A recent issue of Sports Illustrated (Oct. 7, 2002) reports on some of the latest entries in the field of extreme sports. Extreme Ironing supposedly "combines the adrenaline buzz of surfing with the satisfaction of a well-pressed shirt." The accompanying photo shows a participant in high-tech gear atop a pinnacle with standing space the size of a hula hoop, ironing away as the dizzying landscape drops off on all sides.

For those less fussy about their clothes there is mountain bike bog-snorkeling, in which enthusiasts ride into a bog on lead-shot-weighted bicycles and use snorkels to preserve respiration as they circle a marker with their heads underwater before returning to land.

A third new sport involves chasing a rolling cheese down a hill and trying to catch it. Despite injuries to a number of contestants, one cheese chaser says "If you can’t get completely blotto and hurl yourself down a hill in pursuit of a Double Gloucester, what’s the point of living?"

As a lover of cheese, I have some sympathy with this contestant. Were cheese a wild animal that required pursuit and capture, I could conceivably end up racing down a hill after it and risking a crack on the crown for my efforts. But as there is plenty of subdued and shrink-wrapped cheese at the local grocery, I will save my energy for contemplating these extreme pursuits.

It intrigues me that people can put so much energy, creativity, athleticism, time, and risk of bodily injury toward something that most would consider to be patently absurd. Is this extreme irony? Presumably, that’s part of the motivation for participants: identity apart from the mass.

These are not people who shop at Wal-Mart and watch Rosie O’Donnell. And compared to the socially acceptable absurdity of working one’s way up the corporate ladder, living on the hill, and driving a Mercedes/Porsche/ Jaguar/Escalade, there’s something innocent, whimsical, engaging, and selfless, about throwing oneself after a tumbling cheddar.

These must be interesting people. Wouldn’t you rather spend a half hour with a passionate bog-snorkeler than with, say, a Raider’s football fan? (Note to my brother and other Raiders fan friends: I’m speaking of a Raider’s fan in the abstract, not you, with your many endearing qualities).

So I admire these "extremely extreme" athletes for their creativity in coming up with new pursuits, desire to participate, and absence of the trappings of professional sports. Perhaps these sports represent healthy recreation. Perhaps extreme ironing should be categorized with stamp collecting as an innocent pastime, a refreshing activity for those with sufficient leisure and inclination who want to push the envelope (sorry).

Truth be told, many of the rest of us have avocations that lead us to occasional absurdities. Confessing my own case, studying and performing "standards" from American popular songs has led to a fondness for "Mr. Sandman." But, I remind myself, there’s more to life than the thrilling harmonies of The Chordettes; there is a difference between a pastime and a purpose.

A book that describes some of the new extreme sports has an instructive title: 100 Things to Do Before You Die. This title admirably captures a potentially dangerous direction of these (and our own less dangerous) pursuits: the idea that there is no sufficient mega-purpose to life, so we must amuse ourselves as best we can in the time allotted. The title Sports Illustrated attached to the relevant report echoes this philosophy: "Chairmen of the Bored."

Surely we, as Christians, should never be among the bored, and not just because we share the usual (or extreme) amusements of our society. Instead, we ask God to teach us to number our days so that we may present to him a heart of wisdom, including a wise use of that most precious gift: time. May we have the creativity, energy, and sense of humor of these extreme sports enthusiasts, attached to a higher purpose.

And by the way, which of us is going to get started on writing 100 Things to Do after You Die?

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