“The Human Condition: A User’s Manual,” by Arnold Kunst
15 December
I really like cycling – easy to do in the God-ordained
climate of California. In fact, in my last job I had chosen both a car and a
car-pool partner for just that purpose. My station wagon was merely a glorified
bike rack. And I found myself an accommodating car-pool partner at work who got
my car’s spare key. We’d meet 19 miles
from work and go in together in one car. On days I’d cycle either I would take
the bike out when we got to work if we went in my car, or I would leave the
bike at work the previous day if we went in his car. Anyway, I’d typically get
in two, maybe even three, days of cycling this way.
One day at lunch in November 2001 another co-worker heard of
my interest in cycling she asked, casually, if I had ever considered doing the
AIDS ride: raise $2,500 for the privilege of cycling from SF to LA: 585 zig-zag
miles over 7 days in early June.
I was immediately intrigued and started questioning her
about it. Well, the more we talked about it the more excited I became. Raising
all that money, the physical challenge, meeting interesting, can-do people –
she even said the food was to die for!
One of the lessons I learned, one that you can take to the
bank, is that any interest like this that just won’t go away with time demands
honoring.
But I had two problems: I was going to be 61 in June when
the event was scheduled, and I was a good 50 pounds overweight.
Then one day the very next week while cycling from work to
my car, as a complete fluke, I met another cyclist. His bike looked really
impressive. I said to him, “that’s a beautiful bike you’ve got there; you must
have paid a fortune for it!” He said, “I don’t know how much it cost; I got it
from the manufacturer for nothing.” He then went on to explain that he was a
professional cyclist, so I asked him about my excitement/problem. He said, “How
many miles do you do now, and how fast do you do them?” I said, “I do 19 miles
usually twice a week, and with a tail wind I can do it in a little under an
hour.”
That was all he needed. “You can do it,” he said simply.
“It’s December now; you’ve got a good six months to train, and with the weather
improving and the days getting longer you could grow your weekly mile count to
over 150 in the weeks just before the big event.” “How will I know I’m ready?”
I asked. “When you can do 65 miles in a day, then get up the next day and do 65
miles, then get up the next day, you’re ready. If you can’t get up on that
third day, you’re not ready.”
The whole conversation only lasted maybe 8 minutes, then we
parted company, and I never saw him again. But those 8 minutes changed
everything. I learned that, besides raising $2500, all I had to do was make the
pedals go around lots and lots of times.
There’s one downside to this: I can’t ever look at a really
hard thing, an impossible thing even, and say, “I couldn’t ever do that!”
“Impossible!” became “I’mPossible!”
How’s this for a PS? I did that AIDS ride, pedaling every
mile God gave me, and on the very last day, at a break stop a mere 40 miles shy
of Dodger Stadium, a doctor on the staff asked me if she could take my picture.
Somewhat shocked, I asked, “why?” “Because I work at a
geriatric unit in Saint Louis, and I want to bring back photographic proof that
old guys can be VERY active.”
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