave after wave crashed into the shore and our “puddle kid” gradually got more soaked as he fished.   The other thing that gradually grew more soaked was his determination.  Nothing was biting but we could literally see a school of fish just beyond where he was casting.  There was also a platoon of pelicans waiting to divebomb their dinner at just the right time.  For a quiet evening there was a lot going on in the world by the sea.

As I watched Sam cast his line and reel in an empty hook I watched his feet.  With every cast his feet sunk into the sand.  Within a second or two after launching his line his feet were submersed in a few inches of sand, which was really helpful because the waves were a constant and steady push against him.   The sand grounded him and kept him secure in an unstable situation.

Another observation was his casts.  At first it was a flick of the wrist, feet in the sand, and wait.  But he wouldn’t be my son if he didn’t turn it into some kind of competition and before long his casts looked like a swing from home run derby in baseball.  He would take a few steps back and whip the rod with all of the force of a 10 year-old.  He was surprisingly accurate and if a flick of the wrist was hopeful then his swings of surf-fishing were HOPEFUL. 

And after those big swings his feet would still be covered and grounded while he waiting for an answer at the end of the line.

I don’t pretend to be a fisherman or even know if Sam was helping or hurting his fishing on the beach.  But I do know there are a lot of fishing stories, tales, parables, and lessons out there.  I think there’s room for one more.  Watching those casts go out to sea; first with the feeble flicks and later with the full-body launches, made me think of offering our prayers to God.  One isn’t better than another as they all go out.  But as our comfort increases in His presence I think we may see that our casts are more frequent, more powerful, and more intense as we spend time with Him.  To catch a fish surf-fishing you have to be in the water.  To experience God you have to talk to Him!

And after those casts, after those prayers, we wait.  And wait some more in cases!  But to offer them up and then not let our feet be grounded and covered in faith…well, that’s like making a cast, laying the rod down, and walking away to do the next thing on our mind without every checking to see what’s at the end of our rod! When we have to wait we need to be grounded and rooted.  Sam had to stand in the water to make his casts and by simply being IN the water he was in a position to have his feet covered and be locked in for that waiting period.   He wasn’t out in the sea but he wasn’t on the dry beach.  He was committed to entering the small space of water where he was wet, committed, and prepared for his hope to be met with a monster fish!  After we pray it’s good to be become grounded while we wait for an answer.  Waves may come and go but in that sliver of beach called life it’s good to be in the water and full of hope.

Daylight faded and the school of fish moved down the shore.  None of them made it onto Sam’s line that evening.  Even the pelicans came up empty-beaked.  It wasn’t meant to be and while we burned a few hours and walked away without a fish we did have an experience.   Our talk became all about “the next time” as we trudged back to the house.  Because where there’s a “next time” there’s hope.  And with hope there’s always a chance that something will get on the end of that line.  

Prayers can be like surf-fishing with Sam.  They can be short and with the flick of a wrist.  They can be launches from the depths with all of your heart.  They can be frequent and fast, or they can sit out there for a long time.  Those prayers can be met quickly and to our own liking or they can seemingly go out to sea and run out of our time-constraints.   Praying can be an exercise in patience and gratitude for what we have before any outcome. 

Whatever prayers your offer up today I hope you find yourself in that spot where you can stand in the water and allow yourself to be covered and grounded.  You may wait, you may doubt, you may even grow frustrated at the nothing that is on the end of your line.  But stay grounded and wait.  It’s not over yet.  The day might end there is always a “next time” just like there is a next time for Sam surf fishing.  Cast those prayers any way you can and allow your feet to stay rooted in the truth while you wait for an answer on the end of your line.

Old Shoes for a New Life

The route was familiar and my shoes were old.  But the day was new and there was a tinge of hope and maybe even optimism as I trotted around the edge of the lake.   Things in my mind seemed to be in a good place, like there was some clarity that was more vivid than the lake!  Even the strides seemed easy and quick and my pace gradually grew quicker without more effort.  To a runner it’s why we head out the door as frequently as we do; it’s a hope that the endorphins rush and the flow of being fleet of feet carries us to new heights and new destinations.  It’s not all that different from being a regular old human on our time on earth!  We want to have peace, a purpose, and enjoy the journey!

When the run wrapped up and I came off the runners high and prepared for the next part of husbandry and dad work I took a look at my sneakers.  I mentioned they were old…but they were 3 years old!  Now to some people 3 years is nothing.  They have shoes that are decades old.  But for me this could be a record.  You see, I used to own a store that sold shoes.  And part of the gig with selling shoes is that you wear a TON of shoes!  The simple fact that I had these shoes for 3 years could be a record for me much less wear them for a training run. 

New shoes are a luxury for many and it’s a pleasure to get new ones on that feel really, really good.  I loved that feeling and since there were many shoes to sell and try out I made sure to do my research.  I needed to know what they all felt like from that initial step in as well as after a 10-mile run.   There’s also that cool feeling of looking down and seeing something new and fresh on your feet.  You want to go out and get a few miles in when there’s new underfoot.

Having access and the ability to experience the new kinda gets you thinking that in order to do things you need to have the latest and greatest.  For many years if I had a big race on the horizon there were a new pair of kicks for that event.  It might have been the second or third pair of the same make and model but for a big race you NEEDED THE NEW!  Having the NEW is like a security blanket for your head; if everything is new and fresh around me than my usual, old way of doing life will be preserved and successful.

Kids get this concept with back to school.  I got it with running and triathlon races.  We all tend to get it with whatever comes along…have a class reunion?  Gotta get a new dress!  Moving to a new town?  Gotta buy a NEW house and put new appliances in it!  There are many events that come along that we present a NEW object to help with the new experience.

So as I kicked off my 3 year old shoes that I’m certain I placed into lawn mowing duty only to bring them back as regular running shoes I had to shake my head at how things changed.  It’s like everything flipped upside down in my mentality of running.  I used to run to race and bring the new stuff into the equation as a necessity.  The new stuff was going to help me reach my goals and help my ego and identity.  Now I had old stuff under my feet but a contentment to enjoy the moment and ride and where my legs and life take me.  Whew.  That’s quite a transformation and reversal!  I’m doing things I never imagined and while riding and running are still part of the equation the purpose is quite different.  Some days I think my metrics for riding are better than ever but it’s not new equipment that’s changed.  It’s me.

The amazing part to me is that we can be around old things and familiar places and be made new.  Or we can try to make everything new in our own ability and image and get old and tired trying.  See the difference?   I’d rather be made new in my mind and with new clarity personally but it’s so easy to get caught in making our surroundings and objects new to justify our old way of thinking. 

Being made new is work.  And it stretches, prunes, hurts and whatever other verb you want to use to describe being uncomfortable.  I won’t say that I’m where I want to be as a new person because it’s a process.  The process of flipping where the new is in my life sure has been one that has tested me but it’s better than staying selfish to my own desires and chasing “new” in anything but my outlook, character, and persona.  There’s a lot of wrestling with God in this process along with some pouting and stomping of feet.  It’s tough to change you when your life is spent changing everything else that’s perceived old around you!  You can be made new and have familiar or, gasp, old (!) surroundings all around you but there’s a lot of surrender involved.

I’m not promoting wearing old clapped out shoes for your next run.   I mean if you want to you can but where I’m really going is that you don’t have to constantly chase the new in order for your life to be complete in your image.  You can allow the script to be flipped and be new even with old things underfoot.  New shoes eventually get old but our mind and heart can be made new if we allow it and change the orientation of the new and old from the standard.  God gave me a good run with a hilarious observation of my footwear from the past coupled with a heartfelt hope for the future.  It resonates with me and I hope it carries you to a new you and orients the old where it needs to belong!

Feed Zones

All of the knobby tires buzzed as we roared down the hill towards the sharp turn.  I was near the front of a large group of bike riders and while I should have been singled minded in my execution of railing the turn without bumping handlebars or another rider I did have to multitask a bit.  So with one eye on the sandy turn and the other eye catching a glance across the intersection I successfully carved the turn and saw my dad standing next to the police woman directing traffic. 

I decided to jump into another race and with that came another chance for a family member to do what they have always done; stand alongside a road and watch me race past.  This race was a mountain bike race and was part of a plan for me to get to a much longer, harder race in Colorado later this summer.  While the event was different than what I’ve done before there was a lot of familiar routines as part of the weekend.  A familiar routine was figuring out the best place to spectate where I could be seen a few times over the race’s several hours.

The day before the race my Dad and I went back in time and recalled all of the places he had to stand to watch me race.  Back in the road racing days there were always “feed zones” where spectators would hand out bottles to the racers.  What a fiasco that was!  The feed zones were important because the distance of the race was such that a rider needed additional supplies.  You simply couldn’t carry enough on your bike to last several hours; a racer needed to ditch the empty bottles and grab new ones along the way.

As a bike racer you would recruit someone to help with the feed zone.  It was a tough sell because it usually meant driving to a remote part of the course, standing in the blazing heat in the middle of a cornfield, and then trying to hand the correct bottle to the correct rider as they whizzed by at 30 miles per hour.  Oh, and the bottles you were handing out were special blends of electrolytes and energy…and if you were handing to multiple riders you had to make sure the right bottle would get to the correct rider.  No rider would actually stop for a bottle because to do that meant way more work to catch up to the race.   The feed zones were also a short section of road and everyone tasked with handing out bottles had to stand shoulder to shoulder in order to fit within the zone.  A feed zone was like a giant, fast game of “Whack a Mole” where the participant had to shove a bottle into the right outstretched hand at precisely the correct time while not knocking another rider off their bike.  All of this was high pressure and free of charge of course!

So my Dad and I were playing the “greatest hits” of our feed zone experiences.  We had successful handoffs most of the time; he had a certain way to hold the bottle and I would usually position myself in the field of riders that I got a clean shot at the bottle.  He spent much of his vacation time positioned along the highways and backroads of America, handing out water and special energy bottles to me and any other poor cyclist that needed a kick to keep going.  My Mom would jump in and then Jan took the reigns and became quite good at handing out bottles.  So good in fact that she even resorted to tossing the bottles in the air to my teammates which was pretty gutsy!

