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Here’s my confession: I’m a MAMIL.

Some of you may know what that means, but for those who don’t, please allow me to explain.

I am a middle-aged man in Lycra. One of those people who you see out on the road, pedaling a bike, pretending I’m faster than a three-toed sloth and wearing Spandex clothing that makes my teenage daughter cringe when I come walking down the stairs. We’re a common species around Â鶹ӰԺ. Not likely to be invited to parties.

But the fact that I’m a MAMIL is much less important than how I came to be one, which is what I wanted to share with you today.

In 2009, my job with CU was in the legal office, and I was one of the attorneys who represented the university in court. When I went to trial, it was all consuming. I didn’t eat very well, didn’t sleep very much, and didn’t take care of myself. And when I came out of a particularly long trial that spring, I was exhausted and ready to walk away from CU.

One of my college roommates, who was working at Children’s Hospital Colorado, reached out and said we needed to ride the , a three-day bike ride in Summit County. I hadn’t ridden a bike in more than a decade, but knew I needed something to get me moving, so I bought a bike and bike shorts. And off I rode . . . and it was no fun. I had to walk up portions of Vail Pass as thousands of riders passed me, but I finished, and I decided that I was going to get better.

Fast forward 12 years, and I’ve ridden 30,510 miles (but who’s counting?) and found something that helps me relieve the stress of work and life. I kept riding the Courage Classic and raised more than $50,000 for Children’s Hospital Colorado. Riding a bike has become part of my identity––I’m a husband, father, son, friend, colleague, lawyer, and a cyclist.

So, why am I telling you this? I imagine nothing is worse than listening to a middle-aged, Lycra-clad guy tell you about his exploits on a bike.

Just like when I was tired and burned out, so many of us are exhausted from this past semester. SRS had challenge, after challenge, after challenge put in front of us. And time and time again, you stepped up, found creative solutions, persevered, and made it possible for thousands of students to walk across a virtual stage to receive their diplomas. You changed lives for the better, and I will be eternally grateful for your commitment to CU and your devotion to the university’s mission.

We’re in a time of transition, both as a campus and a community. After more than a year of being separated, this summer will be a time when we’re reforging bonds with family members, friends and colleagues. Some of you never left the campus, and I’m so thankful for those who supported our students in a time of extra need. Some of you will be coming back to campus soon for the first time in a long time, and I believe that we have the potential to rebuild a sense of belonging together.

And just like how I found a way to recharge in 2009, it’s crucial that you find what gives you joy and grab it with both hands in the weeks ahead––otherwise we won’t be able to realize the potential to make the campus a better and more vibrant place in the fall. Please go for a hike, take your dog to the park, spend some time in your garden, read a James Patterson novel, or paint a landscape. Whatever gives you a sense of perspective and solace, I hope you take the time to do it.

I came to the campus just a few weeks before the pandemic, and I’ve spent countless hours on Zoom in the last 15 months. I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet many of you for the first time in the months ahead, look you in the eye, thank you for your service to CU, and begin planning for the next chapter in the CU story.

See you soon!

Pat