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It's been a long time since I've gone on a real ride. Very long. So I've set two goals for myself. On a short term, I have challenged myself to ride 300 miles in 30 days. Yes I'm starting slowly, but like I said earlier, it's been a long time. So long, that after two comutes home, my butt is sore for the first time... Well, ever.
I almost understand what all of those customers at the bike shops were complaining about. Almost. I'm riding a road bike with a Ti Flight saddle that's as hard (if not harder) than a rock. I'll get over the soreness in a few days as my calice begins to form. ;)
The commute home is 2 miles, but I've found a few routes that have extended the ride to 7.72 and 10.86 miles. Next week I'll try a 15.3 mile route. This one includes an overpass up and back. Let's see if I can still climb at a decent pace. I've already charted a 25 mile weekend route with two causeway crossings. Maybe in February. Surprisingly, on the second day (10.86 miles) I was able to maintain a nice 16mph pace. Thank God for muscle memory.
My second goal is more long term. I'd like to get back into racing. So far, my sight is set on the FSC series in September 2010.
Wish me luck. I know I'll need it.
Parenthood has really taken its toll on my blogging. But I'm not complaining. I would definitely choose a day with the kids yelling at each other and throwing temper tantrums over the mundane that lead me to blog ten times a week. Now it's more like ten times a year. A lot of this is because my entire life has revolved around my family, and nobody wants to read about that. It's much more exciting to read about the horrors of the universe rather than the wonders of a suburban family. For that, I have Facebook and Twitter. This next bit is too long for a 140 character tweet.
I've always prided myself in one small thing. As a child, from 4 to 11 years of age, I lived in an apartment complex by the Miami International Airport. We were accustomed to pause our conversations when an airplane flew by and the term "hold on, plane" was often part of a telephone conversation. My parents were able to distinguish different airplane models that were approaching. So much so that when they heard a Concord, they would rush to a window or balcony to watch it fly by. They truly were amazing to watch. As kids we would do what every normal group of kids around the nation did. We played football, built tree houses, built bonfires, went fishing, and played long games of hide-n-seek at night. The only thing that was slightly different was that we did so on a golf course. The occasional "heads ups" wasn't just for birds overhead or squirrels dropping acorns. The occasional slice would shatter windows on a weekly basis. As kids, we knew that our running pace, was faster than a golf ranger's cart and to stay away from the lakes after sun set. We had some huge gators. My walk to the bus stop from 2nd to 5th grade was from the 8th tee, over the 7th green, along the left rough, and between the 7th tee and 6th green. None of that up hill both ways in the snow worked in Miami. But still a fun walk. And yes, we stole the occasional golf ball. Well, enough to fill a large trunk in my bedroom.
With all of that exposure, I never played a single round of golf. When I was 30, I was visiting my in-laws in Wisconsin and my two brothers-in-law took Colleen and me to play nine holes on a bean farm. I was mocking everyone the entire time. Then, on the 8th hole I hit a clean shot right next to the green. For a second, I felt a small tingle of excitement. It all went away when, on the next hole, I never made it over a lake. We then rushed to go watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and golf was a mere memory.
A few months later, I was flipping channels with Kai and he uttered "stop, golf!" I turned to Colleen and asked what she had done to our son. Since before Kai was born, Aaron had always joked about wanting Kai to be old enough in order to become his caddy. Kai's 2nd birthday present from uncle Aaron was a Fisher Price golf set. To relive him of this ambition, when Kai was three years old, I took him to the miniature golf courses at Blizzard Beach in Disney World Resort. We played 36 holes and on the way out the girl at the counter gave us two golf balls with Mickey Mouse printed on them. I gave them to Kai to crush his toy cars. Then, a year later we were in Maui with the family waiting for our table at the Kapalua Plantation Restaurant. To kill some time we all walked down to the golf course and took some pictures overlooking the bay and Lana'i. Aaron was talking about the 18th hole that he had played earlier. Kai and Daphne were just running around and having fun on the open course. At one point Kai found a range ball. He took it to one of the course workers. The man asked Kai for his name and when he replied, he liked his Hawai'ian name and let Kai keep the ball. He was excited beyond belief for the rest of the trip.
Golf is hard to avoid in Florida. I live within 3 miles of 5 golf courses. On occasion I would joke with Colleen and head to the golf section at The Sport Authority or at Target. Just to see her reaction. One day, we were driving down our street and I saw a golf bag out on the curb. I asked Colleen to pull over. She just looked at me with a smirk and kept driving. Then, a few weeks later two of my co-workers took a third co-worker golfing for her first time. I asked questions and poked around. Asked what the different clubs do, how they work, where to play, et cetera.
Then, in September, a co-worker offered to give me a set of clubs. I agreed and took Kai to the driving range. We both sucked terribly. After a few games with some friends and some weeks of Kai and me hitting the driving range, I decided to take Kai to the Duran 9-hole. As soon as I told him where we were going, he vanished. A few seconds later he showed up saying that he was ready with his ball from Kapalua in hand.
Kai's been surfing on his own since he was three years old. This past weekend we entered him in his first surf contest. He was a five year-old vs. a bunch of kids under nine years old. Yesterday, Daphne was catching waves all by her self on a sponge. She's three. What does that say about us as parents?
Nothing, they're just born with the gene.