The rest of the feed zones had other dads, mom, girlfriends, wives, and who knows who else trying to hand out bottles.  Some were there by choice, others by persuasion or peer pressure.  Some had experience handing off bottles to flying cyclists while others were nearly crash-causing with their inexperience.  Feed zones sometimes became this collision course of hungry, depleted cyclists giving their all and inexperienced, unmotivated, and perhaps uninterested people attempting to hand out bottles.  Carnage ensued.  As a rider there were always bottles flying through the air, under wheels, and off of hands in a feed zone.  There was cursing when riders missed bottles, dropped bottles, or didn’t have a person at the correct spot.  Sometimes a rider would get water when they needed an energy drink and that was a big no-no.  There was a LOT of complaining in the miles after a feed zone depending on the luck and skill one rider would have there.  Feed zones could go really well or supremely bad depending on the situation and people involved.

As my Dad and I reflected on feed zones it occurred to me that the race always went on.  It didn’t matter if I got a bottle or didn’t.  The race kept going up the road whether I was prepared like I wanted to be or not.  Sometimes the stuff in my bottle made me think that I could keep going.  Sometimes having a family member hand me a bottle made me think I could keep going.  Sometimes riding through the feed zone and leaving empty handed made me doubt that I could continue and yet I always did.  I never stopped a race after missing a feed zone.  It was always my race to ride and while I needed others I can’t ask them to ride it for me!  Many races I went far even when I thought I lacked what I needed.

Riders that did miss a feed would often react…in interesting ways.   I think there were many that lived in their heads after missing a feed and couldn’t carry on in a good mindset.  Some would yell at the people that were there to serve the riders…I’m sure there have been many marriages and relationships that had to work through feed zone arguments!   Some kept going and would ask fellow riders for a bottle.  Others would try to find a random stranger that had an extra bottle and would grab one from them.  On a small section of rural road lied a wide range of emotions from gratitude to rage and circumstances ranging from a topped off tank to running on empty!

I wonder if we sometimes look to others in the wrong light in our race of life.  There are some people that we will come across and we know we need them for that moment.  They are crucial to keep us going.  But they can’t run the race for us.  It’s our race to run.  It’s our cross to carry and God will sometimes use people to help move us along while other times we have to keep going with our faith and perhaps less than ideal circumstances.  Sometimes the challenge is to continue to love someone even when we feel they “failed” us! We need each other and yet we need to run our own race, work on our own heart, and learn our own lessons.  Sometimes we have exactly what we need beforehand but many times we can only see what we are missing for our race! 

Creating a dependency on others to always meet our need only allows us to run the race up to where they stop.  It would be like quitting after missing a bottle in a feed zone.  That’s not healthy for anyone and it keeps the racer from getting down the road and being part of the race.  Stopping when someone fails to meet our expectation or when we miss what we think we need hurts relationships, hurts our forward focus, and ultimately it limits our belief that God can do more than we can.  It’s ok to keep going when we are let down.  And it’s more than ok to forgive and move on!  Our limitations aren’t people, it’s how we perceive our purpose among the people we live with.  We are all human after all.  

As I rolled through the intersection of this latest race it was nice to have a fan alongside the road.  This time my Dad didn’t have to hand me a bottle as there were aid stations where riders could, and did, stop to refill.  No need to catch a bottle on the fly.  The feed zones were way less chaotic and dare I say more chill than those races years ago.   The absence of speed and the perception of a high cost of missing a bottle made the whole experience a lot more pleasurable.  I could pick what I wanted and even talked to the volunteers that were there to help.  I rode my race and that experience was a lot like life.  I was confident for a bit.  There were miles I was not in my element.  There were a lot of solo miles where I just pounded the pedals without a soul in sight.  I took a wrong turn.  And yet, through all of those experiences I had my bottles filled and the finish line came fast enough for me to get a spot to my goal race.   All I was missing was the potential for blame and shame…and that’s fine by me! 

Scratch That Itch (the right way)

Hard work can take you places.  It can open up doors and create opportunities.  There are all kinds of rewards for hard work like promotions, maybe a bigger paycheck, a trophy for a race, or an early retirement. 

Hard work comes with a price though.  Being single-minded on work means leaving something else behind.  Work can generate income but also steal some time from other things.  In one case for me work left me with the satisfaction of a job well done but also with the feeling my sensitive areas were on fire!

The old ranch type house was in good shape but the plants and landscape were a bit out of control.  Our family met here to clean up my wife’s grandmother’s house and it was a steamy, humid, summer day.  Work and sweating were on the agenda as we stared down unruly weeds and out of control rose bushes.  But if we were to pass the house on to the next owner we would have to do the work to prepare the place for sale.  It all looked like a weeks worth of work that I was intent on finishing on a Saturday morning.

I didn’t leave too many green things behind as I went around the house ripping weeds, trimming bushes, and leaving a wake of freshly pruned plants and new soil behind.  I was dirty, sweaty, and loving it.  There is such a sense of accomplishment when you can see what progress you make in a short amount of time.  Couple a visable task with my natural “let’s do as much as we can in the least amount of time” attitude and we made some progress on sprucing up the old house.  I was drenched in sweat from start to finish; it’s a good workout when sweat is sloshing out of your sneakers.

On either end of this landscape project I’m sure I went for a run or a bike ride.  That’s as normal as the sun rising for the day.  If it’s summer and sunny there is no better time to run or ride.  The landscaping served as a warmup of sorts and the run was the cherry on top of a huge working day.  Looking back on this I’m sure I was a sweaty mess for the better part of 12 hours. 

The next day I was greeted by tremendous discomfort and skin irritation.  To make matters worse it was located between my knees and waist; and everything in between.  Yes, every place you don’t want to be uncomfortable!  I didn’t have a clue what I did.  All I knew was that I was working hard the day before and now I wanted to scratch and claw my skin off.  It was pretty awful to walk around with legs that itched and other places that needed to be scratched constantly and I was desperate to find some kind of relief that didn’t involve clawing my fingernails into every place that bothered me.  In my mind I did what made sense; I did a quick google and hauled off to the pharmacy to buy a bunch of random sprays, creams, and treatments to provide relief for the condition I thought I had.  Some of the stuff I read the descriptions and thought, “Wow, that’s exactly how I feel!  This has to work!”.  Other things I grabbed because I liked the packaging or it sounded like it would work super-fast.  I plopped down some cash and ran back to the house to see how something, anything, could work on my new-found itchiness.

I popped the top off of the first aerosol can and sprayed the entire affected area looking for instant relief.  Within 5 seconds it felt like I used a blowtorch instead of an innocent sounding spray can that promised instant relief.  By instant I guess they meant that it would simply burn off any affected skin…and the symptoms would disappear!  I had to drop to my knees and was really yelping for help when my bride arrived on the scene and tried to balance caregiver without laughing in my face.  I was a mess.   Whatever ingredients were in this can of fire did not play nice with whatever condition I did have.   I was making my life even worse with my application of improper medication.  I never considered what it could be or where it came from.  I simply tried anything to make my condition better.

After my episode with the wrong application of medicine to the wrong area of the body I figured I should maybe look into a real diagnosis.  Luckily, or unluckily for me, I started having the same kind of rash and itchiness on my arms and ankles.  And that got me thinking that it was never the ailment I thought it was; the day I was ripping and tearing in the yard was also the day that I grabbed fistfuls of poison ivy.  The poison ivy oil got on my hands and all of my sweating transported it all over my body.   A visit to the doctor confirmed the case and I went home with medication that wouldn’t melt my skin off or destroy anything in its path.   It took a few days but eventually I recovered and learned a valuable lesson.  When it comes to pain in sensitive areas it’s best to find out what the condition is, where it came from, and treat appropriately!   

While this whole story is pretty embarrassing and my family gets a good laugh from it now I think it plays to a bigger picture.   You and I live in a world where it’s inevitable to make it through unscathed.  Working, playing, and generally living is going to make get a case of “poison ivy” eventually.  It’s not real poison ivy; but it can spread and be mistreated all the same.  Hurt, heartache, fear, rejection, and all of the other emotions can cause a big old itch to our spirit.  There’s many more no-so-endearing condtions like jealousy, greed, and lust as well.  Toss all of that together and sometimes people just don’t mix well as we spend our days here on earth. We are emotional people with conditions of our spirit that need to be treated. 

After I gave up playing doctor with my own poison ivy I had to sit and be still.  My own understanding wasn’t working thus far; all I did was create more calamity in my condition.  Mistreating the condition with the wrong medication made sensitive areas hurt even more.  What could I have, where did it come from, and who can help me? 

When I figured out it was a rogue weed that was creating my issue I knew I had to go to the doctor and get some real meds to treat my rash.  I did some other things like rest a bit more, and spent time in pools where the chlorine would help me recover.  I also learned that it was best to stay away from the source of so much pain; that goes for the plant as well as the wrong medication!  I can easily identify poison ivy and make every effort to keep my sweaty self away from that pesky plant.

I’d like to recommend a similar process to you today for whatever is going on in your heart.  Accurately call out the condition, consider the source, and spend time with the One that will point you in the right direction.  To be honest, I think we are mistreating a lot of wounded hearts with our quick fixes, an unwillingness to be honest, and general busyness of the world we live in.  And the source of much of this is not good!  Where do you think the items that make a wounded spirit come from?  It’s not a good place and yet we somehow keep finding ourselves believing lies and revisiting the areas that make us sick.  Sometimes we try to fix the issue with things that just don’t work and make it worse.   The enemy is always working against us.

People aren’t perfect.  We are a fallen group of sinners.  But when we identify what we are struggling with, consider the source, and spend time with our Creator then we have more than a chance!  We have eternity in our hearts when we choose the Holy Spirit to guide us every step of the way.   It’s a healing solution in a world of crazy rashes and itchiness.  The Holy Spirit is Gods way of speaking, healing, and providing care for us.  It doesn’t always make sense to a human mind but there’s truth and healing when we listen and follow

 There’s still plenty of poison ivy lurking in the area I live in;  I just happen to have the wisdom and discernment to avoid it now.  I don’t want to revisit the past pain of poison nor do I want to set my sensitive areas on fire with a wrong dose of a “cure”.  In the rare case I get a bit of poison ivy I’m going to know what it is, where it came from, and how to deal with it.  As we go through life I hope we can remember to experience God and His love and truth in all of our circumstances.  It sure is painful sometimes but let’s not make it worse than it needs to be.  May God help you through a lifetime of “poison ivy” cases with discernment, truth, and proper medication!

