Smelling a Bigger Barn

Triathlons are the newest craze among the healthy and fit. Now that three-event endurance challenge has even trickled down to the younger set. Hence it came to be that over two Saturdays; once in Colorado and again in Minnesota, my wife and I found ourselves as support crew for several young enthusiastic triathletes. We were head cheerleaders as all five of our grandchildren who completed in triathlons this last month.

After forty plus years of running I have resigned myself to a treadmill at the gym and trail runs weather permitting. Mountain climbing in Palm Springs doesn’t count since I can pace myself there and fake looking out over the horizon if I need to take a break and catch my breath. So it was with more than a bit of envy and tremendous pride that I watched our grandkids blast through their events with a youthful enthusiasm and unwavering zeal that made even the placid volunteers look in wonder.

For me these triathlons represent not only an admiration of their physical endurance at a young age but more importantly an appreciation for my grandkids’ love of exercise and the great outdoors. Instead of preaching ‘less screen time’ both my kids are providing alternatives to the numbing brain-dead zombie rituals other children have with their hand-helds. They’re giving their kids, my grandchildren, a love of the sport and nature as well.

At the end of an ultramarathon (one hundred miles or more) veterans have a saying to describe the rush of adrenaline they feel coming into the home stretch. It’s called ‘smelling the barn.’ At both triathlons there were youngsters as young as four years old participating. Triathlons are no different than hundred milers for them…a little more variety but just as grueling…hence it should be called ‘smelling a larger barn.’

Competition runs deep in both the LaComb and the McMahon households. During the winter months, the Colorado kids have Black Diamonds for breakfast (defined as a very difficult ski slope based on length, width and gradient) and double-black diamonds for dessert. The Minnesota munchkins began doing triathlons last year as well as short races the last couple of years. Their parent’s theory: ‘Start them young with a plethora of outdoors activities and it will become a mindset and very natural to them for the rest of their lives.’

Maya, the eldest, already has two fourteeners (ascending a mountain over 14,000 feet in height) under her belt. The grandkids have been on soccer and gymnastics teams since they were younger than young. How many seven-year-olds play eighteen rounds of golf or go on a mile run with their mom?

To put it in perspective, the Colorado twins are seven and a half as is Brennan. Charlotte just turned five. Maya comes in as senior at ten years old. When I was their age I was just learning to climb aboard my fifty pound Huffy cruiser and maneuver that boat around the neighborhood. 

Perhaps it’s a generational thing. Brian and Melanie both ran races when they were youngsters and engaged in other sports. We’ve done some trail climbs in and around Palm Springs and now this third generation seems to be picking up the pace. I couldn’t be prouder.

Truth be told, I just have to keep up with those youngsters. There’s tradition to uphold and all that…right?

Smelling the Barn

 At the end of an ultramarathon (one hundred miles or more) veterans have a saying to describe the rush of adrenaline they feel coming in the home stretch. It’s called ‘smelling the barn.’ I smelt the barn a couple of weeks ago but it wasn’t at the end of an ultra or Iron Man or even a plain old marathon. It was a simple one mile knee-jarring, breathless jaunt…chasing after two fleet-footed grandchildren.

After forty plus years of running I had resigned myself to a treadmill at the gym and an occasional trail run. Mountain climbing in Palm Springs didn’t count because I can pace myself there and fake looking out over the horizon if I needed to take a break and catch my breath. My old addiction to running had been replaced by a new passion for writing.

Now I was doing a one mile fun run with Brennan and Charlotte and they were out-pacing me every step of the way. It wasn’t the barn I smelled but rather my own chagrin at not preparing enough to outlast those two mini-gazelles. It was over before it even began.

Contrary to our agreement at the beginning of the race that we were going to go easy on Papa, both Brennan and Charlotte decided that this was no different than a playground sprint. Their competitive spirit kicked in and we/they were off to the races.

Competition runs deep in both the LaComb and the McMahon households. During the winter months, the Colorado kids have Black Diamonds for breakfast (defined as a very difficult ski slope based on length, width and gradient) and double-black diamonds for dessert. Maya, the eldest, already has two fourteeners (ascending a mountain over 14,000 feet in height) under her belt. The kids have been doing triathlons for several years now and been on soccer and gymnastics teams since they were tiny.

The Minnesota munchkins have begun doing triathlons also as well as short races the last couple of years. To put it in perspective, the Colorado twins are six and a half as is Brennan. Charlotte is four and a half. Maya comes in as senior at nine years old. When I was their age I was just learning to climb aboard my fifty pound Huffy cruiser and maneuver that boat around the neighborhood. I never engaged in group sports and didn’t start running until I was twenty-one. What is this younger generation coming to?

It must be a generational thing. Brian and Melanie both ran races when they were youngsters and engaged in other sports. Now this third generation seems to be picking up the pace. I couldn’t be prouder.

Truth to told, I just have to keep up with those youngsters.

 

I recently shared with my kids a desire to attempt the C2C (Cactus to Clouds) mountain hike next spring. I invited them to come along with me. Both kids politely but firmly pointed out that it’s one of the toughest climbs in the continental United States according to Backpacker magazine. They didn’t say it but strongly hinted that it’s not for the faint of heart or weak of knees. They didn’t say no. They just didn’t encourage me to do it.

No matter, if I think I’m in shape I’ll attempt it after my birthday in March. If a four-year old can run a mile flat out, her grandfather can certainly slug it up a mountainside. At least that’s the carrot I put dangling out there. Now if my breath is deep enough and the knees hold out I just may have a chance.

There’s tradition to uphold and all that…right?

Two Monkeys Running Up My Arm

It was going to be a quick weekend jaunt to Denver to visit our son and his family…with grand grandma Charlotte in tow. It turned out to be a wonderful generational exchange of old world views and the modern family…with a lot of activities squeezed in between.

But first came my tattoo. I used to say that only marines and truck drivers got tattoos. Now I’ve joined that genre of outlaws. Fortunately, my tattoo isn’t permanent and was administered by Spencer, my high octane grandson. He calls the two monkeys running up arm, the Boo Brothers. I’m sure that’s from some cartoon television series that I’ve never heard of. But Spence and I both got them so we’re bonded for at least a week or longer…soap depending.

It was important that great grandma Charlotte have a good time. I think we succeeded on all fronts. As is always the case when we visit Denver, the list of activities and crafts seems endless and to a degree they are, only curtailed by the need to return home.
 

First came Maya’s fourth triathlon

Brian built the kids a back yard obstacle course this summer. What, a simple swing set wouldn’t suffice?

I’ve always said my grandchildren might all become theater majors. Maya seems headed in that direction. We attended her recital at the end of her summer acting class.

Reading is always a daily ritual whenever we’re in Denver…even great Grandma got into the action.

Game-playing can run the gamut from ‘Sequence for kids’ to ‘I spy’ to making sticker books.

Baking apple pies, making chocolate-covered pretzels, decorating door hangers and the list just keeps going on.

Ceramics capped off the last day in Denver.

It was a wild and wooly four days in the mile-high city and great Grandma Charlotte got to participate in a lot of activities that weren’t a part of her daily routine. I think she had a good time and the grandchildren loved to see her again. The generational differences didn’t really matter in the end. The kids were themselves and great Grandma has seen it all before anyway

Whether great Grandma Charlotte ever travels back to Colorado in the future is up to her. But this visit solidified in the kid’s minds a wonderful image of that gray haired lady who smiled a lot, read them many books but wouldn’t get a tattoo no matter how much they begged her. 

And I’ll let those monkeys continue to run up my arm until sun and showers gradually fade them away. The grandkids wouldn’t have it any other way.