WWJD?

Now stop what you're thinking. This is not a religious post. Although the individual I am referencing does seem to think he is godlike. I am referring to my husband, Jason. In my household we have a saying "What Would Jason Do?". This has saved my behind on more than one occasion. Like the time I nearly killed my mother-in-law on what was supposed to be a leisurely hike. In my defense, that steep unpaved path looked -- a lot -- like an extension of the trail. In that instance, I asked myself What Would Jason Do? and located park rangers who, after bringing in the paramedics, drove us back to our car at the trail head.

WWJD goes something like this: Why be miserable when you can be comfortable and happy. If you are camping in a downpour and water is leaking into your tent, ask yourself What Would Jason Do? The answer? Abandon your tent and get thee to a comfy B&B.

So yesterday when I found myself out of breath and exhausted on a mountain bike trail on Vancouver's North Shore (which as it turns out is used as a practice course for X-gamers) I asked myself, WWJD?

I had signed up for an afternoon of mountain biking with my colleagues. I wrongly assumed this would be an easy, gentle trip. I was about 20 minutes into the hour ride and realized I was done. So I thought, if Jason were here, he would turn back. Get himself out of this situation immediately. Although, let's be honest. Jason would never have signed up for this trip in the first place. But had he been there, he would have found the fastest way out of the situation.

So I enlisted one of my colleagues who was also straggling and we coaxed the guide -- you know the one who has to stay in back with the slow pokes -- to give us a short cut out of the woods. "Go back down the hill we just climbed. Then hang a right." he said. Sounded easy enough. So we went back down the hill. But upon turning right we immediately ran into a steep incline. "Dear, Lord," I thought. I suppose this is getting religious.

So this brings us to my other frequent saying, "There's no shame in walking." That stems from many an intoxicated July 4th canoe trip down the Russian River where walking the canoe has been preferred to rowing the canoe in rapid water. (And I did mean to say intoxicated not intoxicating). But back to my story. So we walked our bikes about 100 feet up the 90 degree incline. Okay maybe it was merely 45 degrees or 25 degrees but by God it was steep. Again with the Almighty reference, hmm.

And then a beautiful sight. Flat land. So, elated and with hope that the parking lot was near, we hopped on our bikes and rode. For like 25 feet, wence the 45 degree incline appeared once again. By this time the guide caught up to us as we were not to be out there on our own. There was at least another 100 feet or so of incline that had to be conquered. Our young guide did a good job of not appearing irritated by our huffing and puffing and frequent rest stops. And honestly, I was okay with the fact that I needed to take multiple breaks to get up that hill until two white haired ladies, probably in their late seventies, bi-passed us on foot up that steep hill as though they were out for a Sunday stroll. I did think about asking them to walk our bikes up for us but thought better of it.

We finally made it up the mountain back to flat land, where, to our guide's relief, we hopped back on our bikes and road to the parking lot. Upon arrival I declared that the last part was my favorite part of the ride. Again, our guide did his best to not show how lame he clearly thought I was. Our colleagues joined us a few minutes later. All complaining about that last steep hill and admitting that they, too, walked their bikes up the hill. Some were a bit confused how the slow pokes made it to the parking lot first. I think they were jealous. Especially the pregnant gal and the guy who threw out his back. Which brings me to my final family motto: "Work smarter, not harder."