Swamp Donkeys and Flat-Nosed Peacocks

“Well that’s obviously a flat-nosed peacock engine pulling two double barrel rail cars.”

 My injection of Dad humor was met with groans from the backseat as we sat at the railroad crossing.  You see, our oldest son Levi is a train fanatic.  He’s more than a fan; he is a student of the big iron that lumbers down the track and can spout off names, stats, and probably the engineers IQ that is piloting down the countryside.  Much of his free time as a 12-year old is spent inspecting every square inch of trains the history that produced them.  His father can’t compete with the immense volume of train knowledge that he has developed.

With all of his expertise I can’t help but feel…dumb.   In order to regain some of my Dad wisdom I try to sound important by rattling off names that are only real in my imagination.  If you can’t beat them join them I say!  So while my new names of old trains might sound impressive or even real to another uneducated train person it’s really just smoke and mirrors.  And I’m not the only one!  When Levi sees a train and texts my Dad he fires back, right on que with a Grandpa Beck train name. “Is that a CWG 72/56 Armored Platypus Engine?” to which there are even more groans and sighs.  He can’t get away from the ribbing and light-hearted harassment.  Some people just don’t know that trains have a specific real name and purpose!

The new-naming has spread to other things as well.  We saw a raccoon on the way to school the other morning to which Sam blurted out “There’s a trash panda!”.   Zebras are known as “prison ponies”.  A moose is a rubber-nosed swamp donkey.  The silliness is endless for a 10 and 12 year old; and perhaps a 44-year old as well!  The names are funny but they aren’t the real names.

The point is that there are many, many names for things and people that aren’t entirely accurate or truthful.    They can be silly and great a belly-laugh.  Many times they are hurtful and create a heartache.  Be careful of what you name someone else!  All of us are one of a kind, never to be replicated again here on earth.  So our name is more than a flag we fly or political party.  It’s more than our looks, our family history, or our occupation.  Our name means something!  Not just because it’s on a drivers license or ID but because God knows it and has fixed it to your heart and your life’s purpose.  There’s an authenticity to that and a truthful trust that our life matters.  Our life isn’t defined by the names slung by moody neighbors or the wrath of a bitter bystander in a split second happening.

Levi’s train-spotting was developed over time with a lot of discernment of what made each train unique.  He’s even ventured into the cold and rain just to catch a glimpse of his favorite engines.  My train naming took half a second of thinking of something clever.  Which person are you going to believe when it comes to train knowledge?  Looking at yourself or others in an accurate light takes time too.  Be careful what you believe about yourself and what we push on others!  There’s a name on you and me.  We aren’t trash pandas, prison ponies or anything else thank goodness.  We are children of God.  And that’s the name we should embrace.

Anything but Running!

Running is not for everyone.  It’s why some of have stickers that have the distance they’ve traversed on their cars while others wear their “0.0” t-shirts with pride!  It’s an activity that you either feel the joy and want to do it or you have found that it’s just not your thing; and that’s ok as well!  There’s no shame in saving those miles for a time that matters, like running away from a bear or running to the fridge for a late snack!  But you have to try running at some point to find out what it can do for you.

I would put myself in the group that finds joy from running.  It’s not always easy and my face is not always smiling, but it sure feels good when I accomplish something.  It started in 3rd grade when Ms. Sandri, my physical education teacher, asked my class if any of us wanted to try to run a whole mile around her coned-off course.  My hand couldn’t stretch far enough into the sky I was so excited!  That was the beginning and I haven’t stopped since, although I share time spinning the wheels on my bike these days.

So when I stood on the track this March I had to remember that not everyone loves running the way I do. There are always a few that find enjoyment in the discomfort and run on their own for fun and pleasure.  They study times and workouts and eat, sleep, and dream about floating above the ground for miles at a time.  But they aren’t everyone!   My position as a track coach went even further; I was the “distance” coach and the kids under my wing would be running a bit more than the other members of the team.  So while some ate up the thought of running multiple miles on multiple days of the week there were some who thought this whole running thing was crazy!  The challenge is to get everyone to run “their” miles to the best of their ability.

As we started clocking some of our daily workouts I could see the work ethic of some of the eager runners rubbing off on the new runners.  Soon a “normal” day was warming up, stretching, and running a few miles. We added in some strength stuff and did things as a pack.  Sure, we all had different speeds and goals but the variety of paces and personalities gave the group a great vibe.  

After 3 weeks of training I noticed a few kids wandering over from other events.  Track and field has many events to choose from and while some think they are cut out to be good at one area they sometimes find out that their “good” isn’t quite “good enough” to want to stay in that area.  Distance running is sometimes the last place a kid wants to end up because, well, it’s distance running and it’s difficult!  Remember?  There are more people out there that would choose that “0.0” sticker than a 26.2 sticker!  So when a few guys wandered my way from other areas of the track I knew this was probably the last place they wanted to be but the best option for a future!  Distance running is work but it is inclusive if you are willing to put one foot in front of the other.  There’s discomfort and some long sections of the required endurance involved but if the kids wanted to be there and asked to be part of our group I wasn’t going to deny them the opportunity.

As our little slice of the track team developed and spent time together I noticed a common theme.  Most of the kids ended up in this sport due to being shown the door from another sport.  Many played other sports but gave them up due to coaching personalities, too much time commitment, or the love simply vanished.  Many didn’t take up track as their passion, rather they faced rejection from something else that pushed them towards track.  

Three of the team members that took the leap into track are seniors.  One is enjoying his second year of track after devoting much of his childhood to baseball and basketball;  he currently has some of the fastest times in the state in the 400 meter run.  The other two signed up for track on a whim after leaving their sports a few years ago.  The last few months of high school created a desire to be part of something, be part of a team, and while they spent a few weeks bouncing around other areas of the track they are now thriving and experiencing a world they never saw coming.  They are equally surprised that they are now “distance” runners but that’s the door that was open for them to walk into. 

There may be coaching tips, techniques, and guidelines that walk this out far better than I can explain.   There may be a scientific reason behind the sociology of teenagers on a track team.  But the best way I can explain what I see is redemption.  There was a small group of kids that lived and practiced in a way that was appealing to others.   And there were circumstances in the lives of others that made them question what they were going to do next.  And finally there was an invitation asked and a “sure, come on over and we’ll work at this!” answer.   There’s a spot on the team no matter how they ended up there.  Some took a direct line to running while others had zig zags, u-turns, and pauses.   No matter what the journey looked like to get to March of 2022 there was an invitation for all to give this crazy thing called “distance running” a whirl.

I’m rambling on here about track and field life at a small high school but I know it preaches to life’s bigger questions as well.  Can you relate to being at a place you never thought you would be?  Does life have some massive challenges?  Do we struggle to see how something good can come from something so bad?  Maybe we are on a path of going down a path that seems artificial and fake and just can’t take the leap to go another direction.  Like endurance running, life is just plain hard sometimes.  But we have two choices to choose from.  We can scoff and scowl at the situation and harden our hearts.  Become jaded and angry.  Or, we can ask to be included in something that sure seems like a stretch but has hope and a future written all over it.   It might mean letting go.  Forgiving.  Doing something so radical that you never saw yourself doing.  

Long ago there were two thieves sharing a spot on a hillside with Jesus.  Death was certain and time was running out.  They were nailed to a cross and rejected by society.  But as time crept towards the finish line on earth they had one last opportunity.  One scoffed and sulked in his immediate circumstances with forever implications.  He rejected anything that was beyond his imagination or comprehension.  And the other took a chance and asked to be part of something bigger than himself.  I’m sure he never imagined being on a cross and tortured.  It’s not what anyone aspires to be…and yet here he was.  But next to him was the author of a future for you and me.   And this one thief knew it and took advantage of the one thing that remained on offer;  an eternal life with Jesus.  So he asked, he received, and the remaining moments of his life on earth had purpose and peace.  

Time’s never out and you are never too late.  Some of the stories of rejection in other sports really put my runners in a bit of a funk for some time but God put them on the track at a unique and perfect time.   They are running out their high school days with experiences and opportunities that light them up!  If that can happen for a high school track team it can certainly happen to the rest of us with our lives.  Pivot.  Make a move.  Go towards the door God still has open for you and ask for help!  Don’t grow cold.  Don’t get jaded.  And never, ever, give up on being an endurance runner!  

The Middle Matters

Between two major endpoints lies the middle.  The middle is that place that you plan on only passing through because it’s after the start and before the finish!   We are always trying to cut the middle down, out, or at least shorten it.  If you are a “middle man” your life exists only because others allow it…people are always out to cut out the middle man to get to a cheaper deal.  It’s no fun sitting in the middle seat, it may be tough being the middle child, and being middle-aged?  Whew.  The middle is transitory but it’s so, so, difficult!  

Having started and finished many races I have passed through many middles.  Now I guide teenagers in their pursuits of running glory and am constantly monitoring the middle and pushing, pulling, and prodding them to start well, finish fast, but most importantly run the middle!   The start is crucial and finish full of glory but the middle matters.

The start has so much promise; both with races and other aspects of life.  I remember starting a retail business and just crushing hours and energy to BUILD something.  It was all consuming and yet exhilarating.  How about starting a family?    There’s zero sleep, you’re making decisions, changing diapers, and you’re taking care of someone that literally needs all the help you can offer.    The starting line of a race?  It’s loud and full of nervous energy.  I remember the start of the Hawaii Ironman and the fever pitch of drums pounding while 3000 of us tread water in the Pacific.  The scene was intense, the emotion overwhelming, and my heartrate spiked while going absolutely nowhere!  The start of anything has promise and eager anticipation that can’t be matched.

The finish brings another set of emotions.  Seeing the finish line means the conclusion of a journey, a path, or a goal.  It’s where sweat and dedication are measured and the job is finished well.  The finish lines I’ve crossed meant I could stop and rest.  Sweet, sweet, rest.  

And yet the middle is where most of the race is run.  There would be no connection between the start and the finish if there wasn’t a middle experience, a middle journey, or someone willing to carry the ball up the middle, through the middle and for the middle.  I’ll say it again; the middle matters.

We have to run the middle.  Those middle miles of parenting matter because it’s where love and lessons are shown.  The middle miles of being a friend matter; who doesn’t need a friend and a hug in the middle of a journey?  The middle miles of a career matter because it’s where you spend a lot of your time and energy.   The middle miles that you can’t even put your finger on even matter because it’s still part of a sometimes hidden and doubtful process.  The middle might seem mundane but you can’t get to the end without it. 

I’ve learned to embrace the middle although I still have my moments.  It’s not easy.  But long ago someone else stood in the middle and connected us to a future that we could never attain on our own.  His middle was time spent on earth and the finish line appeared to be a forever death.  Jesus embraced the middle, ran the race, and crossed a finish line only to show all of us that we have something to live for that’s beyond the finish line on earth!   We are supposed to run the middle!   The middle is where we get to see and meet the needs of others.  Use our gifts.  Connect with others and add the “special sauce” that only you can bring to humanity.  The middle looks different for every person but it’s where we are the conduit for Jesus’ work on earth.   It’s not just about starting and finishing.  It’s making the middle meaningful for others to see, learn from, and to experience encouragement.  

Be a Trophy

It’s not often that you spend time making snowballs in July.  And yet here we were, standing next to a pile of snow, in July, excited to see something that we usually associate with gloves, snow suits, and possible school delays.  

The day prior was in the 80’s and I participated in Ironman Lake Placid for the 2nd time in my life.  It was a good day and I finished 3rd in my age group, which was pretty awesome considering all of the things I had going on at one time in my life.  Third place put me in the coveted “Kona slot” group, which meant that I could choose to go to Hawaii and do that Ironman.  The only thing holding me back from that was just about everything.  The cost and timing just wasn’t meant to be.  But with my finish I also got a cool trophy and the satisfaction that I spend hours of my winter, spring, and summer practicing for a fantastic finale.   The trophy signified that I put in a ton of work and earned some hardware for my efforts.

With my trophy in hand and our family walking down the sidewalk we came across a pile of ice shavings from the skating rink.  Like bees to honey our boys ran into the pile and began to check out this strange phenomenon.  Snow in July.  In shorts.  It doesn’t get much better than that.

As it turns out snow is still cold even when it’s July and sure enough, fingers still get cold when trying to handle snow.  If we only had a shovel or bucket.  Or anything that could double as a tool to help the situation.  We weren’t leaving the snowscaped sidewalk anytime soon but there was a need from the crumb crunchers and only one person could help.

And that’s when the Ironman logo-shaped trophy became a snow shovel.  As it turns out, the head of the trophy fit pretty good in the palm of a 4-year old and the body of the trophy could move a ton of snow with each flick of the wrist.  It went from a life of certain stationary status-symbol to a sidewalk scraping, snow-plowing, weapon of mass ice compaction.  I kinda giggled at the multipurpose use of my trophy but I won’t lie; we had more than a few athletes stare at the scene of a 4-year old constructing a summer version of Frosty with a coveted trophy.   Usually these trophies end up in a display case or mantel and not reimagined into a substitute Tonka Truck part.  It didn’t take long before we had some snow sculptures once the proper tool was found.

I want to be a useful trophy.  I’d like to achieve things, complete things, and feel a sense of accomplishment.  But I’d like to always be in the game, looking for different ways to help, serve, and make a difference.  Sometimes that means doing things in an unconventional way.  Or uncomfortable way.  Or even a sacrificial way, just like my shiny trophy scraping snow off an upstate New York sidewalk!   Relying on what was completed and earned in the past skews our ability to meet the needs of the present.  And the last time I checked we should remember the past but live in the present! 

Be a trophy.  But don’t fear repurposing your successes and strengths.  You might get some strange looks along the way but putting yourself in a place to be used might just “snowball” and create something amazing! 

Cheap Cookies

It’s bad enough to walk in a convenience store clad in lycra, but here I was, strolling down the aisles of a 7-11 in my click-clacking cycling shoes looking for a bargain.  I was on the hunt for something that was inexpensive with the most taste and calories.  I had a whole $5 to fund this stop on my ride and with 40 or so miles to go I thought it would be best if I had a reserve just in case; even if it meant strutting around a convenience store for a few seconds longer!

I came across a sweet pack of chocolate and vanilla cookies.  They were 7-11s own brand…who knew they made cookies?  And cheap cookies!  I snagged a pack for a mere 99 cents and went on my merry way.  I had exactly what I thought I needed.  The outcome of the rest of my ride was in my hands and it cost less than a dollar!

Except this particular bike ride was not cheap.  It was anything but until I found my 99 cent cookies.  I had committed to doing a long ride and for me a “long ride” means 4 hours or more perched on a tiny bike seat.  But I usually love that saddle time.  It’s great thinking time and when I get my legs going and brain functioning I usually have something good to share with my family.  Or you guys.  Or whoever.  But this particular ride was wet.  It was humid.  My skin was a dirt and grime attractant.  My sparkly white socks looked destined to a pale grey life thereafter.  My hand slid around on the handlebars.  It was a challenge to stay out there.  I wanted to say I did a long ride but find the easy way home.

Throughout the miles I kept riding past the roads that would take me home the quicker way.  The easier way.  The cleaner way.  There was a thread of hope that I could endure and get to the magical distance I set out to do.  

I shredded a sidewall of my tire with 30 miles to go and stopped and patched that up with some gorilla tape.  A few miles later the battery that powers the shifting on my bike decided to conk out and stop working.  So I pedaled on in a single gear.  A single gear out of my potential 22.  Long rides were not supposed to be this way!  Sunshine, tailwinds, and clean socks were not happening on this adventure.  It was costly.

When I swung onto my road and meandered up my driveway I was greeted by my wife.  And blue skies and sunshine.  She always asks how my ride was but really she wants to know what all I thought about.  I usually have something good that really spoke to me while riding.  It’s not the physical accomplishment of going a certain direction, it’s the direction felt from being in the physical accomplishment!   The best thing I could tell her about was about the bargain cookies I found at the 7-11.

The cheap cookies were in sharp contrast to the rest of the ride.  They tasted good…for a little while.  They gave me a shot of energy…for a few miles.  They were inexpensive enough that by my own understanding I could save some money “just in case” I needed something else down the road.   It probably would have been better to buy something a little more robust and feel better longer.

The ride was costly and yet I chose to keep going.  I wasted a pair of socks.  My drivetrain needed some serious love to extract all the dirt and grit mashed into the gears over 100 miles.  I had to replace a tire and recharge a battery.   I had to rely on the hope that my experience would make a difference and was worth the struggle.  If nothing else I would grow through the experience.

So my answer to Jan was that the ride was good despite it not being what I envisioned.   And what I learned mirrors life these days.  It’s sometimes costly to go where we need to go and live the way we are called to live.  It’s dirty.  Gritty.  It stretches our faith, especially when things don’t go to plan.  My socks are definitely not bright white any longer!  But going cheap isn’t the best way either.  Always looking for the cheap cookies is easy and inexpensive.   Going cheap seems safe.  It seems to make sense.  It’s leaves something on the table “just in case”.  It costs us less so therefore it has to be better!  But in the long run, or ride, we end up revisiting a similar dilemma!   There’s not a whole lot of growth in those cheap cookies.  

There’s always a time and place for those 99 cent cookies but I don’t want to live like them.  There’s a cost to living life with purpose and passion.  Don’t go cheap!  

Family Reminder

A family picture is always a special thing.  This was our crew that drove to the Outer Banks to spend time together and cheer on my wife Jan and her cousin Katie.  

This trip started to form last June when Jan and Katie signed up for a “bucket list” race that traversed the flat and windy road between Nags Head and Hatteras.  It seemed crazy but just within reach for a few 40-something moms, teachers, and amazing wives!

After signing up a typical approach would be to log lots of long walks, get serious about nutrition, and devote more and more time to the dream of crossing the finish line.  While Jan and Katie did some of that it sure wasn’t easy or to plan.

After signing up we had 3 family members find out they had cancer, including Katie.  We all had to rally around the fam and walk out the treatment plan and numerous doctors visits.  Amazingly all 3 are now cancer free but it wasn’t until a week before the race that my parents felt like they had the strength to travel.

We had a knee replacement just weeks before the race.  Katies father, Gary, had just enough movement in the days before the race and he decided he would give it a go.  

Katie’s husband, Shannon, is an amazing farmer.  But farming doesn’t stop when vacation calls and since it’s spring and time to get moving on that front it wasn’t a sure thing he would be able to go.  Plus he had to tend to illness on his side of the family.

Jan’s feet were all fired up due to a condition that she has been dealing with for many years.  The cumulation of teaching stress, changing teaching locations, and thinking of walking 62 miles made her feet ache.  She never reached the mileage in preparation that she wanted to and we left for the Outer Banks unsure if she would even do the race.

Somehow we all made it down to the eastern seaboard of North Carolina last Thursday.  We were the walking wounded, the bent-but-not-broken, and the worn-from-the grind crew.  We arrived puttering on fumes and not tapered and fit!

The weekend went along and Jan and Katie toed the line and walked the walk.  It was amazing.  Nothing stopped them and we kept checking off the miles in pursuit of that finish line.  The pace slowed but never stopped.  There were several times the whole family came out to cheer them on and the smiles came from the heart.

When all was said and done and we had just a few hours sleep after the race we gathered for a photo.  Part of my life as a dad-son-husband is official picture taker.  I’m not good at finding the shot or even have any artistic eye.  But I can work a timer on the phone and stack random objects to position the phone while I run into my place!  I took one shot and while it was good I thought we could wrangle one more shot to capture the moment.

The second shot wrapped the journey up perfectly.  Spreading over the sound and perched in the background was a faint rainbow.  A rainbow to remind us that God is faithful and can be trusted.  He did it for Noah and all of humanity and here we were on Hatteras Island seeing, and experiencing, the same message!  We signed up, adversity came our way and our plans were soon abandoned in order to just hang on.  But it didn’t mean the race was to be forgotten or rejected!  Our strength was lacking for this journey.  The work was tough, the miles painful.  The stress, the burden, the heaviness of life over the last few months, even week, was too much.  It was too much!  But God created a way and His timing opened doors at just the right time.  There was health restored, not in our time, but in His time.  There was an amazing physical achievement but both Katie and Jan would say it wasn’t their ability or sheer willpower that got them through.   It was a walking miracle that took place for almost 18 hours!  It sure was a winding road but we traversed it with God’s help.

I’m positive we are not the only ones with a story like that.  It’s just good to get a reminder of who is in control and what can be done when we feel like we are insufficient.  We’re never too late, too weak, or too broken to experience a miracle.

Invitations

The crew sure stood out.  There were 4 of them strolling along the roadside in shorts, ragged t-shirts, and an obnoxious bright orange hat.  They were most certainly “not from around here” and I knew they needed a lift.  If it wasn’t for a large catering order of chicken that needed a timely delivery, 2 hungry boys, and one giant dog in the backseat I would have picked them up.

Like anyone else’s day in the beginnings of Covid shutdowns and school closings my days were different.  There were many hats to wear in a day’s time.  The advent of virtual learning meant that I was tuned into every assignment.  I now have an additional 3rd and 5th grade education.  And since my wife was conducting her virtual teaching in the house I was to make sure nothing interrupted her classes.  Basically, I was to not embarrass her by doing any of my normal behavior on Zoom.

The boys would usually crush their work because that meant more free time.  And more free time was more better!  I had quite a few invitations to help with assignments which helped move things along.

In the middle of all of this is that there was work to be done.  Being a Dad is important but there’s also a time when I had to fulfill other obligations too.  And that’s how a valuable lesson was taught.  There’s a big difference between joining your Dad in his work versus asking him to always jump in with your stuff.

After schoolwork I had to deliver food to a hungry warehouse.  My assistants had to ride along since virtual high school was being taught in our house.  There may have been a bribe of lunch to get them to ride along but for the most part the boys saw a potential adventure unfolding.  They accepted an invitation from their Dad.

As we passed the 20-somethings along the road I quipped about picking them up.  They were through hikers from the Appalachian Trail; you could tell by their gear and they just had “the look” going on.  I suggested we pick them up since we were a good 5 miles from the closest spot to catch the trail.  Who wants to walk 5 miles on pavement and then start your hike?

My assistants emphatically said no, mainly because that would be responsible.  We had chicken to deliver and they had a lunch to eat.  So, I let it ride and did my job; delivering food and feeding my boys.  But I knew the story wouldn’t end there.

We retraced our path on our way home and low and behold I saw the bright orange hat and 4 large backpacks wobbling down the sidewalk.  I swung the truck into a driveway and asked if they needed a lift to the trail.  There were high-fives and “Duuuuude, awesome!” all around.  The only problem was that there were 4 of us in the truck, counting the dog, and 4 of them with funky smelling feet and fifty-pound backpacks.  The math didn’t add up with passengers and seats.

I have this cool cap on my truck that can be modified a bunch of different ways.  With my new passengers I opted to roll the sides up, safari-style and put my only in a Toyota truck back window down.  The hikers would have to ride in the bed of the truck, but we could all communicate through the back window and they would have shade and cover.  I was mainly going for cover since I wasn’t so sure of the legality of hauling people in the back of a truck.  I know it’s not the 1980’s anymore.  I was going to just pretend like it was totally normal to cart 2 boys, a dog, and 4 stinky hikers to a trail that covers the eastern United States.  Nothing to see here folks!

Once they were in and complementing me with their 20-something vocabulary I asked which part of the trail they wanted to go to and I subtlety suggested the closest spot.  Actually, the boys suggested the closest spot because this was not what they had planned for the rest of their day.  The hikers all looked at each other and decided to say “Middlesex”.  Middlesex!  Middlesex is like the furthest spot to take this motley crue and to get there I’d have to either drive through town and a bunch of red lights or drive the interstate.  Neither one seemed like a good idea.  I was reminded that this whole thing was not a good idea several times by my youngest son as well. 

So we drove the backstreets and nearly made to the trail crossing in Middlesex.  I say nearly because on our final stretch I spotted a bright orange flash in my mirror and then what appeared to be a pylon sitting in the middle of the road.  It wasn’t a pylon at all, rather it was the orange beacon-like hat that our new friend insisted on wearing.   And since this was with him every step of the way over the last 1000 miles I had to stop.  

I swung the truck over into the right lane, dodged into a convenience store parking lot, and then down an access road to a warehouse.  I barely had stopped when our hiker jumped out of the back of the truck and sprinted across a field to fetch his hat.

And that’s when I heard the chirp and saw the lights sitting behind me.  Sigh.  It seemed as though a truck with 4 dudes riding in the back caught the attention of Mr. Policeman.  It didn’t help seeing one of the dudes jump out of the back and sprinting away.  It also didn’t help that we were at an exit where human trafficking is a huge issue.  It all added up this time!

Sam, my youngest son, sat quietly while I jumped out and walked back to the officer.  As it turned out he knew me, and I recognized him.  That’s comforting.  I guess?  But I explained the situation and he kindly explained that he was fine with this as long as I went slowly and didn’t lose any more hats.  I also needed to not be seen by his boss, who would most certainly not be thrilled.  

Our hiker returned with his stupid orange hat and I walked back to the truck and sat down.  That’s when Sam asked, “What did the fuzz say to you this time?”.  Haha!  The hikers had a really good laugh at that and so did I.  Sam has the unique experience of being pulled over twice with his Dad.  Both times his Dad was doing something for someone else; just trying to meet a need.  Both times Sam got to see firsthand how his father handled the situation.  And both times Sam had a new appreciation for policework as well as the costs of meeting the needs around us.  He also saw that if you do something illegal you will get pulled over!  

So we gingerly pulled onto the main road and made the final 2 miles to the trail without incident.  I was sad to see the hikers go but also happy to see them go.  I met the need I saw but wow was it taxing and stressful!

The boys had their own agenda for their time that day.  Then their Dad invited, or maybe coerced them, to join him with what he had planned.  They went along for the ride and got more than they bargained for but an education that couldn’t be possible to attain any other way!

Truth be told I had my own agenda that day too.  I had tasks to do!  But sometimes things pop up and you have the eyes to see or the ears to hear what to do next.  Really it’s an invitation to join God with what He is doing.  See the difference?  I saw it that day and certainly felt it!  How often do we only ask to have God join us in what we are doing?  Or perhaps we have a view that we have to do certain things for God…like He is incapable of doing things without us, or we have to earn His favor, or that there’s something to be gained from the world by promoting how Christian we can be!

Being available and aware of what God is doing in your life is answering an invitation to be the hands and feet of God in an area and time that he orchestrates.  Sometimes its exactly what we wanted and have planned while other times its far and away different!  It can be subtle or it can knock your socks off.  It can go viral or be secret.  It can be lifechanging for you or lifechanging for someone else…without you knowing!

But answering the invitation isn’t cheap or easy.  There a cost to joining in with your Father.  You might get pulled over and have to talk to the “fuzz”.   It might cost you gas money, time, and two fast food meals.  You may have your days schedule blown up in a moments notice or your life might take a turn you never expected!  There’s nothing says that joining God will lead to prosperity, likes on social media, or an easy life.  Many stop right there because what’s in it for us if we don’t gain something?  But there is a sweetness and selflessness to it that is satisfying and full.  That peace can’t be bought or fulfilled by anything else.  It’s an invitation to a life lived wholly and completely to knowing that God has plans for you on this Earth.   Accepting an invitation, no matter how small or large, answers the questions that burn in so many hearts.  “What exactly am I here on earth to do?” and “What difference will I make?”.  

 Your invitation may look different than the world operates.   You may be accepted, rejected, or misunderstood.  But Jesus said it would be exactly this way.  Keep looking, keep listening, and keep answering the invitation!

Keep Pedaling

There was a week in February 19 years ago where I had a lot of crazy good stuff happen.  It kicked off with a flight to sunny San Diego where we escaped the winter of Pennsylvania.  Then we attended a black-tie dinner and awards ceremony and while dressing up isn’t my cup of tea it was awesome to see my sweetie dressed up and on my arm!  I also received an award and Will Ferrell shook my hand backstage!

After rubbing elbows with Hollywood I had a few days to spend with Jan checking out the scene.  Then she flew home and I stayed an additional few days ONLY to ride my bike and prepare for the upcoming race season.  What a life!  It was a pretty sweet week that’s for sure.

The rides of the week took me exploring all of southern California.  I rode through glitzy neighborhoods and caught up with the local group rides.  My biggest ride took me from the coastline and ended up on a 5500-foot peak called Palomar Mountain.  

This ride was literally all uphill.  I remembered navigating through fields, small towns, and basically into the great unknown for a few hours.  Once I turned onto the climb I was greeted with endless switchbacks and persistent road signs telling me how steep the road was.  I weaved back and forth for what seemed like a long time until the road flattened out and I was one mile higher than my starting point at the Pacific.

It was a lot of work.  Even with my physical condition being pretty good I felt like I accomplished something massive that day.  I was also chilly.  All that work and I was greeted with goosebumps and a soggy jersey.

As luck would have it there was a cute, quaint general store at the top.  If nothing else I could resort to the old cyclist trick of stuffing newspapers up my jersey to help insulate my core while flying downhill for the next few miles.  This was a pretty common thing to see at the top of the big climbs in races where eager, encouraging fans would hand cyclists newspapers to help them.  They were free of charge of course because the cyclists and fans were a team of sorts!

So I waltzed in and spotted the Sunday newspaper.  It was Tuesday.  Lucky me I thought, I would get the extra thick newspaper and it would be free!  This is just like the Tour de France, except I get a cashier and not hundreds of fans cheering me on.

I plopped the paper down on the counter with my soda and I heard the total.  I remember staggering back a bit because my total included the 2 bucks for the 2-day old news.  I didn’t quite understand but I kept my yapper shut.  In my mind I thought he might see the need I had but he didn’t quite see my world as the same as his.  And I didn’t see his world as a general store cashier like mine!  I fished out a few soggy dollars and I walked out with old news and some fresh fizz.

The Sunday paper bulged under my jersey and I started pedaling.  Soon I was pointed downhill and my speed was high.  My newspaper blocked every bit of wind as I pedaled, carved the turns, and covered more ground.  The more I pedaled the less I thought about a difference in viewpoint in the general store.  There was a road ahead that needed my attention.  Once I made it to the bottom I found a trash can and tossed my days old news away and kept on trucking down the road.  The more I pedaled the less I thought about the past.  It was a good ride.

It seems like there are a lot of times we see things differently than others.  Our needs are not their needs.  We don’t always see their needs.  There’s differing opinions and different ways to deal with those that think differently!  But I think there’s something to “keep pedaling”.  

