There comes a time in a man’s life when he must reckon with the possibility that with just a bit of effort, he could become an extreme athlete. Photo: Kellie O’Brien.
My husband has bought a bike.
I understand this is common behaviour in men of a certain age, and I suppose his age might make him a candidate.
A bog standard mid-life crisis is not his style, however.
Whether you’re picturing a bike that goes vroom or a bike that requires a lycra outfit, the one my husband has bought is neither of those.
He found it secondhand on Facebook Marketplace. Apparently it’s a custom.
It’s black, minimalist and has neither gears, nor brakes, nor bell.
Since he bought it just over a week ago he has begun to pursue his latest all-consuming passion – becoming a BMX pro.
I should have known when he got the chance to do some work with Nitro Circus it wouldn’t end there.
After 24 hours with a closer than front-row seat to men flying through the air on dirt bikes, BMXs and scooters, he came home filled with a new passion.
Getting a selfie with a paraplegic athlete, taking another to hospital with a broken leg and saving the missing teeth of a third did not tarnish this passion one jot.
So far, in addition to the bike purchase, this has resulted in numerous excursions to local skate parks.
Every park in a 15 km radius of our home is now subject to a complicated ranking system based on proximity, difficulty, size and number of small children he may inadvertently run down.
It has also resulted in a busted knee plus an unexpected (and short-lived) friendship with a teenager who encouraged him to drop into a half pipe.
Those things may or may not be related.
Despite knee-related setbacks, his enthusiasm for becoming an extreme athlete has not wavered.
He’s so evangelical about it he’s already roped a couple of his middle-aged mates into pedalling around skate parks on weekends with him.
“It’s soooooooo much better than skateboarding,” he enthuses to me.
I, along with the three skateboards, helmet and kneepads in our cupboard, am delighted to hear it.
I’m sure both of his reconstructed shoulders are also relieved he’s taken up a sport that doesn’t involve getting 10-plus metres of air (yet).
If I’m being truly honest with myself, I’m stoked the man has found a way to tucker himself out, like a rowdy puppy.
I’m not convinced a Nitro Circus cameo is in his future, but if that dream means I get unlimited quiet time to read my book on the weekend, dream on my love.
But please, don’t take any more advice from 17-year-olds you’ve just met.
They’ve got better knees than you.
