Moving forward while turning around

The TRX class that wasn't
I arrived on time to my first TRX class this morning and went downstairs to the "gym" where I thought it would be taught. A woman, who turned out to be a Zumba and spinning instructor, also showed up in the same place so I thought this must be the place. Only, there were no TRX straps hanging from the wall.
We bullshat for a half hour. Turns out she rode the JCC triathalon last year, which Aveen and I voluteered for, and she rode the same 50-mile MS tune up ride with Bill Hamilton last year that I did. Then, this instructor realized the TRX class was going on in the upstairs in the gym.
So we headed upstairs and finished out the class.

Things I learned off the bike.
• TRX is really hard. I don't know why I'm doing this except I want to do something different from spinning.
• If you really want to feel stupid, show up for your TRX course, get lost in the building where you are taking the course, sit around for a half an hour, then go to the course
• If you want to do the JCC Triathalon, the sign up is Sunday and it sells out in five hours. The woman I was bullshitting with did it for the first time last year and came in just 22 minutes off the leader, which is impressive.
• If you want to do a triathalon, practice swimming. So much for TRX

Steven P. Augart

Commonwealth School Class of '83

I want to take a moment to remember Steven Augart, Commonwealth School Class of 1983. He was in the class just ahead of me in high school. His death from a brain tumor this past week really shook me. His funeral is ongoing as I write this. We were not close in high school, but I remember him as a caring, passionate, zealous guy, someone who really stood out. One of his classmates responded to a Facebook appeal and pretty much summed up, with great elegance, the way I feel, except he was in the class above me and I never rode the bus with him.

Despite sharing a very small class, I didn't know Steven that well. I knew him intimately in a way-- the way that you can recognize somebody by glimpsing a lock of hair or the attitude of a chin or a hand through a crowd-- but I don't remember doing too much with him. I remember his lunch announcements, of course. We rode the bus together occasionally.

If you look at his yearbook picture, you notice two things. One, I did not have him sign it. That was stupid. Secondly, he's fixing a bike. I can't remember if we rode together up to Hancock, the headmaster's farm about 80 miles north of Commonwealth Avenue, 60 miles north of Lexington where we would ride to the twice-yearly all-school retreat.  I did it twice, and on my first long ride, and I cramped up pretty bad. I'm sure he rode once when I did. The shame of it, I only realized after he's gone that we shared a love of cycling at a young age. I know it seems trite, but I'll never share a ride with him.