BALLS OUT

At this stage of my life -- and I guess old age is a stage -- I am so glad I've done all the things I've done in my life, especially the outdoor things.

I am so glad I skied and mountain biked and traveled and lived in NYC and went to a million art galleries and wrote poetry and novels and loved all the women I have loved and had all the friends I have had and helped raise a son and helped with my grandkids.

Because now I don't have many regrets. I do have a few, sure. You wouldn't be human if you didn't. Mostly I regret the beautiful women I let slip away and the places I haven't lived and traveled.

I'm sorry I haven't kayaked the rivers in South America and mountain biked those hills. I'm sorry I have not published a big novel, mostly to prove I could do it and to leave something behind.

Now, if I wanted to go rock climbing or mountain biking, today, it wouldn't be the same. When I first went mountain biking, I didn't feel like I was really doing it unless it was so steep or rocky or muddy that I had to carry my bike.

My old mountain biking buddy Jonathan and I were going to take our bikes to Asia and climb all the mountains we could find. I said to him one time, "If I die over there, just get some gasoline and set me on fire. Don't feel bad about it. Just figure I died doing what I loved."

I still feel that way. Life is for living. Balls out. (Pardon my French.) All the way. Pedal to the metal. That's the way to live. Otherwise, you haven't lived at all.

© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle