Date: Oct. 19
Total mileage: 36.0
October mileage: 269.7
Temperature upon departure: 49
I'm really not a sports fan.
I'm fair-weather to the very extreme. Meaning: I have no clue about backstories or statistics or strategies or, sometimes, even the basic rules. I carry all of this eye-rolling apathy into random games where everything is on the line and everything matters and everything comes down to one heart-stopping moment.
I always get sucked into the drama.
I always have my heart broken.
It happened in 1996 when the Alta High School basketball dynasty dropped right out of the bottom.
It happened in 1997 when the Utah Jazz lost the last two games in the championship series, both of which came down to three or four points right at the very end, to the Chicago Bulls.
It happened to me in 1998 when the University of Utah clawed their way into the NCAA championship series only to lose to Kentucky.
After the late '90s, my interest in basketball mostly dried up. I was happy again, as apathetic as ever. Then I had to go and meet a person who talks continuously about baseball, even in January, and somehow dragged me into the forlorn world of the modern Mets fan.
So the Mets lost to the Cardinals in Game 7 of the NLCS. How does that affect my life? How does it change anything for me?
Exactly. So why did I sit there for three hours, fresh off a fairly hard bike ride and coping with a stress-induced 90-beats-per-minute heart rate?
Why did a literally, involuntarily, jump off the ground when Chavez leapt like 14 feet beyond the back wall to steal that home run away? Why did I sneer and become so incensed by that Cardinal guy with the stupid red soul patch hanging off his chin like a dead caterpillar? Why do I feel so sick inside? I could barely eat dinner.
I'm so confused. I don't even like baseball.
I think that's it for me. Destiny has given me the rare (or maybe not so rare) ability to be driven to emotional extremes by distant events but the wherewithal to choose apathy.
Sweet, stagnant apathy.