About

To be taking on yet another project when I have so many unfinished ones that cry out for attention seems like something I might have done thirty or forty years ago and should have learned from the experience.  But here I am forging ahead anyway. Here I am, a family man, the oldest living man in my immediate clan which, I suppose makes me a patriarch of sorts.  I am an athlete. Actually Geezer Jock is more accurate.  I do not compete any more except to hammer up hills sometimes where I cycle the roads in the rolling country of eastern Pennsylvania sometimes with a mixed crowd of other geezers and younger riders who push the pace with embarassing ease. 

I ran a few marathons when I was in my mid forties and raced some “citizen” cycling events and later some USCF sanctioned races and Pennsylvania State Championships and a couple of triathlons with very modest and spotty distinction.  But mostly I trained and learned – actually discovered that the very act of running or the very act of cycling or of climbing a mountain trail on foot turned out to be, intrinsically the core of the experience. It was for me reliving the extravagant freedom that I found as a boy doing all the vigorous, physical, sporty things boys do.