Everyone says "goodbye" in different ways. Some choose to be alone with their thoughts, some need the comfort of others. Goodbyes have never been easy for me. Throughout my life I have repetitively chosen to handle it in two ways. The first way is to grasp, the second way is to put my blinders on and act like nothing is going on even though something is always lurking in the back of my mind--not unlike stuffing an over sized sleeping bag into a too small stuff sack, something will always end up oozing out.
Since I don't like showing my emotions around others, I will rarely choose to grasp. This behavior was shown much more in my youth, and only when I'm caught off guard will it creep up as an adult. Now, when loved ones move away or die, I often put my head down and force myself to act logically. The thing is, the emotions are still there, no matter how much I try to think them away or try to ride away from them on my bike (riding away from them is usually my chosen preference).
Today, after loosing yet another friend to lung cancer--the fourth in two years--I have already planned on riding away my sadness. Funny how this has now become a very conscious decision, or maybe its not so funny after all. I will ride both alone and with friends. I will ride out to see new baby goats--something which helped me get through another death last year (a part of me wonders if the goats were born now to help me since they were a total "oops" and are rarely born in the fall). I will ride at night because it's soothing, and I will drink beer and eat candy to celebrate living with friends.
I don't really know what to do or say to show others who were close to this person that I care. I feel bad I don't have the strength to properly mourn the loss with them--I'm just not good at it. The only things I could possibly do well are to think of our friend as I ride past prairies full of oaks and sandhill cranes, make lentil soup and share it with others and greet and pet every standard poodle I see along the way. My love goes out to you sweet woman, you will always be an inspiration.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
|Just before sunrise--the silver is all frost|
This morning brought me into the Van Morrison song "Into the Mystic". It was my last early Wednesday morning ride of the season due to the lengthening darkness and settling cold. I set out under a crisp, clear sky, surrounded by blackness with only a Turkish crescent moon and the big dipper to guide my way. I knew forty-five minutes to an hour would be without any natural light--something I always find to be so serene since there are no distractions. As I dropped into the first valley, the temps went quickly from 32 to around 25. Although I thought I may be overdressed up high, I quickly realized my feet could have used chemical warmers (I wouldn't feel my feet again until my shower--oh the agony).
Down low, in a valley always plagued by thick fog on summer mornings, I became amused it was somewhat fog free, or at least not a wall. Instead, where the fog doesn't normally shroud the rich, black earth, it hung so heavy, and froze mid air, and then finally collected all over me. My eyelashes grew an inch, any hair sticking out of my hat turned white and hoar frost collected on my tights, gloves and arms. I paused briefly to take a picture, inhaling the scent of burning wood--so sweet I could taste the remnants of sap as it collected and traveled through the ice crystals, finally landing in my nose.
I will admit, there were times I was quite nervous. I don't like being on roads when I can only see 100 feet in front of me for fear of getting hit. But there was something so surreal about this morning. Other than a few short moments after sunrise, the only way I could tell if I was climbing or descending was by the gear I was in and how much effort I had to put out. There was no way for me to tell where I was even though I've done this route hundreds of times. I felt like I was drifting between the inversion layers.
Although I am terribly sad to say goodbye to my early Wednesday rides, this was a beautiful send off until next Spring.
|Sunrise between inversion layers|
|This was the only stretch of road completely clear of fog post sunrise|
Thursday, October 16, 2014
I was raised by a bra burning, commune living, ex-hippie feminist. My mom fought damn hard in the 60's, 70's and 80's to make the world a better place for her daughter. She wasn't one of those crazy man haters, but she did believe women were treated differently purely because of our gender and she wasn't about to stand around and allow this treatment to continue for me as I grew up. She taught me at a very young age I could do and be anything I wanted. She never mentioned the obstacles I could or would have as a young woman, so I believed her. I never, not for one moment, doubted I could be president if I really wanted the job (oh, I never wanted that job by the way).
I have written before how when I first began group riding and racing, I was one of the few junior girls in the midwest. Although it had some challenges, it never really bothered me all that much. I showed up, I rode, I got my ass kicked frequently by the junior boys or senior women, I learned, I got stronger, and once in awhile I got the pleasure of schooling some of the boys. It was what it was and by no means was I scarred by it.
When I started personal training, twenty-two years ago, I was one of the only female personal trainers (even though I got my start at the YWCA), and the only women who lifted free weights in the gym were cops, fire fighters and body builders. It took at least five years, maybe closer to ten, for men to start asking me for a spot even though I could bench my own weight. It's not that they didn't want our presence in the gym, I think they just didn't want us to get hurt and they didn't know how to act around us. I wasn't angry with them for questioning me, I knew in time things would change.
As the years rolled by, and more and more women started lifting free weights, most of the guys I knew began to realize what we were capable of. We weren't these frail things who only wanted to lift 3lb weights, and much to many of the guys surprise at the YWCA, many of the women who lifted heavy were straight (a stereotype I had to fight for about ten years). I got asked to spot power lifters, got more guys requesting me as a personal trainer, and some of them even began asking me to give them cycling advice.
