The Rain or Shine Test

There is nothing like an outdoors event in the summer, as the sun warms our seasonally tinted skin and helps us forget about the awaiting winter. When we plan these events weeks, months or years ahead of time, we do so visualizing perfect weather. And for the first 11 years of the Steve O’Grady Open, that is exactly what we had. Perfect weather.

But not this year. 

This year we were cruising along with a record high number of sponsorships and raffle donations, bemoaning the fact that we had to close the tournament to some golfers because we sold out. Volunteer life was good, until one of my golfing Facebook friends posted an ominous note a week before: “looks wet Monday, augh”.

“Augh” was right, as I checked the 10-day forecast, which showed rain the day of our event. Huge rain. Flash flood producing rain. Potential golf tournament canceling rain.

And so the worry marathon began. Just as a watched pot never boils, watched weather never improves. In fact, it often gets worse. And although I realized there was not a darn thing I could do about it, my nervous system wouldn’t listen. By Tuesday, insomnia kicked in, prompting me to post blurry eyed 3 a.m. comments on Facebook like “We said rain or shine, right?!” and “Remember its for a good cause!” Wednesday, sleep comes in fitful intervals with nightmares of waterfalls, white water rafting and drowning peppered with talk radio in which every call is about storm preparation.

By Thursday, I’m so exhausted I fall asleep in my car during lunch with my sunroof open- wondering why Monday’s forecast can’t be as nice as today- and wake up 20 minutes later covered with tree residue while a guy with a camera stares at me through my passenger window, certain I’m now posted on some messed-up site called “random pictures of people sleeping”.

By Friday, I’ve developed a quivering tick in my left eye and wonder if my staff thinks I’m winking at them. Every email with the subject “golf” makes me sick to my stomach. Every missed call on my phone taunts me as no one leaves a message after they hear my fake chipper voice confirming “It’s on!”

I finally decide to take a weather worry day off, and not check again until Sunday night. But on Saturday an acquaintance sends a note that the weather seems to be changing, which prompts me to jump on weather.com and see that yes, it is indeed changing! In fact, the storm that had been previously spread out over several days is now centered directly over the golf tournament, indicted by a giant cloud/rain/thunder icon I’ve never seen on weather.com before that looks like the black cloud of evil hanging over Philadelphia in the final battle of Ghostbusters.

At this point, I become a human calculator doing the math on the losses that could potentially incur as the weather forecast worsens. It’s not much of a leap until I’m imagining a scenario where we not only don’t have a tournament, but we end up owing money- literally “in the hole”-  resulting in no scholarships, kids being denied a college education because they have no way to pay, which leads to high unemployment and economic ruin. Then I remember some of that stuff has happened already without my help, which only makes me feel worse.

If you expect me to wrap this up with a happy ending, you are right, but not because the weather changed. We still had rain. Heavy rain. Flood producing rain. But on tournament day, as the early morning minutes ticked by, golfers began to show up. Then more. And finally, we found ourselves with a nearly full tournament despite having to shorten it to nine holes. In fact, it was a record year for us, so go figure.

It’s now the Friday after our tournament, and reflecting back on the worry that eventually turned into WOW, I’m relieved to have it all behind me. As I prepare to volunteer at another outdoors event tonight, The Derby Street Mile, the forecast of widely scattered showers signals significantly less stress. Until a co-worker runs into my window-less office a few hours before the race with a handful of dripping ice cubes, and screams, “I just caught this falling out of the sky!”

“Awesome.” I respond, with a twitch of my left eye. Here we go again.

Learning to Ride a Bike....Again

Recently, I started riding my bike again. What was intended as cross training to supplement my running quickly turned into a trip down memory lane, as I realized how much biking has changed over the years. 

Back in the day, I rode a snazzy pink number with a huge white banana seat and streamers flowing off the handlebars. I sat straight up, supported by a high backrest better suited for a Harley, as my helmet-less head bopped along to the rhythmic sound of the clicker attached to my back tire, which announced to the neighborhood that I was out on a roll.

We barely used kickstands, as the parking method of choice was ‘ditch and run’, and our bikes easily withstood the punishment we put them through. Flats were rare as the tires were so fat they look like they were taken off a monster truck and we could ride over nails and glass with no worries. In fact, we’d often leave the imbedded object stuck in the tire for the extra click it delivered with each rotation.

There was no fear of theft, as everyone’s bike was easily identifiable thanks to thoughtful customization like baskets on the front, bright plastic piping on the spokes and customized license plates- also useful for identifying who had beaten you to the penny candy store.

Learning to ride was as simple as balancing without training wheels, as there were no gears or gimmicks; just pedal to ride, back pedal to brake. But even these basic skills would be perfected for hours on the basketball court where we would practice riding with no hands, popping a wheelie, riding while standing on your seat, balancing your friend on the handlebars, and seeing who could create the longest skid mark.

Parents didn’t plan their summer days around giving kids rides, as everything was biking distance. Each morning, I’d jump on my banana bike and ride my free flowing locks to the playground to meet the camp counselor who had all sorts of activities waiting for me, including creating such parental presents as gimp comb holders for dad and pot holders made out of fabric loops for mom. Often I’d wear my bathing suit in case I decided to take a plunge at Collins Cove or Dead Horse Beach, after which I’d jump back on my bike and blow dry myself as I cruised to my next stop.

But bike riding today is not nearly as carefree as it used to be.

Getting ready to ride can take longer than the ride itself, as I suit up with special shoes that fit the special lock-in pedals, padded bike shorts, gel gloves and a government approved safety helmet, appearing ready to compete in the Tour de Salem.

I glide along silently, my torso stretched out almost flat, precariously perched on a tiny seat that barely fits my butt cheeks, trying to figure out why I need 21 gears and two sets of brakes when I was perfectly happy with none. My fragile tires worry me, as I ride equipped with a flat tire changing kit, portable tire pump and cell phone.

Stopping to do an errand is a project, as ditch and run is not an option with a bike that cost you a month’s salary. So you not only need to find a bike rack for secure parking, you also need to remove your quick release front tire and lock it to the frame and back tire using a wire cutter resistant lock that weighs more than the bike itself.

But for all that has changed, some things remain the same. Cruising along, I remember how much of the city you can take in during a ride, exploring neighborhoods you’d never find by car or foot. And there is a peacefulness to biking that is very different from the punishing pounding of running.

But these pleasant thoughts are cut short when I spy a patch of thick mud in front of me and instinctively back pedal to brake as my front tire gets locked up in the gunk, wobbles sideways and ditches unexpectedly. The adult in me does a quick assessment of injury and comes up with only a skinned elbow and scraped knee, while the kid in me whispers underneath my government approved bicycle safety helmet “Awesome ditch…I’ve still got it!”