I watched two amazing cycling races on TV yesterday – Strade Bianche women’s and men’s in Italy.  “White Roads” … as in gravel.

I love one of the riders – Puck Pieterse from the Netherlands.  She’s brimming with life, friendly and pretty.  If I had a daughter, I hope she’d be like Puck.

Near the end of the race, the riders climb an incredibly steep street – Via Santa Caterina.  Before I turned on the TV, I had this vision of Puck fighting for the lead on this slope.

Now I realize, one more time, that I create sporting heroes and I cheer them so loudly that it dominates my experience of the event.  Such as yesterday.

The truth was that Puck wasn’t near the lead.  Instead it was head-to-head between Demi Vollering and Anna van der Breggen.  Puck finished seventh, nearly two minutes down.

Thus morning I felt a lingering sadness that Puck wasn’t at the front.  How silly of me.  Wake up, Bruce.

***

All of this brings me back about twenty-five years.  My idol of the decade was Canadian golfer Mike Weir.  Just like with Puck, I had moments when my happiness rose and fell with the successes and failures of Mike.  So much for evolving, at least in my relationship to beloved athletes.

And now the sadness …

Jody and I were on vacation in Montreal, a vibrant international city.  On a Sunday, Mike was playing the last round of one of the biggest golf tournaments – the PGA Championship.

What did this immature Bruce do?  He insisted on staying in the hotel for hours and hours so he could watch a Canadian hit a little white ball over green lawns.  Arghh!  I was so unkind to my dear wife.

Obsessed

Oblivious to the needs of my beloved

I’m sorry, Jody

***

I have much to learn in this life