Finally, I got the courage to start leading group rides myself, teaching cycling workshops and ultimately I got my coaching license. I helped both men and women, young and old(er), improve their skills and discover how strong they could really be. I say "help" because I'm just a catalyst--all the people I've worked with have always had the internal strength...I just taught them how to tap into it.
A few years ago, I began to contemplate a big adventure. I had been following Team Rwanda and dreamt about how cool it would be to work with the group. I applied for an internship, got down to the final two applicants, and then they broke it to me they were out of funding and they couldn't take me on.
Fast forward to the present. A few weeks ago I began the application process for a paid position as a coach with the team. I have to say I wanted this pretty badly regardless of some of the concerns I had. If I got the job, I would work in Rwanda, Ethiopia and Eritrea, coaching mostly men, but some women, for one year. I would get to travel around Africa and possibly Europe while the team raced in large stage races. I would learn more in one year there than what I could learn here in ten. It would be unbelievably difficult, yet rewarding beyond words.
I filled out my questionnaire carefully, e-mailed my resume and waited. Prior to this I had several conversations with the logistics manager, Kimberly Coats, who has been with the team for five years and is now married to the head coach, Jock Boyer (first American to race in the Tour de France). Today, I heard back from Kimberly stating they couldn't and wouldn't hire a woman to coach the men for cultural reasons. At first I thought it was due to some being Muslim. Then, upon doing research, I discovered most are Roman Catholic or Protestant--so that couldn't be it. I racked my brain over this and then just decided to let it go. Yes, I was/am frustrated that a door was shut in my face because of my gender. Yes, I'm still a bit confused and dumbfounded. And yes, for one brief moment I thought what it would be like if I were a guy. But hell, I could chase my tail for hours about this and still not change a thing. The fact is that Team Rwanda just isn't ready yet--I will give it time and it will change.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
This is the real secret of life--to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.
|Each road leads to a new playground--this was the top of a roller coaster|
Not all who wander are lost. Well, uh, that wasn't my case yesterday. Okay, so I wasn't "lost" per se, but I did take a wrong turn on what was supposed to be about an 85 miler, and because I was a bit blitzed out by the beautiful landscape, I didn't realize it for about four miles. When I finally got back on track, I chose to take the hard way home--just because it was there. I'm not sure if I was fueled by sheer determination to complete my thirteenth century of the year or because I just had a wonderful lunch with a cycling friend, either way, it felt great being out in the crisp autumn air all day long.
So now that I have reached my stupid little goal, with the added miles of riding down to the Saris gala (Mark Maffitt--thanks for giving me my goal for next year!), it's time to play. No more of this numbers game, training, or subjecting myself to wind riding when I don't need to. Nope, it's time for pancake rides, halloween rides and all around shenanigans. Not that most of the other rides I did during the year didn't have serious elements of play, but there was always the word "training" looming over my head. Well, I am happy to say, I can set that mindset aside for a few months and just goof off (when I say this by no means do I mean I'll be stationary). Oh, it's also coming up on running season. The time of year when I can go out for an hour, without "gearing up" much, and get the same intensity as a three hour ride. You'll see me hobbling around like a broken woman for about two weeks, but then it will be "fun"...really it will be!
|More pancake rides please!|
What I really look forward to is more social rides. Rides to pubs/breweries, rides to breakfast, rides with others when it's -20 windchill and I need friends to drag my ass out of the house and hold me accountable. Yes, it's a shifting of seasons and a shifting of the mind. As they'd say in Cajun country, laissez les bon temps roulez!
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
We ran as if to meet the moon
|Blood moon just past full eclipse|
I woke this morning at 4:30am, even though I could have slept in a bit. You see Wednesdays are my "late start days" for work since I work doubles on Tuesdays. Throughout the spring and summer I tend to literally leap out of bed on these days, like a child on Christmas morning, because it means I get to do a pre-dawn ride--my favorite time of day to be on the bike. As the fall wears on, and the darkness and cold settle in, it becomes more and more difficult to pry myself out from under the heavy covers, and shove the cat off my legs, especially when it means I have to don multiple layers to head out on a ride.
