What are the Odds?

Betting on the beauty of underdogs and superfans, debutantes and dreamers; trying to survive Mt. Everest without ending up on the shark's plate. Pursuing dreams is risky business.

What are the odds? This used to be a casual, rhetorical question. For example, you see an old friend in an airport—in a city where neither of you live. You might slap your forehead in surprise and ask, “What are the odds of running into you here?” Or perhaps you fall asleep outdoors and get a pesky mosquito bite right in the middle of your belly button. What are the odds; am I right?

But more and more, it is no longer a rhetorical question. According to a study by Pew Research, even though only 8% of the United States population thinks betting on sports is a good idea, nearly 20% of Americans have placed a wager on a professional sporting event in the past 12 months. In 2018, the Supreme Court made it effectively legal in all 50 states, and a simple Google search for “bet on sports” returns a whopping half a trillion results in less than half a second. Checking the odds and placing your bet, at least in the sporting world, is big business.

I grew up a fan of professional sports on TV. Expressing an interest in watching ABC’s “Wide World of Sports” with my dad got me out of many a dreaded Sunday afternoon nap during my childhood. As an adult, though, I watch sports in spurts. Monday Night Football, week after bone-crushing week? Heavens no. The Superbowl? It depends on if I get invited to a party with good snacks. The NBA’s entire postseason, which lasts roughly three years each spring? Absolutely not. I just don’t care that much anymore. Montana, where I currently live, doesn’t even have any professional sports, unless you count rodeo.

But the Summer and Winter Olympics? Yes, to the nth degree—which I’m told is quite a lot. The World Baseball Classic? I love it. World Cup soccer? I usually catch quite a few matches if I can. It’s the multinational element for me—well, that and the underdog thing. I’m a sucker for an underdog. (It was even one of my favorite cartoons in the 70s.)

Underdog, one of my favorite cartoons as a child

This summer, I have watched a bit of the Women’s World Cup, but not because the USA was going for a three-peat. This year, my team was Zambia, the landlocked nation in Africa who made their World Cup debut—men’s or women’s teams—in July. My husband and I just returned from a few weeks there, visiting some extended family, and I was so excited to see Zambia’s Copper Queens on the world stage.

For me, though, it was never about them winning. Although they were good enough to qualify for the World Cup, Zambia’s Women’s National Team did not have nearly the support, the financial backing, the training, or the experience of the other more established and historically dominant teams in the tournament. They were a classic underdog with little hope of winning even one match. According to Caesars Sportsbook, the odds of Zambia winning this year’s FIFA Women’s World Cup tournament, translated out of betting terminology (+25000) and into straight percentages, was less than half of one percent. It would have been foolish to place a bet, even if I were a betting woman—which I’m not.

But betting is different than being a superfan, of course. I knew Zambia would likely not make it past the first few games, but that didn’t stop me from donning my bright orange and green Zambia jersey (thank you, eBay), and rooting for my team. Of course, all my cheering had to be done in silent mode, since the games were played in Australia and New Zealand at times when most people in every time zone in the United States, including my husband, were sleeping.

Silently cheering for Zambia’s Copper Queens in the middle of the night

(Can you see me all by myself on the sofa in our little one-bedroom apartment, headphones covering my ears as I watched my little laptop screen in the dark, waving my arms wildly and occasionally clapping one hand over my mouth? Yeah, good times.)

If you are going to make a decision based on the odds of success or failure, it seems like you would want the odds to be “ever in your favor”—or at least better than Zambia’s were at this year’s World Cup. However, in real-life, we often have illogical responses to the odds. We will sometimes hesitate when chances are good that nothing will go wrong, and then we move ahead when it’s obvious the odds are horribly against us.

My husband and I watched a documentary last week about a Danish man named Anders Hofman who set out to do something novel, something ridiculous, against all odds—literal or rhetorical. What he endeavored to attempt was crazy. There was a reason it had never been done before—it would be nearly impossible, both logistically and physically, and could put the very lives of both athlete and support team at serious risk. I still can’t believe anyone agreed to join his crew, let alone a whole team, devoting themselves to enabling him to try something this insane.

No one would have bet on this man accomplishing his goal—if it were all about going with the odds. He would have had a much easier time rolling several Yahtzees in a row than completing the task he designed for himself.

Growing up, Anders Hofman had always considered himself an athlete. He was quite good, above average even, but not particularly noteworthy. He wasn’t the biggest, the strongest, the fastest, or the most talented. But he was brave and willing to work hard. As a young adult who had still never achieved anything to prove the athletic greatness he so desired, he searched for a challenge wherein he could finally prove himself and come out at the top, once and for all. I will say the documentary does not present him as the most mentally stable or wise individual—which is likely a major considering factor in pursuing and ultimately achieving his goal.

Hofman was intrigued by full-length Ironman triathlons, as they are incredible displays of physical ability. An Ironman consists of a 2.4-mile open water swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, followed by a marathon run, 26.2 miles. The average finish time for a competitive Ironman is between ten and 14 hours, but Hofman had no interest in being average. He tried out the sport and studied what it would take to compete at an elite level—finishing the event in around eight hours or a little less. He didn’t think he had it in him, even with a couple years of dedicated training. When he realized he probably couldn’t be the fastest Ironman in an existing race, he set his sights instead on something no one else had ever done.

