It's amazing how life will make you change your mind on almost anything.

Case in point, the recent Ironman held in the Lake City. Actually, held right outside The Coeur d'Alene Press offices on Lakeside.

There I was, as I have been for the past seven years, working the weekends in the newsroom, as thousands of competitors ran past out in the street.

But its not the sight of the competitors I'm talking about. It's the accompanying sound.

Yes, on every given Sunday of Ironman, fans, family and supporters line each side of Lakeside, as well as the finish line on Sherman, armed with a metal device that they ring much to my chagrin.

Cowbells... cowbells, cowbells and more cowbells. For at least the first six hours of my shift.

The first couple of years I tried to ignore it. The incessant ringing permeates the building and is a constant reminder of the celebration outside on the street. Competitors suffer on one side of the barricade, while those on the other side shake, rattle and roll to inspire the runners as they chug eastward, visions of finish lines dancing in their heads.

I will have to say that I came close to despising the cowbell. Very close. But then, a funny thing happened.

I found myself in a bike race recently (yep, I'm one of those nuts that gets a few kicks by pedaling with other nuts), and a few people lining the course were encouraging us with cowbells. Boy, what a boost!

I got to the point that, every lap, I was relying on that cowbell to will me forward. Somehow, knowing someone wants you to succeed, to dig deep down and put out that extra effort, really works.

The sound slices through the wind and penetrates your eardrum and heightens your senses. And when the sound dies off into the distance, you can't wait to get back around and hear it again.

And this is only during a 45-minute bike race. I can't imagine what hundreds of cowbells ringing does for the morale of someone who has been swimming and biking most of the day.

As a tribute to the Saturday Night Live skit where Blue Oyster Cult is joined in the studio by Will Ferrell wielding a cowbell and Christopher Walken as the producer egging him on, here goes:

"Fellas, you want that cowbell! I gotta have more cowbell, baby!"

Now I'm starting to re-think where I stand on a lot of things. Maybe I'll even like the sound of a vuvuzela someday...

You can attempt to reach Jerry Hitchcock at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter at HitchTheWriter.