This morning was an exception. I stumbled into the kitchen, cranked the hot water for my press pot, wiped at least enough sleep from my eyes so I could see, and stepped outside to witness the blood moon. The sky was so unbelievably clear I didn't know what to look at, the normally white blob turning red or the constellations twinkling everywhere. I was in awe, to say the least, and I couldn't wait to inhale my breakfast and get out on a ride heading West so as to keep my eyes on the changing sky.
|Now a winking eye|
I wanted to stay on that hill all morning, but since work was calling, a bit too loudly for my taste, I let my wheels carry me back down into the valley. The temperature dropped a good ten degrees, and as I looked at the grass on either side of the road, I noticed it shining a magnificent silver, recently kissed by frost. Where the grass had grown long, it lay flat as if a deer had bed down in it recently causing the silver to swirl in the now golden light.
|Sun coming up over the frost left from the night before|
Regardless of my feet and hands feeling a bit like blocks, I smiled my entire way into work, amazed by the magic this earth still holds.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run
Yesterday marked my twelfth century of the year--the most I've ever done in one season by far. Tomorrow should have marked my thirteenth making it a nice baker's dozen. Instead, I took the "easy" way out and high tailed it home, running from the wind.
|Laura...fierce like a lion|
A few days prior to rollout, I checked the forecast. Wind and cold. Yep, that figures. At that time, however, the wind, albeit a headwind, was only slated to be about 15mph. Not fun for nearly 100 miles, but doable. Then, the next day, they upped it to 20mph sustained with chances of rain and temps dropping into the 40's. Ooookkkaaayyy. I won't lie. My mind started doing that thing not unlike a dog chasing its tail. Could I do this with the remnants of a head cold and a hip issue that flares whenever I push for long periods into wind? I decided to try and go against what my brain was telling me.
Day of brought the forecasted winds even higher. 20-25 sustained with gusts to 30mph. The rain chances died down, but on our way back we'd be doing the same route with temps around 32 degrees (thankfully without the headwind this time). I was still determined to try it, knowing I could turn around any time I needed to, but at the same time I didn't want to let Laura down since she was hellbent on going the entire way.
Although we had a headwind the moment we rolled out, at 15-20 it didn't seem too bad. As the hours flew by, we were treated to magnificent colors, views of Blue Mound and sleepy driftless area towns. We were also treated to blasts of wind which humbled me greatly each time we hit anything remotely exposed. When we turned Southwest, south of Dodgeville, I was hoping we'd get a short reprieve for a 15 mile stretch we shouldn't have had much of an issue with. By this time, however, the winds had increased to strong gusts and the crosswind was making even my heavily loaded steel frame sway like a drunken sailor. When we did turn due West, on the top of a high ridge, I knew it was over for me. It felt like a brick wall and I was most likely climbing around 6 mph. At this rate I knew we wouldn't hit our destination until darkness fell, not something I was looking forward to at all.
Swear words flew from my mouth, something Laura couldn't hear since she was ahead of me, but I'm sure my friends in Madison got an earful. My hip and lower back started to seize from the constant push and it was all too easy to put one foot down and call it quits knowing we'd have to battle another 45 miles of this shit. Although I felt bad leaving Laura out there with my cue sheet, knowing I could continue if I had to, I also felt pretty damn good I'd be getting a tailwind soon--after I forced my way back through the crosswinds.
|pretty drifltess farm|
|almost to the top|
|Worth the climb!|
When I started heading due East, I thought YAY! this will be cake and I will barely have to pedal the entire way. Not so. As I have written about the wind in previous posts, it can be quite the trickster. For some odd reason, it swirled on the Military Ridge Trail, and for about 15 miles I felt I was still pushing into the wind. Finally, near Blue Mound, I got my reprieve. I dismounted the bike, stretched my back and hip, shoved food in my mouth and considered my options: do I a) keep heading home or b) climb Blue Mound in hopes of seeing some beautiful colors and vistas? Hills and vistas usually win the coin toss for me and this was no exception. Alright, I might have needed to redeem myself a bit too. So up, up, up I went--still hauling my panniers--hoping it would pay off. And oh, did it pay off. My time on the fire tower was brief due to the cold winds, but it was worth it.
I flew down the hill feeling refreshed and ready for more. The elusive tailwind finally decided to come to the party, and I picked up the pace. As I neared Mt.Horeb, I got greedy. The ego took over and I decided to lengthen the route home to make a century (I never would have thought about lengthening the ride if I had still been heading West and my mind quietly went to Laura, hoping she was doing alright out there). I'm not superstitious or religious, and I don't really believe in being "struck down", but I did wonder about this for a moment, since when I passed the turn around point for going directly home, it began to rain. A cold horizontal rain which quickly made me reconsider my grand idea. On top of that, I had somehow set aside the thought I'd have to go due West into the wind again to get home. So there I was, fueled by ego and not much else, wet and heading into a 25-30mph wind, creeping along I'm guessing around less than 10mph--most likely around 6mph. *This is when I should use the metric system so I don't look like such a wimp.
|My slow creeping allowed me to notice the frogs|
I got home, barely. I ate. Oh god how I ate. And I texted Laura asking her to call me when she arrived. Around 5:40 I got the text saying she got there but had to get a ride part way from her sister--something she didn't want to have to do. She could have made it, I know she could have, but it would have been in the dark and she would have missed dinner with her family.
I guess we all have our breaking points. Mine happened to come a bit earlier than I would have liked yesterday. Now I just have to plan what and when my lucky 13 will be before snow accumulates!