I had a near-death experience today. And by that, I really mean on at least four occasions this morning, I was mentally kicking my own a$$ for not having life insurance and a will. And I was only thinking of those things when I wasn't combat breathing, trying to slow my heart rate to under 250 and making my eyesight come back to normal. I know I tasted blood, but since I'm certain all of the blood in my body was quickly moving toward my brain and vital organs, I knew that couldn't have been true.
The reason I was on death's door was because I voluntarily went for a "bike ride" with Rick, the husband of Heather's mom's club friend Christine. Rick, for the record, used to race BMX bikes and race mountain bikes. Why would a novice like myself jump on my bike and try to keep up with Rick in the unforgiving Arizona desert? Because Rick, like myself, is a dad who has allowed physical fitness fall by the wayside. And Rick, like myself, appears to not be in tip-top shape. I'm not bagging on anybody, but the truth is, parenthood sucks a lot out of a person, not the least of which is the motivation to keep oneself in peak physical condition. I'm not speaking for all parents, but you know the ones I'm talking about when you see them; and I am one of them. And I thought Rick was, too.
But the main reason I went to ride with Rick was because Rick told me he was "out of shape," and he didn't think he was anywhere near the condition he used to be in when he was riding competitively. I guess the biggest lessons I learned this morning, aside from the value of a good term life insurance policy, were these: 1) The term "out of shape" means different things to different people and, 2) Never judge a book by its cover. That second one is a cliche, of course, but damn if it isn't really good advice.
Here's how I know. Poor Rick, who I'm not sure took me seriously when I told him, "Yeah, I'm really out of shape, too," but now knows that I am a man of my word, had to stop and wait for me at least four times on a relatively short ride of about five miles (for the record, it felt like 4.5 miles uphill and .5 downhill). After about a mile, I was out of gas. And I knew Rick knew I was out of gas, but he was gracious enough to patiently chit chat with me (I wasn't very responsive, because air has to actually move out of the lungs through the voice box to speak; I nodded a lot) while I recovered.
Rick, who did not appear to be out of breath the entire ride, sat astride his bike and lightly chatted about life in general, while I had to dismount to keep from falling over, sit my tired butt on the trail and put my head between my knees to keep from losing consciousness. It was probably the closest one can be to having a heart attack without actually having one. It sucked, and I'm assuming actually having a heart attack sucks much worse. So, God, if you're listening, when my time is up, just do it with a bolt of lightning or spontaneous combustion, or something quick and unexpected like that. Thanks for listening.
Note: Rick, if you are reading this, no worries, bro, I'll gladly do it again next week when I can feel my legs again and my lungs are no longer having spasms. Just remind me to turn on my GPS this time, so you call in the helicopter ambulance directly to the spot where I am lying on my back and convulsing. Good times.
