Confession of a Transformed Hippie Ironman

Posted: May 14, 2015 in Lifestyle

When I first started this blog exactly four years and seven months ago I was a very different person.  In fact, my very first typed words within this blog were:

“I have a rather sensitive confession to make: I smoke pot.

There.  I said it.

I’m just not making the bid to be another serious triathlete here; I’m going for the quiet accolades of being the first hippie Ironman.  So put that in your aero bottle and smoke it.”


Like I said, I was a very  different guy back then (click HERE for the entire post).

Since this time, I’ve gone through many personal transformations, least of which was my giving up regular marijuana use of nearly two decades.  Now I’m a step-dad, fiancé, AND  an Ironman…albeit, not as the aforementioned version that I had originally envisioned.  I’m also a much more relaxed and less paranoid person to boot.  I also don’t eat nearly as many Little Debbie’s snack cakes pre-workout either.

Go figure.

At the time when I gave it up, it was more of a situational necessity (click HERE) than it was a any conscious decision on my part but, be that as it may, I was still considering the pros and cons of my pot usage long before the actual decision was ever made for me.  Regardless, less than six months after starting this blog journey, my quest to become the first ever “Hippie Ironman” died a spontaneous and tragic death; the end.

I succeeded in my Ironman quest, but I did it without the crutch of marijuana.

I’m not bitter about it at all as it was simply the right time to take that all important leap forward in my evolution of becoming a more responsible, disciplined and capable adult and triathlete. Shortly afterwards I met Kelly, adopted two very needy and emotionally damaged cats, moved in to be a part of this newly developing family which also includes my being partly responsibility for raising a very vibrant and engaged 7-year-old girl and, considering that my only responsibility prior that was in looking after and maintaining a cat and a mini-cactus that occupied my kitchen window sill, this was all a pretty significant step forward if I do say so (and I do). Pot just no longer factored into the equation that became my life.

It is what it is and that was that.

Sure I have some fond memories of my “indulged” past, but they’re just that: memories.  Reflections of a simpler time when I had few responsibilities other than making sure the cat was fed; the cactus was watered, eating, peeing, training…repeat.  Sometimes I look back on this period as the “Good ‘ol Days”, but I’d never actually want to go back there.  It was great at the time but time has definitely moved on.

So why am I dredging this all back up again now four years later you ask?  Well, this ultimate realization of my personal transformation towards pot use came crashing in on me only this past week as I was out on one of my bike rides.

It all happened innocently enough, and at no point did it include a back alley somewhere with a shifty guy sporting a trench coat, the fuzz, or a Little Debbie’s snack cake for that matter.  No, it was much less obvious than all that but it was no less profound.

There I was minding my own business riding down Nigh Rd. after looping around Fort Erie and heading home.  I know Nigh Rd. like the back of my hand and consider it to be the road most often traveled, given that I cycle and run this particular route several times a week.  It’s a long straight away back road about 8k long with a gradual incline at one end and more than a dozen scenic landscapes, manicured lawns and cool broken down barns along the roadside.

Typically, Nigh Rd. is the route I take back home again as part of my warm down, which was the exact purpose I was riding this route on this particular day.  However, on this day, as I was approaching the intersection at Bernard Rd., when another cyclist on a BMX bike came careening around the corner narrowly missing a car in the opposite lane and then myself as he veered back to my side of the road.  Forget for the moment that he was riding on the wrong side of the road (against traffic), not wearing a helmet or, clearly, not paying any real attention to where he was going, as he whipped past me with nary inches to spare I noticed a little baggie fall out of his knapsack and flutter to the ground.

My mental reaction was as second nature and instantaneous as, say, standing up and cheering when your’ favorite team scores a goal in overtime:


“Ground score!”

Within a nano-second I had executed a complete 360° turn and was pulling up to the accidentally discarded baggie.  As I inspected the baggie’s contents, yup, my initial thoughts were 100% right – it was weed – a big honkin’ bud of the sticky-icky.  I opened the baggie and inhaled a deep, delicious snootfull of its precious contents.

If I wasn’t already straddling my bike, I might have done this:

It was like winning the lottery; or so it should have felt anyway.

Except, it wasn’t…much to my own surprise.

No, suddenly, free marijuana literally raining down at my feet wasn’t quite as miraculous as it would have been a few years ago.

I guess I have no real desire to be this guy again:


This total complete and lack of enthusiasm for this gift of free chronic from the divine pot gods was a complete watershed moment for me.  Had it been a cheeseburger, I probably would have break-danced right then and there in the middle of the road, but as it was, I really didn’t care.  In fact, I even considered picking it up and sprinting after the stoned cyclist who was slowly weeble-wobbling his way down the road into the distance.  But then I figured, meh, giving him his weed back probably wasn’t going to get him home any safer and, hey, the next passer-by might appreciate the gift instead.  So I left it there.

Yup. I left a baggie of pot in the middle of the road.


That’s fucked up, right?

In my former life, I would have inevitably set a new land speed record while accomplishing a PB along the Bernard to Ridge Rd. segment on Strava in order to get home and smoke my heady nugget but, today, well, not so much.  Instead I went home and had an apple.


I guess my days of being a burnt out pothead are way behind me.  I think deep down I already knew that but, today, I know those days are truly long gone.  I simply can’t afford, nor do I want, to end up incapacitated somewhere giggling my ass off and babbling like a complete fucking retard into a bowl of Fritos.

Been there, done that.


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