Paying two bucks for old news is one thing.  It’s kinda easy to pedal away from that situation because arguing over 2 bucks and two-day old news in spandex is plain silly.  Plus I got what I needed!   But there are bigger things that come along and yet I still think “keep pedaling” is the best advice out there!

Years ago I poured my heart and soul into a business.  This was the equivalent to riding from the coast to the mountain top!  I worked hard and long.  There was an investment of my heart into the people and purpose of the business and it could be seen as a success I guess.  But I developed a longing to get out of my partnership and out of the grind.  My family was getting what was left of me instead of the best of me.  I was depressed and spent.  It was a long climb for a lot of years.

A bunch of things happened at the same time but I had an opportunity to sell my part and go.  The store would go on without me but would exist with a team of the same and different owners.  There was no doubt that this was the direction God was leading me but it also was a completely open-ended opportunity.  There was no instruction other than to let go.  The road ahead was a mystery!  The unknown sounded better than staying.

My thought was that I would sign papers and leave with handshakes and hugs.  Kinda similar to getting a free newspaper when I was freezing years prior!  But it didn’t happen.  I worked the last day and put my key on the counter and walked out the door.  It was the first of a few things that made my heart hurt.  You can walk away with freedom but still feel wounded.

Keep pedaling.  

Life can get heavy and hurtful.   Pedaling on has taught me a lot about letting go and an awful lot about forgiveness.  On the best days an attitude of keep on pedaling has me enjoying the present and excited about the future.  The days that I stop pedaling keeps me looking over my shoulder or wrestling with things I can’t control.  It’s best to make our way down the road and see where pedaling takes us.   Pedaling is an attitude, an action, and way to live-on despite life’s losses.  

I’ve pedaled a lot in my life and I have no plans of stopping.  I love riding.  And I need to keep pedaling and gain perspective on my situations.  Through it all, pedaling-on keeps me out of trouble, out of bitterness, out of anger, and out of the character traits I don’t want!  It brings me out of infuriating incidents, unfair actions, and troubling times and into peace.  

Pedal on, pedal far, pedal till your heart mends my friend.

The Effective LifeHack

I was watching TV at the gas pump the other day (which just sounds futuristic) and the host was blabbing about “life hacks”.  Apparently we all need to learn ways to make it through this life with simple tricks that make life “better”.  I actually watched the video twice because my gas tank was all but empty.  That life hack was an expensive education!

Life hacks are interesting.  They seem to mix effective and efficient together and that’s what makes them so cool.  My favorite one is one my buddy showed me how to get a bolt unstuck from a socket.  Simply drop it a few time on a concrete floor and the vibrations will shake the bolt or nut loose that’s stuck.  My boys love it when I just toss a socket across the garage in order to free a bolt from it’s socket captor!  

When I had zero margin in my schedule I was looking for a “lifehack” to make all of my responsibilities and relationship work.  When you combine family, friends, coworkers, customers, and random strangers you want to make it all flow nice and smoothly.  How do you combine being effective with others with being efficient?  The answer?  I have a story for that!

I had spent the spring and early summer ripping around on my bike and running in every nook and cranny of my “spare time”.  Our boys were young, only 1 and 3, and I was tasked with running a business and being a functional dad and husband.  I was also in my peak of athletic ability and had dreams of punching my ticket for a spot at the Ironman in Hawaii.  It was ambitious if not crazy to try to do everything.   

Jan was supportive in this endeavor.  That’s actually a massive understatement but we have a mutual understanding.  If I can go pound the pedals for 5 hours in the morning for me, then I can be a fully functioning Dad and Husband the rest of the day too.  No naps, no sofa, no complaining about walking down the aisles of a grocery store.  It’s all part of the deal!  It’s a responsibility to train and be a functional member of the family.

So we did crazy things like carting the boys to a long bike race on a Saturday and then driving to the middle of Virginia for a half Ironman on Sunday.  It wasn’t crazy to do that as an athlete; it was crazy to have two crumb crunchers go along for the journey.  There was a 5-mile running race where I pushed the boys in a stroller and then I biked 50 miles back to work.   

All of the training peaked in July and it was time to go to my big race.   I didn’t fall into the “average” Ironman athlete when it came to income and demographics so it was a bit of a stretch to go to the race and swing all of the premium performance-enhancing protocols.  And that’s ok.  Instead of staying near the start and finish line we decided to camp 12 miles away.  We also decided to eat our meals at the campsite.  And then we decided to take our cancer-ridden dog along too because we couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him for a week or ponying up the cash for a kennel.  With all of these decisions we recruited my parents and just because they are our parents and wouldn’t say “No” they decided to come along.  Yay!  Fun for the whole family!

We decided to split the trip up into two.  I spent most of a Wednesday hacking into the wiring harness on my old Toyota 4Runner so that the lights on our borrowed popup trailer would work.  Once that was complete we packed all of our stuff; important things in the vehicle, stuff we could go without for a few hours in the camper. Bikes went on top.  There was no room for the dog so he was sent off to the grandparents for a luxurious ride in peace with them.

There is no better way to prepare for a race of extreme endurance than driving the family halfway to a destination.  If you ever hear a lifehack that says to spread a trip out over two days with two toddlers they are lying!  We traveled slower than I wanted, not just because of potty stops and snacking, but the old 4Runner was wheezing up and down the mountains of Pennsylvania with its new life of hauling half our house to the Adirondacks.  Once we made it halfway we stopped for the night and the additional responsibility of setting up camp fell on me again.  A good way to build endurance is setting up a camp that you will take down in 8 hours time.  

The next day we made it to Lake Placid.  It’s a small, quaint town that has a lot of personality.  I’d imagine it does anyways; on Ironman week it’s a pressure cooker of strutting triathletes with nervous energy.  Athletes are focused on one thing; themselves!

And then we rolled into town.  Like a modern scene of the Beverly hillbillies, I navigated our family truckster through the sea of muscles and spandex and straight towards the Urgent Care hospital.  Sam had a giant ear infection and had been crying the last hour of our journey.  There was no time to strut when Sam’s ears were shut!

Once we were at the urgent care I sat in the truck with our oldest son Levi.  Jan took Sam in to see what we could do with a 1-year old that was going to be camping with his Ironman Dad for the next few days.  While other triathletes stretched and took time off their feet I chucked rocks into a ravine with Levi.

After that we had a script for some meds and set off for the pharmacy.  Not wanting to revisit our entrance into triathlon-a-polooza we took the backstreets to the local Rite-Aid.  Jan took Sam into the store and fetched the meds.

Levi and I had no rocks to chuck in this parking lot so it was just man-talk.  Just shooting the breeze, waiting for Mommy and Sam.  And then he declared he had to poop.  Now.  And with nowhere to go and not wanting to deal with any, and I mean any, other drama I plucked him out of the car seat and shoved him into the bushes.  I grabbed a tree limb and dug a makeshift latrine and opened up the doors to the truck as to give him some kind of privacy.  Then I acted like this was totally normal and that was definitely nothing to see here just in case someone was watching and did want to see.  Lifehack!

It was dark when we finally set up camp.  But the family was all there.  The boys, the crazy cancer-ridden dog, and the grandparents.  Doing the race might be the easiest part of the whole trip!

A day camping isn’t super relaxing with two little guys.  It’s more like making your homelife more difficult since you are outside more and have less of the stuff that you have at home.  I would think navigating the Oregon Trail years ago would be a fair comparison.  Now add and Ironman on to that and you have a treat!  So when it was the night before the race Jan basically told me to “Save Yourself!” and suggested I go spend the night with a friend in town.  They had a real roof over their head, air conditioning, and no little kids.  It actually sounded tempting but I had responsibilities.  But she insisted and conveyed the idea that if I did poorly she didn’t want it to be because I was worn out from our week of chasing kids, chasing our dog, and digging makeshift latrines.  

So I spent the next 17 hours away from my family.  I slept well.  I performed fantastic!  I really had one of my most amazing races.  I swam kinda decent and pounded the pedals superbly.  I had the fastest bike split out of 3000 people and crawled from nearly 2000th place into the top 20.  Then I unleashed a great marathon after that and finished 7th overall.  I out-split Olympians in the bike and run and punched my ticket for Kona. 

Once the scoring was settled and I had the chance to bask in the glory of what just happened.  It was amazing to think I was an Ironman champion.  Jan made it to the finish line and celebrated with me.  Things like that don’t happen every day.  

We made it back to our campsite and I stiffly walked around.  My legs were tired but that was only because I poured them out in pursuit of a win!  My Dad came over from their site to congratulate me as well.  He also had our dog.  

While I was out swimming, biking, and running the rest of my family was chasing, cooking, and blending camping life with toddlers, dogs, and Ironman spectating.  They were probably more exhausted than I was.  Their day was hard but effective; it allowed me to be efficient and win a race!

So his complimenting words were a bit short.  I think there was a pat on the back.  But there were also the words, “Take.Your.Dog.”.  Our Golden Retriever was the last straw in the stack of craziness.  My day of maximizing efficiency was in stark contrast to being an effective Dad, Son, and Husband.  And with that I was plucked from the top of the podium into the deep waters of being an available, effective Josh!  My efficiency in racing really didn’t meet the need of the family that needed me back in my effective role.

It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done, when it comes to healthy relationships efficiency lives in the shadow of effectiveness.  Our goal as humans relating to other humans should always to be effective.  It’s our God-given mission…to live together and work effectively using our gifts.  We are to be effective in our care, in our communication, and in our willingness to do life together!  Leading with efficiency is like viewing relationships as a machine.  It’s checking the boxes, crossing things off the list, and placing people in certain places.  All of that sounds good from an organization standpoint but it doesn’t mean that healthy, effective, relationships are formed.  As people we long to have meaning to our life…to be effective in what we put our hands and heart to.

You probably have your own story of inefficiencies like my family camping Ironman adventure.  Sometimes things just don’t go smoothly or to plan and that’s ok!  We aren’t machines, we are living, breathing, creatures that can create, inspire, and encourage along the way.  Our life stories are effective because of the inefficiencies that we endure.  There is no lifehack to living an effective life other than to just keep on being you!

Striding over Striving

When my son Levi was a toddler he was famous for saying many things, but the one zinger that always made us chuckle was “I don’t like that…I like it the OLD way.”  He wasn’t old enough to like the old things but what he knew was what he wanted!  The way he had done it before was his desire for the future!

