I grew up playing team sports. My old man was a D1 football, basketball and lacrosse coach and as the youngest in a family of athletes, I competed in just about everything, chiseling down my high school and college sports to football, wrestling, and lacrosse. So, when I finished school and it was no longer convenient to join a team, a void presented itself and widened over time.
I graduated college on a Saturday in June and on the following Monday flew my Bontrager Race Lite, brother, and best bud to Oregon and we proceeded to ride home, dipping our fully-loaded and self-sufficient mountain bikes weighing about 70 lbs. a piece into the Pacific and then later into the Atlantic. After completing the trip in early August, I went for a 6-mile run with my sister who was a marathoner; it was a bit longer than I had ever run, but with my bike-legs under me, she talked me into training for a marathon. Several long races later, including a pair of IM triathlons, I was having difficulty staying tuned-in because most of my training was solo.
Meanwhile, two major injuries have impacted me (and a lot of minor injuries everyone knows well); the second one was a torn ACL that I cut wakeboarding at Deep Creek Lake. The typical ACL tear is a 17 year old female, so at 38 the prospects for doing anything cool again looked dim.
With dwindling motivation and a bum knee I got EH’d by my solid bud, Conflict. That kinship had been forged via dredging through life’s challenges, entering the Holy ground with Jesus and with His help go places we couldn’t go otherwise and thrive. I should add Klondike too and many others. Those guys pulled me in. It took a while but I found F3 and my team.
And this F3 team has a lexicon where there exists an F3 term, CSAUP, referring to a Completely Stupid And Utterly Pointless athletic endeavor that I translate to team sport. In addition, these activities offer opportunity to surface confidence. And I find that confidence in oneself is an important quality. Nothing is more obnoxious than arrogance, but a little swagger is a good thing. The guys I look up to among friends, at work and in life are usually confident guys. I used to have a lot of it. Like when I scored my Beauty, FIA Sprinter. She had the choice of a 6’ 7” medical student who played professional basketball, went to Bowden and set all the records (I shit you not) or me. Aye. Got the girl. Anyway, I think that confidence eroded a bit over time. Maybe life has a way of doing that; putting the nose to the grinding stone and providing is a good thing, but as a result I can isolate and that’s dangerous. Maybe nobody noticed except me. Anyway I have bitch-slapped that erosion and awoke that tiger inside of me largely through CSAUPs.
My first “team sport” was the Mud Run, then the Palmetto 200, then the Blue Ridge Relay and then the Kiawah Marathon, then the Harbison 50K, and most recently the Badwater Cape Fear. These events are locked down in my calendar and executed with F3 brothers. Dooley, JV, Turtle, Babydoc, Chapman (Chapter 11), Dew-Rant (Stoner), Leader (Lederhosen), Crablegs, Spook, Crawfish, Shorty (Shortsale), Potbelly (Porkbelly), Diopter and many others have suffered alongside me. These are friendships forged through a mutual understanding that this painful endeavor is good. The long workouts require Bootcamps and groups runs, i.e. regularly hanging out, for maintenance making these daily struggles doable, even fun, as I grow and learn. Truth is: I have been so deeply inspired by these men I cannot begin to put that into words except to say I am better as a husband, father, colleague and employer, stronger, more accountable, and more confident.
In short, I love my life, every detail including the tough ones. F3 has bested me, expanded my horizon, and given me back my groove. Enough said.
+Swinger