The Hag SAG Wagon July 12, 2010
Four years ago when my husband turned fifty, he went through a string of athletic feats. He ran two marathons, four half marathons, and biked 10 bicycle events - one of which was a 200-mile in one day event from Logan, UT to Jackson Hole, WY. His plunge into "I'm a spring chicken" foray has slowed some lately but he loved it, found it stress relieving, got him out of the house...a lot. During that time I was home with the teenagers and the problems...a lot. So in order to "bond" he convinced me that I could participate by being the pick-up squad, the go-to girl....the SAG wagon which literally means 'support and gear'. Trailing along after my hubby being a cheerleader was fun at first...watching other SAG families cheer and tag along picking up the athletes. But I started to notice that the majority of these athletes in these coed events were men and the SAGs were their out-of-shape, hold-down-the- fort, kids crawling around the legs, female partners. And that is when it hit me. That was me. These men were off reliving their boyhoods and the women were taking care of everything so the men could be themselves. The SAG wagon driving role hit the wall for me two years ago when I was hospitalized for four days. My husband's three mountain pass bike-ride was a week after my discharge and I was still weak. My hubby had made plans earlier to give another guy a ride back courtesy of me. I asked him to make other plans and he said nothing out of his personal fear of rocking the boat and being disliked. So I ended up, in my weakness, driving 200 miles round trip to pick up my hub and his clueless friend who insisted I be sociable. That event was the end of my bonding. I told my husband he was on his own with his buddies and they had to 'support and gear' each other from now own. I needed to go be myself somewhere else.