Do you know what you want?  Of course you do!  How will you get there?  If you were to say, “I want to ______.” You would probably have a good idea of how to get there.  There’s a template, a prior experience, or an app for that!  All you have to do is work at it.  The word “Strive” comes to mind.  If I just reach a little further.  Try one more time.  Work harder.  Work smarter.  My time will come if I just strive more.  When I’m tired I’ll rest just a second and strive some more!  This is all about me, my effort, and my goal!

I was given an opportunity to go to Swizerland in 2004.  I was 26 and extremely motivated to ride my bike and run.  I had completed a year of cycling professionally and while that was an amazing experience I wanted a bit more control over my schedule.  To quote Levi I wanted it the “old way”!  I decided to pursue duathlon, which is kinda the stepsister to triathlon.  It’s running and cycling and it’s wonderfully difficult!

The pinnacle of that sport is a race in Zofingen, Switzerland.  I knew the terrain would be hilly and I needed to be ready.  So I trained hard.  I did crazy bike rides followed up by big runs.  I strived.  And I came down with a bad case of mononucleosis in May.  Cue the sad music.

May passed.  June passed.  July came and went.  August rolled around and I was still sitting, sleeping, and fretting about the race that was just weeks away.  My case of mono vanished in just enough time to get a few weeks of riding and running under me.   We set off for Switzerland with a whole lot of eagerness and even more nervousness.  I hadn’t prepared in any way like I wanted to.  My striving was held back…and probably for the better!

That year I finished 16th overall, which was shocking to me because I had maybe 1/3 of the miles in my legs that I thought I needed.  I hadn’t run anywhere close to the race distance and there I was, trotting around the Swiss countryside like I belonged there.  My striding was more sufficient than my striving.

My success at our first trip to Switzerland ignited a fire in me; we had to go back!  If I finished 16th the first time what would happen if I actually worked all summer at my goal?  You can tell that striving entered the scene again…striding wasn’t enough.  I had resorted to my old ways again.

The miles piled up and our plane took off for Switzerland for year number two.  I was eager.  Ambitious.  I was going to make this happen!  And as I rode my bike on the course the day before the race it did happen; I tagged a curb and launched myself into a farmers field, sliding across a Swiss sidewalk, and striving into a sea of doubt.

I plucked myself up, tried to pull my shredded spandex over my behind and soft-pedaled 15 miles back to our homestay family’s house to get patched up and smoothed over.  My race was over in my mind but I was still going to toe the line the next day in bandages and a shattered ego.  I would try to just finish the race since we came the whole way to Switzerland for me to do this silly race.  Keep striving I guess.

Then I was re-introduced to striding.  The first run I kept pace with the pack and watched as others ran off the front and into the lead.  My strides were quick, but they weren’t in anger, rage, or even at the hardest effort I could muster.  I just ran my race.

The same thing continued on the bike and for miles I had many riders around me.  As time passed I noticed more riders coming back to me.  My striding wasn’t any faster or at a harder effort, it was just steady and consistent.  Even when I thought I wasn’t “racing” like in my striving state of mind I was on the move!

I entered the second run in 9th place and hit my stride.  Over the hills and throughout the next 2 hours I was placed into the 3rd position overall.  It was amazing at how in my prior way of thinking my effort would not have even allowed me to even sniff a result so high up on the standings.  My perceived outcome of my plight effort didn’t match up!  The battle really wasn’t mine to win on my own.

In the years that followed Jan and I went back 6 more times.  There were a lot of great times to be had but I will admit my mindset always naturally resorted back to striving.  I experienced the grace and ease of striding but I always went back to owning my result with sheer willpower and determination.  I never finished on the podium again but I sure gave it my best effort!

Levi’s little toddler voice declaring how he liked the “old way” makes me think of all the striving I’ve done.  Have you spent your life striving?  It’s almost comfortable because if our effort is constantly high and we are consistently bouncing off the bottom then we must be doing something right!  The old way isn’t the right way, it’s just the way we know the best.   Striding is the opposite, it’s a way that focuses on someone else that’s in control.  And They can be trusted!  Striding is the act of joining what God’s doing rather than asking Him to jump in with your plans.  There’s a peace and ease to striding, even when the circumstances look dire.  It sure seems like our world embraces those that promote themselves the best but I find the stories where ordinary people are placed into podium spots simply by striding the most captivating.  There is something authentic and real about the humble and ordinary being placed in positions through God’s providence and power.  

Striding versus striving.  Striving relies on inner strength to conquer an outer world.  Striding is less about your strength and more about moving through a battle that has already been won.  I won’t say I’m a natural strider but I’m learning to hold on and be held, all the while striding along in a world of craziness.   Give it a shot, it’s a change of perspective that might just change your life!

Be a Tool

We’ve all heard that you must have the right tool for the job, right?  Want to drive some nails into a board?  I’d recommend a hammer.  Looking to cut a tree down?  Chainsaw my friend!  Need to scoop some rock-hard ice cream from a half gallon container?  That is one job that I have not found a sufficient tool for other than massive forearm strength!

To do tangible work you need the right tool for the job.  Doctors use specialized instruments along with years of education to perform surgery.  Farmers use land, tractors, and the weather to produce crops and work the land.  Whatever you do I’m sure that there is a tool that allows you to be effective at your work.

My Dad taught me a lot about tools as well as how to be one.  Yes!  You read that right!  My Dad is a tool and he taught me how to be one as well.  Now that might sound like a corny middle school joke but allow me to explain.

My Dad left the business world when I was young and went to seminary.  My family sold the house with the swimming pool and we set up a new home in a tiny apartment in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  We made it through his schooling with far less money than we previously had but we never lacked.  We eventually moved to a one red-light town when I was 7 and he started his pastoring career.   I knew my Dad as my Dad but he taught from the Bible and did a lot of things that you would maybe expect Pastors to do.  But over a few months my Dad showed me that it’s not just ok to be a tool...it’s what we are called to do!

During the winter I had a buddy over to hang out.  I’m guessing we were 8 or 9 years old and there was snow on the ground.  It was inevitable that a snowball would commence and we went outside and lobbed snowballs at each other.  Then my Dad jumped in and he showed his spaghetti-for-arms son just how strong his Dad strength was by firing a frozen snowball across the yard and right into the face of my friend.

Immediately after contact there was silence.  Then the footsteps of my Dad running towards my friend.  Then the accurate comment from my buddy, “You aren’t very nice for being a pastor Mr. Beck!”.  It’s pretty funny to remember that and it still brings a smile to my Dad’s face but I do recall that my Dad made it up to ol’ David and he is still a friend.  For as much as my Dad taught from the Bible and is a natural teacher he still messes up.  We all do that!  But standing in front of a crowd with a microphone every Sunday never meant he was above anyone or above fault.  I would never wish a frozen snowball to the face of a 9-year old but in that moment there was a practical moment for my Dad to show empathy, apologize, and care for someone that needed it.  It was biblical teaching in action.  My Dad was a tool for faith in action.

Even we when are the perpetrator of an accident there is a pathway to restore relationships.  It’s applying faith to our everyday steps and misteps.

Months later I had a hankering to go to the town basketball courts.  I had a basketball hoop in the driveway where I honed my skills but it was lacking a bit.  It was on a gravel driveway and it was sloped.  It was a giant guessing game to dribble on that surface and I longed for pavement and a regulation court.  I was also a wee bit intimidated by the prospect of heading to the playground because I could often hear the language being used and the music blasting from boomboxes in my own driveway.  But to get to the real court I’d have to venture into that arena.

With my dad by my side we walked down to the courts.  I simply wanted to fit in and play basketball.  I wasn’t sure how my Dad would take to fitting in…I mean the last time I wanted him to “fit in” he clocked my friend with a snowball.  Plus I had a preconceived notion in my head that as a Pastor he would come down on the music, language, or the teens smoking on the side of the court.  I wasn’t allowed to do any of that so in my mind I figured that there would be some discussion.  Ugh.

The Beastie Boys blasted from the boombox as we entered the court and started shooting.  It didn’t take long but the next thing I know we were being summoned to play in a pickup game.  I was excited by that prospect because it would give me a chance to show off whatever skills I had as a 9-year old.  I was also a bit nervous because even as a 9-year old I just wanted to fit in.  And having a pastor Dad come down on the behavior of some seemingly led-astray teens was not going to help.  

The teams were selected and we started running the court.  I launched jump shots when given the chance and my Dad reached way back to his glory days and unleashed hook shots that actually went in the basket.  We played a long time while the Beastie Boys continued to Fight For Their Right to Party.

I remember some of the language was poor but the defense on my Dad was also poor as he backed some helpless teen in the paint only to take an easy layup for a bucket.  There were things that I thought were contrary to my Dad’s career choice like rap music with not-so-wholesome lyrics and kids that smoked, swore, and were a bit rough around the edges.  But the reality is that is exactly where my Dad was supposed to be. He was a tool.

The old church he pastored at had a wrought iron fence that surrounded the property with little spikes at the top of each post.  Some may call it art but to me it looked like a great deterrant for anyone thinking of attending the church.  It almost looked like a way for the church goers to keep the non-church goers away!  But my basketball game with my Dad showed a different story.  If you proclaim to follow Jesus and have him in your heart do you know where you need to go?  You need to be out with the people!

The kids at the game certainly had a different home life than I did.  There were guidelines and expectations that I was expected to follow.   I’m not so sure the town kids had that. But there is something to meeting others where they are and building relationships slowly and through experiences.   I think my Dad showed that if you are going to share Jesus you need to know where others are coming from first; and leading with condemnation of behavior usually cuts off any further friendship.  

There’s a big difference between being an available tool for God to use versus thinking we need to manipulate and use others as tools.  One points back to our Creator and the other points back to us…at the expense of others.  One is rooted in humility while the other is promoting a perceived perfection.

My Dad showed me at a young age it’s ok to be a tool.  If you ask me he still is!  Haha!  But that’s a good thing.  There are a lot of tools in the toolbox and we all have a gift, a talent, and a mission.  It’s not until we let go and be held in the hand of a master craftsman that will we let the world see His handiwork.  Go ahead, be a tool! 

Go Back to Go Forward

The metallic sound caught my attention.  I knew it wasn’t good but I couldn’t quite think of what it could be.  My brakes still worked, my shifters still clicked the gears, and it appeared like I was still on two wheels!  What in the world could it be?

