Testing for gold

As I get older, it seems like life's testing moments have become less frequent. Gone are the days of worrying about school assignments. For the most part, the responsibilities of parenting are a thing of the past. And, certainly with retirement, there's no longer any need to please my employer on a daily basis.

I do realize there are challenges of a different nature that lie ahead, but — generally speaking — I pretty much feel like I'm coasting along on cruise control.

Despite my stress-free existence, which I truly relish, there's a particular demand I put myself through that pops up once a year. One that triggers much anxiety — a feeling I thought I'd left behind. This self-inflicted test has to do with my participation in the Maine Senior Games. Specifically, the 20-kilometer cycling road race.

I gladly admit the event is fun and I enjoy the competition. But as I've edged upward in my age bracket, lingering doubts seem to increase: I haven't trained hard enough. Surely, my speed has diminished. I'm bound to suffer a mechanical issue with my bicycle this time around. I'll bet some "youngster" in my group is going to blow my doors off. This doom and gloom is assuredly going to arrive this year; my luck must be running out.

But it didn't.

Prior to the race, I was aware there were five of us vying for medals in the 70-to-74 age category. During registration, each cyclist's age is temporarily tattooed on their right calf with a black Sharpie. Fair or not, it's one way to scope out your prey.

Right away — at the starting line — I noticed a 74-year-old competitor. I'm thinking, OK, where are the other three? Nearly halfway through the opening lap, I came upon two dudes setting a pace I felt comfortable joining in with. But the best part was discovering the numbers on their legs — 70 and 72. Thinking again, I decided I'm hanging with these two pedalers.

Ever the gentleman, I led out the first two trips around the 2.1-mile circular course. Because of a strong headwind, I chose to tuck in behind them to draft and to give my little legs a rest during lap three. For the next two laps, the three of us kind of danced around each other — trading places, no one willing to commit too much energy.

At the start of the sixth and final go-around, I found myself in the front. I didn't want to be there. Both of my rivals were crowding my back wheel, protecting themselves against the breeze. More thinking. Fine, I'll just maintain a steady cadence and hope for the best. At some point, I fully expected them to bid adieu and dash off to glory.

Rounding a curve, I spotted the finish line — about a quarter-mile away. I figured it was hammer time. I stood on my pedals, charging ahead until I thought my heart was going to burst through my chest. Surprisingly, I managed to keep my pair of chasers behind me.

Relieved that it was over, one question remained. Where did the fourth opponent finish — in front of me or back in the distance? I wouldn't find out until the awards ceremony. The names were called out one by one: a certificate for the number four spot, the bronze medal for third, and silver for second place. No mention yet of my name.

My wife, Vicky, and I looked at each other in amazement, finally realizing I'd captured the gold medal for the fourth straight year in my age group. Wow!

So, I got through another year and another one of life's tests. I can now rest easy — until the 2026 Maine Senior Games. Stay safe!

I'm definitely a Golden Oldie now.