Before cancer weakened him, Fred could beat me at everything: golf, swimming, biking, or just plain walking. True, he was a champion diver in college while I was a couch-potato geek, but he was 30 years my senior. I like to think his superiority was due to his training and desire, although it was more likely a sad commentary on my own poor conditioning.
As he entered middle age Fred smoked, ate and drank all the wrong things, and internalized the stress of trying to keep his business alive. A “mild” heart attack was his epiphany. He started swimming laps in the community pool, took up golf, cut the fat from his diet, and sold his business. His physique hardened to that of a man half his age.
He took full advantage of his daughter’s decades of employment at Delta Airlines and traveled the world under a parent’s pass. He visited us two or three times a year. I accompanied him to the golf course, but made excuses not to go with him to his daily workout due to the embarrassment of not being able to keep up.
Fred would borrow our single-speed bicycle and take off for nearly three hours. He would cruise the path north to Coyote Point, disembarking to tour San Mateo’s marina and natural history museum. He encouraged me to join him, but I never did.
Yesterday, prompted by his memory, we left the confines of Foster City and biked to Coyote Point. It was much farther than my usual distance, but the miles passed easily because the breeze always seemed to be behind us. © 2004 Stephen Yuen
SFO is just north of Coyote Point.
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