I was in the lead of a bike race in northern Pennsylvania, jockeying for position with 4 other riders when I heard the metallic sound of my recently applied wedding band bouncing off my bike frame.  A month earlier that was placed on my finger by my bride and we vowed, literally, to take each other for better and for worse.  For richer or for poorer.  As I freewheeled down a Williamsport hill I had to decide if Jan would take me for poorer and for worse!  It was a gamble early in our marriage!

I grabbed two handfuls of brake and slowed my breakaway to a crawl.  Then a U-turn.  Then an off-road ride as I scavenged the median of a divided highway, looking for a now weathered and certainly scratched ring.  The race and all of the glory went up the road and I was on my knees looking for my wedding band among Marlboro wrappers.

Amazingly enough I found it.  It slipped on my finger and I hopped back on my bike, fingers clenched of course, and moseyed towards the finish line.  The race had been won and the last rider had finished.  But I was returning, I just needed to go back for something important.  More important than the sprint to be on the podium.

At the finish line my teammates rolled their eyes at what happened while their girlfriends or wives swooned.  I missed out on winning our months rent but I did gain the nice guy award from strangers.  And Jan is with me to this day, 19 years later!

Have you ever had to go backwards to go forward?  Losing my wedding band gave me a little crisis…go back and I honor my word and commitment.  Go forward and win some cash to pay the bills and soak in the momentary cool status of a high placing at a race.  Life is always full of these predicaments.  It seems like to win in our world we are to not only press forward, but to go as hard and fast forward as we can.  Win at all costs.  Map out a plan, push hard, step over the dead bodies in the way, and conquer your dream!  Except I think to win you need to have that moment where maybe going back will ultimately give you a win.  Let me tell you, this is a weird way of thinking!

For 10 years I pushed very hard in my business.  The business ran on my blood, sweat, and tears.  I was pushing.  While I tried to be a good husband and father it was painfully obvious that my family got what was left of me rather than the best of me.  Eventually a door opened and I had to make a decision;  go “backwards” and connect with my family, or go “forward” and keep pursuing whatever the business was going to produce.  I had my identity and an income in the business.  I had a family that wanted my time and energy.  It was an easy decision but one that flew in the face of normal!  It was like revisiting my wedding band in the median story from years ago.

It’s ok to go backwards when all the world wants is to go forward fast.  It truly is.  Going backwards means you are valuing relationships.  It’s fun to have company.  It’s fun to make memories.  It’s meaningful to show love even without saying “I love you”.  

The world will always have the allure of pressing forward to make your own way.  To find success through sheer willpower, ego-power, or following someone else’s instructions for success.  It took courage to watch others go for the glory in that bike race while I wallowed in Williamsport’s litter looking for something shiny that wasn’t formally wrapping cigarettes.  It will take courage for you to watch an opportunity to go on ahead of you without you participating.  It won’t seem fair.  It might hurt.  But the ones you go back for are worth it.  It could be your wife, your kids, or a friend.  The world will make you think you build a legacy by pressing forward despite people and their opposition.  I kinda think that a legacy is built by the people you are willing to go back for when the world is going forward!  Don’t be afraid to go backwards in your quest to move forward.

Embrace the Wait

There are two important parts of a running race, regardless of the distance or terrain.  There is a place the race STARTS and a place the race STOPS.  Easy!  Every racer must start the race at a designated place or time and continue until the finish, at which point they stop.  There are many decisions to be made along the way, but a race always starts with a decision to START and a decision to STOP. 

Races are similar to our everyday life decisions.  We decide to start something.  Start exercising.  Start getting up earlier.  Start hanging out with people that make us feel good.  On the other hand, we can decide to stop too.  Stop a career.  Stop unhealthy eating.  Stop staying up so late.  Stop wearing shoes too small!  With two decisions to make it seems like life should be easy!  We start or stop, that’s it!

Except it’s not.  There’s something else.   WAIT.  Ugh, this is my least favorite!  Waiting, at least to me, means spinning my wheels.  It means uncertainty.  It means it’s out of my control!  In a world of making decisions based on start and stop it means we are neither.  It’s a gray area.  Do you know where I learned to embrace WAIT as a viable decision?  From a race!

At 8:30am I toed the starting line at my 6th appareance at the Powerman World Championships.  The run went off and I started the race.  The next 7 hours would be spent running, cycling, and running some more.  Eventually I would cross the finish line and stop.  I hoped to be in the top 10, but I knew I could possibly get to the top 3.

The other American in the elite wave was a good friend.  We found ourselves in a bit of a deficit after the first 6 mile run but together on the bike.  Although we could not draft on the bike we could pace each other and we spent the next 20 or so miles working at chipping away the time we lost on the first run.  

We would each take turn driving the pace at the front.  The lines on the road started to pass more frequently and we were really motoring!  The gap started to shrink but the fun we were experiencing started to build.  We were like a big ‘ol American train barreling down the tracks, chasing the glory that surely awaited us at the the finish line!

Everything changed in a flash when a car pulled out in front of my friend.  At 30 miles per hour I watched all 6 foot 4 inch of John hit a car broadside, fly over the trunk, slide on the road, and under a guardrail into a culvert.  With amazing instincts he even ducked as he went under the guardrail!  I grabbed as much brake as I could without crashing myself and ran over to him, cycling shoes sliding on the asphalt and my mind wondering what condition I would see my friend in.

With his face bloody, road rash everywhere, and guttural groans coming from John’s mouth I made my least favorite decision.  WAIT.  I had to wait.  It was the right thing to do.  The race continued and wouldn’t stop.  I had seen a terrible accident with my friend and racer.  Others would continue but I opted to wait.  Within minutes there was a crowd tending to John, our poor Swiss driver man, and directing the other racers around the scene.

After everyone was tended to and John gave me a pep talk to resume racing I slung my leg over my bike and reluctantly started to peddle into the foothills of the Alps.  On paper, my waiting decision seemed like a disaster for a top finishing place.  Everyone else was well on their way towards that finishing line and I was prancing around the roadside in spandex, pulling my friend out of a ditch and trying to communicate in German to a slightly hysterical elderly man that just hit a cyclist.  

The funny thing about a WAIT decision is that it buys you time.  As I found over the next 5 hours, my strength was renewed.  Others had steadily burnt up all their energy.  I had a break.  A chance to regroup.  A chance to not think about the stresses of racing.  A top placing wasn’t in my thoughts as I rejoined the racers.  Finishing well was.  As the other racers withered away and succumbed to the relentless hills and attrition of a 130 mile race, I found myself creeping towards the pointy end of the race.  

By the time the finish line rolled around I was in 8th position.  My WAIT decision brought me the result I had hoped for.  Waiting didn’t ruin the race for me, rather it prepared me, focused me, and created a place for me to have the maximum effect on the day.  It worked better than I could ever imagine!

You have 3 decisions to make today.  Start, Stop, and Wait.  I am naturally a starter and finisher; not a waiter!  I never embraced the wait until I saw what it could do.  It was worth the wait!  Things happen even when you aren’t aware.  Positioning happens even when you are not part of it.   Do you have a decision to make where START and STOP are not the best options?  Don’t settle for second best; Embrace the WAIT and see what happens!

Let the Air Out

I’ve written about my affinity for tires and my son’s diehard convictions of who makes the best tire.  As part of my daily routine, nearly as common as a shower or breakfast, is the checking of some tire and its pressure. There’s a lot of tires rolling around this place!

In the garage I check the vehicle tires.  Proper pressure gets long life and handles loads safely.  Then there’s my bike tires; those get a quick shot of air before swinging a leg over the bike.  Theres 4-wheeler tires, which always need air due to the shenanigans that the boys do on them.  Hook up a trailer?  Check the tires!

With all of that tire checking there’s always that thought that I should just chuck a bunch of air in the tire so I don’t have to deal with it again.  Pump it to the max and forget it!  If it’s as hard as a rock you won’t notice the loss of a little bit of air.  More is more better!

Back in the day that was the recipe for speed in bike racing.  Buy a tire with super-high capacity and pump it up to the maximum.  The more it felt like a brick the better and faster it would go!  It was pretty common to hear exploding tires before races!

What I’ve learned about pressure is that it’s important to adapt.  The amount of pressure precisely predicts one’s ability to progress!  Say that 10 times fast!  More pressure doesn’t mean that it will be able to tackle the terrain ahead successfully.  Some situations don’t call for maximum pressure.

When we take our Jeep into the woods I actually let air out of the tires.  Its daily driven pressure is far too much for rocks, roots, and mud.  I drop the pressure down to 10 pounds in order for the tire to conform to the rocks, grip the roots, and increase the tires contact patch.  Letting air out actually makes the Jeep more stable and surefooted.  It’s amazing what letting go of something can do to allow us to creep forward down the trail.

On the two-wheeled side I can relay a similar message.  With modern wheels engineers have found out that lowering a tires pressure can provide a smoother ride and increase efficiency.  Its seems like absorbing road vibration is actually faster than pumping our tires up to the max and barreling down the road.  As an added benefit I get far, far fewer flat tires with the wider wheels and lower tire pressures.  And if I do get a flat it’s not nearly as loud or catastrophic as those early bike racing days.

Pressure.  You and I have felt it!  It’s woven into our lives; get up, drink coffee and go out and crush the day!  When we feel tired listen to something, dig a little deeper, and pound an energy drink!  Go hard and fast because that’s what we perceive works.  Work harder than anyone else and success and our desired outcome will come.  A day without pressure is no day at all in America!  The more we push the better we’ll be in the end, right?  Right?!

Maybe it’s time to lower the pressure.  Be more supple.  More flexible.  More absorbent and less harsh.  Harder is one way to go but is it the best way to go?  Maybe the way forward is to adapt and be moldable.  Instead of pounding things into submission maybe we are to take a page from a 4-wheeling Jeep.  Slow down, get flexible, moldable, and spread out.  I’d even say to not lose your grip on the road and the driver that’s taking you!  High pressure is more common but it doesn’t mean it’s the best way to go down the road. 

I will no-doubt be challenged on this very theory tomorrow.  I bet you will too.  Will we let a little pressure out?  Can we try to go with a little less harsh and a little more “give”?  Or will we go with the maximum pressure to bounce, grind, and crush the day and ourselves?  Let’s see if less is more!