Like a high-speed waltz through a minefield of surprises, life often treats us to its own peculiar brand of… shall we say, “gifts.” And so it was this past, crisp Sunday morning at Boyd Lake State Park in Loveland, CO, as the sun stretched its arms and sleep was still the sensible choice for most mortals. But not for us, the intrepid members of the Speed Weasels. Yes, that’s right – the same guys that manage to clinch the coveted second place slot in our age groups or events in the Northshore Inline Marathon in Duluth, MN, every single year…we’re back. Hell. We’re practically professionals at this. Kind of.
Armed with determination and coned-out wheels that hummed with ambition, (or rusty bearings,) my trusty teammate Tone and I embarked on a 26.2-mile training quest – a journey that would rival Frodo’s but with a lot more Lycra and Spandex involved. The goal: to conquer the marathon distance before getting to Duluth in three weeks and, in the process, embrace life’s unexpected challenges. And by challenges, I mean we had to leap over not one, but two colossal, turdly obstacles that littered our pristine trail.
As we defied gravity (and our own sense of self-preservation) to hurdle over these, uh, unexpected milestones, it struck me that this experience was more than just an agility test. It was a metaphor – a stinky, unforgettable metaphor for the times life flings its less-than-rosy offerings our way. You know, those moments when you’re minding your own business, zooming down the path you’ve paved for yourself, and then splat, you’re confronted with a hefty dose of… well, crap. It’s times like these I like to be leading the pack…
In that moment, as I soared through the air in a graceful arc (or at least I like to think so), I realized that our ability to navigate these unsavory surprises was a testament to the resilience we’ve honed over years of skating, failing, and sometimes coming in second place – the first loser, as I affectionately call it. Tone was able to deftly avoid a date with the dastardly turd rails and I bet if there were a camera present, he’d have looked damned good doing it. F’in guy never takes a bad skate shot…
Back to the trail turds…I can’t help but admire the poetic absurdity of it all. Life, like skating, demands adaptability. It requires us to face challenges head-on, even when they smell… questionable.
So, as we roll our way towards the impending marathon in a mere three weeks, I find solace in the fact that if we can masterfully clear the path of life’s unexpected obstacles, we can certainly handle the race course and highway 61. It’s as if the universe is telling us, “You’ve got this, you conqueror of turds!”
As I crossed that make-believe finish line at Boyd Lake, skates still buzzing and heart alight with a mix of accomplishment and mild nausea (because, let’s be real, those turds weren’t just figurative), I couldn’t help but grin. Life’s a journey – a strange, unpredictable, often hilarious journey. And as long as I’m still out here, skating my heart out, I’ll gladly embrace whatever metaphorical turds it decides to toss my way.
Because, my friends, that’s the secret to being the first loser, and being a winner!! 26.2 miles, 15.7 avg.
First Loser 