I have friends and family members who compete in the smaller versions of triathlons—events that only take 2-6 hours or so, and I cannot even imagine doing that. An actual Ironman is far beyond my comprehension—but it pales in comparison to what Anders Hofman set out to do.

In the end (spoiler alert), Anders completed what may very well be the slowest Ironman-style triathlon on record—at least by an elite athlete. He crossed the finish line in just under 72 hours, and both he and his entire crew survived the ordeal—but barely. Of course, Hofman’s triathlon was much faster than the slowest marathon race on record, an honor belonging to Japan’s Shiso Kanakuri, who started the marathon at the Olympics in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1912; then was reported missing on the course for more than five decades; and finally crossed the finish line 54 years, 246 days, 5 hours, 32 minutes, and 20.3 seconds later. But I digress. Anders Hofman may have been slow for an average Ironman, but he also had not run a typical Ironman. Anders Hofman ran what he termed an Iceman—the same 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26.2 mile run as an Ironman—but in the inhospitable and frozen wilds of Antarctica.

I recommend the film, Project Iceman. It is a story of challenging the limitations we believe exist and breaking them down, a bit at a time, until we have overcome them.

If you had asked me ten years ago if I thought we could retire early and set out for a life of nomadic travel, I would have laughed. Retire and travel? What are the odds? The challenges seemed insurmountable. First of all, my husband and I didn’t even enjoy being around each other that much, ten years ago—or even five years ago, to be honest. Why would we want to be together even more? Then there was the financial picture. In my mind, retirement was for those who had a way to support themselves without working, and long-term travel was only for the wealthy. Nope and nope. Not only could I not foresee us being able to retire early, I could barely foresee us ever retiring at all. I figured we would have to work until we were dead, or sometime shortly thereafter—and that would be an unlikely time to set out traveling.

But we believe now that God planted this crazy nomadic dream in us—both of us at the same time—much like in 2004 He planted in us an uncanny willingness to move away from the home, the church, the ministry, the jobs, the schools, and the dear friends we loved in Vancouver, Washington. We had a great life there and didn’t have any reason to leave or any particular place we wanted to go. But one day we literally both woke up ready to move on, just waiting for a push to tell us where to go. It was crazy and unexplainable. A few weeks later, my grandfather announced he would be selling his place in Montana. We just looked at each other and smiled. We were ready. Not surprisingly, our house in Vancouver, Washington sold before we even put it on the market. Instead of roadblocks, we hit one green light after another.

This was our Montana home when we first purchased it from my grandfather in 2004. We added on a bit over the years.

And now here we are, staring down the final stages of building our travel rig and hitting the road. Our home here in Montana and 95% of our belongings have been sold. We are embracing the prospect of a simple and relatively inexpensive lifestyle on the road, living in a 16x8 foot box on the back of our truck, finding free or cheap places to camp, using off-grid renewable resources, cooking our own food, and driving short distances between stops so we don’t spend much on fuel. It’s a surprisingly affordable lifestyle, when you really consider it—more affordable than the typical American lifestyle, at least.

What are the odds that we would have made it this far?

But of course, you have to engage in the risky activity to even activate the odds calculator, right? The odds of dying while climbing Mt. Everest are 1 in 100. One percent of the climbers who attempt the ascent don’t make it back down alive. But you have to climb Mt. Everest in order to be at risk of dying on Mt. Everest. You have to ride in an airplane to be in danger of crashing in one. (Incidentally, my grandmother eliminated this particular risk altogether by refusing to fly. “The Good Lord said ‘Lo, I am with you alway’,” she would drawl. “He didn’t say nothin’ about high.”)

You have to swim in the shark’s house to risk ending up on his plate. (Please enjoy one of my favorite videos, below. It is the origin of the reference to the shark’s house and ending up on the plate. And no, I am not entirely sure of what the “meat ministry” is that Sister Pooh is referring to.)

So, are dreams risky? Sure. Once you start pursuing them, the risk begins. You might not reach your goal at the level you had hoped for. You might not achieve your goal at all. We think about this all the time. Although we would like to think we are only months away from launching our nomadic travels, it’s possible it might not happen. Or, we might manage to hit the road only for a major catastrophe, in one form or another, to strike and end this dream prematurely. It could happen. But we are going to continue pushing forward—either until God brings us to a full and complete stop, or until God changes our dreams.

Andy and I pose with Walter, our trusty steed—and our Nomadic MidLife logo

What odds are you staring down, friend? Does it seem impossible? Are you, like Anders Hofman, willing to try anyway? Are you, like Shiso Kanakuri, willing to accept a far less spectacular finish than what you had hoped for—and maybe come back to it again later? Are you, like Zambia’s World Cup soccer team, willing to fall short of your goal, but still be pleased by the fact that you tried and gave it your best? I think that’s all we can do.

May the odds be ever in your favor. But if they’re not, may you get out there and doggedly pursue the dreams God has given you anyway. You just might be surprised.