27 July 2012

Lochsa Lodge to Syringa ID 72 miles (TransAm 3,451)

TGIF. Loverboy got it right when they sang “everybody’s working for the weekend.” This is what I was humming to myself last night as my plane lifted off from Newark, New Jersey, about 30 minutes ahead of a fast-moving front of severe thunderstorms.  This meant a detour in our flight path, sending us up the coast to Vermont before turning west. I’m not complaining about going around those bruising dark clouds I could see through my exit row window (someone’s getting addicted to her poor man’s Business Class upgrades) but simply observing that for the amount of time it took to fly home, I could have headed east instead and arrived in London in time for the Opening Ceremonies. Heck, I could have even parachuted in with the Queen.

Despite my whirlwind-trip-to-Jersey fatigue, I’m thrilled for the start of the Summer Olympics. I love the Olympics. If I had been taller or faster or stronger or really, any kind of athlete at all, I would have set my sights on the Olympics. Instead, I was that nerdy kid who preferred sticking her face into a book over a pool. But all is not lost. I fully intend to participate in the Senior Olympics. I’ll be eligible sooner than one would think, which is, frankly, a little disturbing. I guess I (a) better pick an event and (b) start training. For now, though, I’ll sit my aging bum on the sofa and watch for pointers from the young ones.

Gina, with a few more years to prepare than I, could set her sights on the cycling road race event. I wonder if stopping at a bakery en-route would count against her overall time? Per her own account, I’d say she’s already in training:

My alarm went off at 6:15 and I could not figure out why there was no movement going on in the other tents, considering breakfast in the lodge opened at 7 am. I deflated my sleeping pad and realized I had not set my phone to Pacific Time, so it was only 5:15 am. Shoot! Went to the Ladies room, blew up my pad, and went back to bed for an hour.

(And later …)

Wendy and I stopped 7 miles from camp for berry pie and ice cream.

These reports on Gina’s day have all of the elements of one old enough to participate in the Senior Olympics: confusion, forgetfulness, rising before the sun, an age-weakened bladder, and ordering pie ala mode. I see a Gold medal in her future.