Getting Old

I've been visiting randonneuring sites, reading narratives by participants in the extreme events (you know: 10,000K in 24 hours), and feeling old. Some of their exploits are truly heroic.

Now that I'm old, I've slowed down and lowered my sights. I take it easy, enjoy the scenery, smell the flowers, never race. Now, if I'm going more than 200 miles in a day, I try not to average more than 25 mph, in part by using my 52/17 granny gear even when I don't really feel like babying myself.

Here in Michigan, we have lots of hills that are 10 miles (or more!) of 40% or so grade. Used to be, I'd stay in my 60/11 cruising gear and just power up. No more. Of course, on the downhills, I still hate to use my brakes, so I sometimes get going 70-80 mph. Don't tell my wife! ; )

Gone are the days when I could average 35 mph over a 350 mile stretch. No more racing (good naturedly, of course) with my pals, when we'd go 50 mph for 10 miles before collapsing with a chuckle and some good natured ribbing for the loser. (Of course, that was at the end of a long 500 mile day. When we were just doing sprints on a Saturday, we'd have some serious velocity.)

At the beginning of one of our big rides, I used to have for breakfast two pounds bacon, three dozen eggs, one coffee cake, and then I'd have something really awful: four kippered herring on a waffle. . . .

Now, I need to watch my waistline and try to keep my blood pressure from creeping above 80 over 30.

Growing old is hell.