Matt, my indoor cycling instructor, wrote the names of that day’s winners in fluorescent orange marker on the mirrored wall of the steamy spin room at my gym. I watched the list go up as I toweled off and caught my breath: JOANNA, ERIC, BRAD, AMY…
EDWARD: CHAMPION, Sr. Div.
I felt myself sag. Someone slapped me on the back. “Nice ride.” But it didn’t feel nice. Senior Division? When did that happen?
Actually, a few years ago now, since the category starts at age 50, which meant I whipped a lot of people who were younger than me. Still, something about winning the senior division felt more like a booby prize.
Senior division? Really?
I’ve always been active but not necessarily very good at any particular sport. I was a versatile but mediocre ballplayer through Little League and Babe Ruth. I was too small to last long on my junior high football team and too short to play basketball. On the golf course I hit the ball far but erratically. I was a pretty good hockey goalie, a position I earned by default because I was such a lousy skater. I gave up skiing after breaking my leg. I had a wicked tennis serve but couldn’t return anything.
And now, finally, I was a champion. Of the senior division.
In the locker room I dressed slowly, pondering this sudden realization that I was definitely, positively no longer young. It said so in fluorescent orange marker. Compared to the top younger riders my numbers were nothing. Pretty soon I’d be joining the early bird special crowd and getting a senior discount on everything.
A twentysomething guy (about half my age) came over. “I always ride in the row behind you,” he said. I didn’t know if this was a good thing or not but I said thanks anyway.
The guy looked at me. He was pretty intense, pretty serious. And very athletic-looking.
“In the more advanced classes like Matt’s,” he continued, “there’s always a point where it gets so hard that I tell myself, ‘I am never, ever doing this again.’ And then I watch you. I keep coming back because one day I’m going to beat you.”
I tried to keep myself from laughing. “It won’t be long now,” I said as the guy walked off.
The first time I ever took an indoor cycling class way back in my thirties I almost died. I practically fell off the bike in exhaustion after five minutes. And I’m sure I said I was never ever going to do this again. But I have, practically every day of my life since. You could say I’m addicted but I like to think I’m dedicated. Probably it’s a little of both and a blessing either way.
I zipped up my gym bag and headed out, feeling a lot better about my win. Senior division… not so shabby after all. Just call me champ.
