The Regular Cyclist

I like John Zielinski. I don't know him from Adam but I really like him. He petitioned the organizers of a major off-road bike race in Pennsylvania to create a new results division called "Regular Cyclists". It seems Mr. Zielinski had grown tired of competing against people willing to spend tens of thousands of dollars on slick bikes, spinning classes, heart-rate monitors, cycling jerseys in colors and patterns that would make golfers blush, power meters, specialty toe-clips for mountain biking and the like. He had trained hard for the event but knew that because he had chosen not to blow his budget on cycling he had a serious competitive disadvantage. Everybody could still race, but would the organizers allow "Regular Cyclists" to see their results measured only against one another?

Of course they said no. Why "of course"? Because people far enough into cycling to organize a big race probably cannot get their heads around the concept of the "Regular Cyclist".

At the start line of the last off-road cycling race I entered I felt much like Mr. Zielinski. By choice, I ride a 35 year-old hybrid (not really a mountain bike) with no toe-clips. When I saw all the gadgets and gizmos around me (cyclists are as bad as photographers when it comes to buying the Next Big Thing) I wondered how many minutes handicap I would be given in a fair race. (My favorite had to be the Camelback hydration system with a long tube running over the shoulder to the mouth. This for an itty-bitty twenty mile race.)

Don't get me wrong. It is a free country. People can spend their money as they see fit. And I have nothing but respect for people who train hard and intelligently. It's just that I train hard and (semi)-intelligently and it does not result in an accurate competitive outcome. It's one of the main reasons I don't race more. But if they create a Regular Cyclists division I'm there.

Meanwhile, this has made me re-evaluate how I spend my money in general. There is no better indicator of our actual value system than how we spend our money. I must admit I am not perfectly virtuous. With Christmas coming maybe I can change a few things around to better reflect my faith in Jesus and what I perceive to be his call on my life.

And if anybody gives me a garish cycling jersey for Christmas I will use it to scare away the squirrels from the bird feeders.

Ministerial conduct

Friday I must attend a mandatory workshop on sexual harassment. I know the topic matters tremendously. But I really don't want to go. I always resent command performances ("You WILL attend") and by the grace of God I have never misconducted myself sexually. When, many moons ago, our youth group had a future Miss Missouri in it and she wore a swimsuit on float trips down the Merrimack River I was not tempted. I have never responded to flirtations. I know the rules for when and where--and when and where NOT--to be with minors and members of the other sex. I love my wife, she loves me, and that's always been good enough for me.

But boy have I blown it in other ways. A couple of weeks ago I typed something unkind about another person on Facebook. On Facebook. What was I thinking? Now I am thinking that for some dark, obscure reason I wanted to put it out there on such a connected place. Maybe I'm not so virtuous after all.

Maybe what I need is more accountability on my misconduct "specialties". Maybe I need to be called out when I view another person with contempt. Maybe I need to be called out when I allow my competitive nature to propel me into running over others' feelings and needs. Maybe I need to be called out when I choose to read another article instead of reaching out to a parishioner on the telephone or in person.

Last week I posted a request that people treat their opponents in online debates respectfully. A person who has never met me (and misspelled my name) replied that people from my side in these debates started the mudslinging and we deserved whatever disrespect we got. (She phrased it quite a bit more bluntly but that was her gist.) I typed a scathing reply. It was a beaut. It laid her wide open. Don't mess with me when I'm in debate mode, baby, 'cause I'll grind your nose in the stench of defeat.

Thank God I stopped and thought about it for a few seconds before hitting "send".

How many times have I done to others what she did to me?

How about you?