Erik, Brad and the wind. |
Every sport has this guy. He looks to be about a hundred yet
somehow manages to make you look like a complete novice while your jaw drops to
the floor in disbelief. Whether it’s a cyclist on an old steel bike with
panniers effortlessly blowing past you while you suck wind on a hard ascent or
the Grandpa that hits every fairway and green on the course to destroy you by
ten strokes, Old Man Strength is real. This phenomenon is especially prevalent
in sports where endurance and intelligence are rewarded.
I seem to see it every time I’m out for a weekend ride. How
can these old guys, more than double my age, just keep going and going while my
legs scream at me to stop pedaling? Maybe they’ve tuned out their pain
receptors the same as they can tune out a bunch of kids making too much racket
or a nagging spouse. Maybe the beer belly and sagging skin is perfect
insulation for the super-muscles they have hiding beneath the surface. Whatever
the answer is, it’s no less frustrating every time one of these guys leaves me
looking at his rear end as he rides away into the distance.
Isn’t everything supposed to be cyclical: The young boy
grows up emulating his Dad, then comes the day he can finally best him only for
his own son to overtake him when that fateful day comes? Why then am I finding
it so tough to hang on to Dad’s wheel? Sure he put in more training hours than
me but I’m young and full of vigor! Shouldn’t he be the one asking me to slow
down? Realizing I won’t play in the NHL like Dad was disappointing but discovering
he also has the rare genetic predisposition that is Old Man Strength might just
be too much.
Erik Marsh (Co-pilot & Son)
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