Tour de Life

For most of this month, I was among the few Americans who paid attention to the Tour de France. On Sunday, I watched the 100th tour speed to its colorful finish under the iconic Arc de Triomphe, the sprinters hammering their pedals with superhuman strength and balance to win the final stage while the overall winner coasted smoothly across the finish line with his hands on the shoulders of his teammates, the yellow jersey spread proudly across his narrow chest.

The Tour de France is never won on the final stage. There are no buzzer-beaters on the Champs-Elysees. This year, at Briton named Chris Froome won. He did it with a victory on Stage 8 on a relatively obscure day to a seldom-visited mountain called Ax-3 Domaines. He did not win the Tour on the final day or on the iconic, pressure-ridden climbs of famous mountains like Alpe d'Huez or Mont Ventoux. When he peddled his heart out in Stage 8, he didn't know he was winning the Tour de France; he just knew he was doing his best.

I like that because I think that's how life is. We don't count it a beautiful or successful life if someone hangs around and goes through the motions for eighty years and then literally throws up a Hail Mary just before they run out of time. Life is won or lost in the middle, in the day-to-day, on the weekdays, under the weight and pulse of breathing and working and loving and eating and cuddling for a few minutes before you tuck the kids in.

This year, like almost every other year, the final stage of the Tour de France was more of a parade than a race — a victory lap with lots of smiles and photos and handshakes and champagne and pats on the back. That's how I want to finish. I don't want my last years to be a race to make up for lost time. I want to put in the hard work now, to win in the millions of little peddle strokes that happen in the mundane and obscure, so I can finish my ride with peace and celebration.

I'm a cycling fan. Thanks to Lance and the rest of the dope-heads in the pro peloton, I sometimes feel like I'm the last one on the planet, but I still love the sport. And I think it still has something to teach us about teamwork, fair play, and life.