I like to think that I am a fairly virile fellow. My definition of toughness is a fairly rigid code, one involving pain, suffering, perseverance and a certain amount of deprivation (all immediately followed by some level of reward, for what is pain and suffering if not the slice of hell we must endure to experience Heaven?).

I digress. A friend of mine explained to me how he spent Friday night. He used words like "manly bonding" (draw your own conclusions), "high testosterone" and "guy stuff." Now, stuff like that normally makes me think that the man uttering these phrases feels highly inadequate or has father-figure issues. But this friend of mine is a longtime acquaintance and I trust that when he say he experienced all those buzz phrases in a single night of watching ultimate fighting, I have to believe him.

Not that I began questioning my masculinity, but as he and I were having that discussion, my wife and I were just moments away from entering the weekend's biggest movie. No, not "The Dark Knight," a film which every single member of my cross-country team saw at the midnight showing on opening night and has since seen at least one more time. The movie Callie and I were about to see was Mamma Mia.

It gets better. Not only did I not go to see Mamma Mia kicking and screaming, but I was the one getting all nervous that we might miss the start of the movie. Everyone has their guilty little pleasure, and mine is Mamma Mia. Seen it on stage several times, bought the CD (this is one CD that gets turned down to the lowest volume possible if I pull up to a stoplight with the windows rolled down), and was more than a little bummed that I couldn't see the previews in London when I was there last month.

Now, for the record: Meryl Streep was amazing in the lead role, bringing a certain heartfelt nuance to Winner Takes It All that actually made me weep. Now, having admitted I cried in the theater, let me add that I honestly don't think I'll ever make it to an ultimate fighting event in my whole lifetime. So where does that put my manliness? And why am I even bothering to raise the question? 

I don't know. But it seems that endurance athletes live by a different code. Having learned to endure our own form of suffering, it's just not as much fun watching other people endure it for us. And I think there's something liberating in that. Once you make that leap to setting your own standards about what is, and what is not, tough (or manly), you become just a little bit more secure about publicly admitting that the waterworks went off in a musical. Or maybe that's just me. But I know that running and swimming and biking are a regular affirmation of who I am and what I stand for, which makes it a little easier to resist peer pressure in the name of something so discomfiting as "manly bonding."

This is that Will Ferrell in Old School moment, where he's streaking and thinking everyone else is following, but in fact he's all alone. The rest of you feel the same as me... right? 

OK. OK. Maybe I'm just a wuss.

Who knows. I'm cool with that. 

Enjoy your Monday. Condolences to Greg Norman and Cadel Evans, with whom the hopes of all Australia plundered yesterday. And congrats to those amazing Angels for sweeping the Red Sox -- though a July sweep doesn't mean half as much as an October sweep.

Finally, I openly disparaged the Tour de France organizers for designing what appeared to be a very lame course for this year's Tour. However, not only has this become the most exciting Tour since 2004, but their decision to disallow time bonuses at the finish has made the competition for the yellow jersey a serious battle. My money's on CSC, but in my heart I'm pulling for Cadel Evans.

Keep Pushing... Always.