It's Only a Number

So in exactly two weeks I'll be 42. Yep...42. Not 21, not 24, but 42. The last year has been spectacular in a lot of ways and a disaster in others. While it's great that my hand is healing extremely well after surgery, I've had to have a cortisone injection in my right foot and with all of the running I've been doing, my left knee is bugging the crap out of me. Not fun for sure but it appears to be part of this thing called life.

Anyway, this whole pending birthday thing started me thinking last night about one of the guys that I mountain bike with. Those of you that see me regularly have heard this story before but I'll tell it today for the masses. The story goes like this:

A couple of years back I was just really getting serious into adventure racing. I was riding and running at every opportunity I could find. The way that rides usually came together was that during the week, someone would send out a blast text message that said something like "Wheels down at the park and riding at 6....be there if you can." And that was it. A few texts would fly back and forth and a group would come together. Between Bob, Erika, Ross, Dina, Sebastian and a few other folks we almost always had someone to ride with. Sometimes we all made it, sometimes just a couple of people made it, and sometimes you just rode by yourself.

As time went by, we all got to know each other a bit. Husbands, wives, girlfriends, kids, jobs etc. All just a part of becoming friends. It didn't take much to figure out the following: Dina is the hardcore racer. Erika is hot on her heals. Bob can climb damn near anything. Ross had the most adventure racing experience and Sebastian was fast but crashed a lot. Still does actually.

So anyway the story goes like this. I send out a blast text one day and get a few responses. Come 6 o'clock, it's wheels down and Bob and I are the only two folks at the park for the ride. Sweet. Riding with Bob makes me a better rider because he pulls off some climbs and lines that in my mind just aren't possible only when I follow him, I can make it.

Now, as we're riding and talking I recall that Bob had mentioned a couple of daughters and a son. So I casually ask him if his kids go to O'Connor High School or are they going to UTSA. My logic was that I figured Bob was in his late 40's or early 50's which might put his kids in that age range. So Bob, gets kind of quiet and then says "My kids?....Shayne my son is 41...he's older than you are." Needless to say I was a little shocked. Bob had been kicking my ass on a mountain bike for well over a year and he has as son that's older than me? What's wrong with this picture?

So I casually ask..."Bob...just how old are you?" To which he says...."I just turned 60." Are you f***ing kidding me? Apparently not.

That little nugget of information set off about years worth of random outbursts. I'm sure people thought that I had Tourette's Syndrome when I would just blurt out "The man is 60!" If I heard someone less than 60 complaining about how they couldn't do something because they were too old, injured, tired, or fat, I'd tell the story above and let them know that my friend Bob was 60 and going strong. In fact, I told the story so much that I could ask my oldest daughter the following "How old is Bob?" to which she would reply..."The man is 60!"

I say all of this and write this little update today because while I may sometimes get caught up in the fact that I will soon be 42, my friend Bob turned 62 yesterday. The man is 62, still riding, still racing and still making me look bad on technical climbs. He's proof every time I see him on the trail or go for ride with him that your physical age, well, it's only a number. Happy Birthday Bob. I hope to be doing what you're doing when I'm 62. See you on the trail.