I’ve settled back into my routine the last couple of days, as have the dogs.  Tinker was napping on the rug in the warm sunlight off the back deck, while Tally was asleep on the couch, content in the cool shade.  They are resting up from a busy day at the dog spa, sporting their stylish haircuts.  Tally played hard with the other dogs, while Tinker showed little interest in interaction.  Two very different dogs that are now my 8 to 5 co-workers, along with Frankie the cat that prefers the darkness of the bedroom.   I wonder if they know that it’s “Date Night” day.

While the dogs were getting groomed, my wife had some serious dental work yesterday, so we will dine-in tonight.  It will make the pups happy to have our company on a night that we’re typically out on the town.  I prepared a corn and tomato salsa to be served over a grilled flank steak.  I also joined my wife for a light lunch today at the Cornell Cafe Oaks located near her office.  I broke the news to her that we would be baby-sitting my grand kids our first night in San Francisco in a couple of weeks.  She was expecting something more romantic, but we settled on a Mary Poppins sing-along to keep her and them entertained.  I’m just glad to have some one-on-one time with them next month.  My son tends to be a bit possessive of his kids, but he’s also a good father.

I’ve been slowly increasing my mileage and speed in anticipation of the Hood to Coast relay.  I’m a potential last minute substitute on a team of 12 that will race 199 miles from Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood to the Seaside, Oregon beach.  Each team member will run about 17 miles over the course of two days.  Since it ends the day before my 66th birthday, I will most likely get to run a portion of the relay, as several of the regulars are nursing injuries.  It will be something to cross off my bucket list. Today was my 3,125th consecutive day (8.556 years) of running at least one mile a day.  I’ve easily averaged 2.5 miles a day over this time frame, with my current daily mileage exceeding 3.25.  In total, I’ve “easily” run over 7,800 miles since I started my present streak, more than enough to get to New York City and back.  As part of preparation for this relay, I’ve concentrated on steeper inclines the past few weeks, as the Hood to Coast route will be extremely hilly.

There was an abundance of good sports on TV this morning.  The Cubs won their 6th straight, a first for this season, and the first time since 1935 that the team has won six consecutive games following the All Star break.  The 1935 team fell short, losing to the Detroit Tigers in the World Series, but managed to win a hundred games, a Cubs feat that wasn’t accomplished again until last year – 81 years later.  They also achieved a 21-game winning streak late in the 1935 season to clinch the pennant, tying the franchise record set in 1880 when they were the Chicago White Stockings.  This year’s team will need a similar run to return to the World Series.   Later in the day, I also watched the debut of Chicago White Sox prospect, Yoan Moncada.  (Post #157).  I participated in a charity drawing in a recent visit to Guaranteed Rate Stadium in Chicago, formerly Comiskey Park, and received an autographed baseball from this Cuban phenom.  I’ve been following his progress in the Minor Leagues, anxious for him to get the promotion that happened yesterday.   He wears #10 – the same number as my White Sox childhood hero, Sherm Lollar.  It seemed almost prophetic that I randomly selected his baseball from a “mystery” stack of current and prospective players.

I also watched the Tour de France this morning, reminding me of my high school and college days on a bicycle.  My friends and I would do 50 and 100 mile rides on our non-geared bicycles, navigating a very flat Indiana terrain.  It was Stage 17 of the Tour today, and the route was through the scenic Alps.  It was mesmerizing to watch them cruise at 60 miles an hour along narrow, winding mountain roads.  I held my breath in anticipation of a life-threatening accident over the steep drop.  We didn’t have those bicycling concerns back in Indiana.  The truly painful part was watching them ascend to the peak, knowing the muscle strain and conditioning necessary to get there.

After these summer bike marathons, thee next stage of my bicycling career came entirely by accident.    Before the movie Breaking Away, the Little 500 at Indiana University got limited attention.  I had never heard of the event when I transferred to Indiana in 1971.  It was my only connection with the fraternity, since I had pledged at another college, and saw this as an opportunity to make some new friendships.  A two-week trip to Florida to train sealed the deal, but I had no idea what I was getting into.  It’s now the largest collegiate intramural sporting event, and part of the “World’s Greatest College Weekend.”  It’s been going on for 66 years, with the women’s race celebrating 29 years.  The event started the year I was born, and was founded by the son of an Indianapolis 500 winner, hence many of the similarities, including 33 four-person teams and 500 laps.  The race was originally run on a cinder track, and I have the scars to prove it.  The fact that there were no gears to shift made it a grueling experience that led to embarrassing hemorrhoids instead of the winner’s circle.

I’m no longer an athlete and don’t even own a bicycle.  I’m just a retired guy who has faint aspirations of running another marathon, contributing to the Hood to Coast relay team, hitting a home run, and maybe even winning a bicycle race.  I now live vicariously through the accomplishments of others in the sporting world, imagining that I was better at sports than I actually was.  As they say, “the older you get – the better you were.”   Sherm Lollar #10 will forever be my baseball hero and Lance Armstrong once dominated my cycling dreams, but turned out to be a grave disappointment.   I was reminded of this poem, although it’s a repeat from Post #120.   Even though tomorrow’s another day of my routine life, I don’t want to relive any portion of it.  I’m truly satisfied with what I’ve accomplished and content in simply watching the Super Hero of tomorrow take shape.  Right…Yoan Moncada?

Super Hero

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The older you get,

The faster time goes.

Anyone who’s been there,

And done that…knows.

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Many a decision,

Is made on the spot.

You just have to know,

When to take your shot.

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Don’t hesitate,

Bask in the sun.

Take it in now,

Have some fun.

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From the moment you’re born,

Until your last day.

Don’t let “I can’t,”

Get in your way.

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Time will fly by,

Middle age will pass.

Make some memories,

Get off your ass.

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Cause when you get older,

You’ll start to reminisce.

And you’ll be sorry,

For chances you miss.

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Just go out and do it,

Grab the brass ring.

Then you’ll never regret,

Having missed a thing.

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Sometimes success,

But often you’ll fail.

And you’ll try to recall,

Every detail.

.

But if you miss out,

It won’t really matter.

Your memory fades,

As you grow fatter.

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The older you get,

The better you were.

Your flaws from the past,

Become a big blur.

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You were faster,

Sexier and stronger.

So Much Braver,

And lasted longer.

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A Bronze God

Our Super Hero.

When you really,

Were a big ZERO.

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So you stretch the truth,

Exaggerate a bit.

When you struck out,

It’s now a hit.

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The older you get,

The better you were.

You were the best,

You remember for sure.

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You made more money,

Drove fancier cars.

Where there was darkness,

You now see stars.

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You’ve seen the sights,

Even if not.

You don’t know it all,

But you know a lot.

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The older you get,

The better you were.

Did it happen like that?

You’re really not sure.

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And that’s the beauty,

Of growing old.

No one can counter,

White lies that you’ve told.

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Copyright May 2015 johnstonwrites.com