Recently, upon completion of a long ride, my husband paid me the compliment of the century.
"Your really putting the hammer down, Bron."
Among our cycling friends, Mike's nickname is Lance and it isn't because he has the same hair cut if you catch my drift. So if in fact Bron truly was "putting the hammer down," as Lance allegedly claimed, well that's just not a compliment to shake a stick at.
disclaimer: I do realize that ending a sentence with a preposition is a big NO-NO in the Lodato family but "at which to shake a stick" just doesn't SOUND good!
I've invented a little game I call 'cat and mouse' (yeah, thanks it's original). I start out on a ride about 10 minutes before Lance (the cat) and we see how long it takes him to catch up with me (the mouse). For some reason the fact that I know I've got a good little lead on him and that HE WILL eventually catch me actually makes me ride harder! Just that modicum of fear that the next time I peer over my shoulder, he very well may be barreling around the bend, legs pumping, a determined grin on his face--literally drives me to "put the hammer down, " if you will.
Seems, not unlike most three year olds I know, I like being chased.
It occurs to me too what a huge motivator fear is in life. I make a daily conscious practice of not making ANY DECISIONS based on fear and yet isn't fear a critical component of risk taking? What makes a risk a risk if not for the element of fear? Might there be a way to use our fear to positively motivate us instead of paralyze us? To help us "put the hammer down" when we really need to?
I'm starting to think about other areas of my life that could benefit from some "putting down of the hammer." For now, I'm gonna work on increasing the amount time before the cat catches the mouse. Makes for a good chase.
Bronwen
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My husband and I have a similar game; we call it "Catch Up and Mustard." I start early while he does whatever it is men do while standing next to their trucks at trailheads, and when he catches me, he shouts, "Catch up!" as he sails past (this game works on feet, skis, mountain bikes....you name it).
It then becomes my job to chase him down to shout, "Mustard!"
This has never happened.
Instead, I shuffle (or skin, or pedal) along, thinking about condiments, until I come upon a clearing where my husband is poised, ready to spring forward, still playing the game.
I've never had the heart to tell him I stopped playing miles back, but your post makes me think that rather than thinking about food, perhaps I should start playing the game....Thanks.
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