August 25,2008
I just read the most amazing vulnerable, self-revealing post. It inspired me to actually start typing the story of what happened yesterday. If it sounds crazy then so be it. I’m determined not to live out of that place of fear anymore. Let me tell you, it is terrifying. Makes sense doesn’t it. So here’s the story.
It starts back on my birthday August 3. Eric, Deb, Dave and myself ride the North Country Trail. It is amazing, awe-inspiring. But above all, the one thing that keeps echoing in my heart is the red dragonfly. Amazingly enough Dave and I were actually riding together at one point in the day. This guy has super human vision. He can see rusty nails and razor blades on singletrack at speeds greater than 20mph. And guess what he does? He stops and picks them up. Well on this particular occasion the rusty nail was actually a blue racer. He pulled over and combed the grass looking for it. I jumped off my bike and joined him. I’m always up for snake hunting. So we are both bent over and all the sudden I look to my left and there, hovering near us as if to say, “Look at me!!!” is the most beautiful red dragonfly I have never seen. I say never because it’s the truth. I’ve never seen a red one. He has never seen one either. It was like a ruby with wings. To most people this is just another ordinary bug story but I have to tell you. This bug struck me dumb.
Further along the trail Dave stops to take some pictures in a clearing. He leans his bike up on a tree and as he’s taking a picture of it I blurt out “It’s as pretty as that red dragonfly we just saw.” or something close and just as corny (if you haven’t guessed, his bike is red). I couldn’t help it. The way he looked at me when I said that, how he was standing with the sun on his back, holding his camera and smiling; that moment is like a snap shot in my head.
So fast-forward to last week Tuesday. I’m thinking about that day and the race and how I don’t have a single picture except what is remaining in my skull. I start thinking about finding something that represents a red dragonfly so I can hide it in the woods at Lawless so Dave can find it with his super human vision. Like a toy or a magnet or whatever. Just something red dragonfly! So I say out loud, like my craziness sometimes prompts me to do “Lord please show me the dragonfly.”(I just added please because it looks better in print. My relationship with God is much less formal. Although I rarely forget to say thank you. Revise: I say thank you for the stuff I think is cool). I was hoping that He would pull it off before I got to the trail. I didn’t have time to look myself. I still had a bunch of stuff that I had to do before I would allow myself to go riding. As if God has nothing better to do in this world than orchestrate the appearance of red dragonfly paraphernalia in the path of an extremely immature, plotting and scheming 39 year old woman.
I fulfill my duties and I head out on the rode. Already ramping up internally to hit the trail. No dragonfly to leave for Dave. Oh well, Maybe next time right? I’ll keep my eyes peeled during the week and maybe I’ll have one for next Tues. He wasn’t going to the trail anyway. He was supposed to do a rode ride instead but it rained. The dragonfly that I await with great anticipation never crosses my path.
Sunday I meet Dave at Yankee. He is tired and sore because the bad ass did a century on his new girlfriend (Trek Madone is her name) the day before. After the first lap he’s talking about a stiff neck. Being the solution girl that I am I offer to rub it for him. He says he doesn’t think it will help. “Okay then if you really don’t want me too…” At this point he concedes and I of course start to rub his neck and shoulders. I’m hurting him at first primarily because he is so tense and sore. Plus I am nervous. It’s been so long since I’ve really touched another human being I’ve almost forgotten how. I am happy to report that it is “Just like riding a bike”. Doug, this guy I ride with occasionally on Wednesday night’s rides up. I suppose I looked like a kid in a candy store because he gives me that grin. Mack is ready and it’s time to ride again. I reluctantly remove my hands from Double D’s just starting to loosen up body and we get on our bikes.
On the second lap Mack is having technical difficulties, which causes Dave to hang back a bit. We’re talking. He tells me about this owl that he saw on his first lap. He wants to show me. He’s trying to remember exactly where he was when he spotted it. He unclips as he is looking. When he thinks he has found the spot he tries to clip back in. But he’s not really focused on what he is doing. He’s looking up and around for the owl. Whack! Pedal on shin. This hurts. I of course ask if he is all right as his face turns as red as his bike. Why do people do that any way? It’s obvious the guy is in a measure of pain and I say, “Are you okay?”
No response. He’s bent over holding his leg, moving around trying to let go of the pain. He stands up and threatens to throw his bike into the woods. I tell him not to do that. Then he says the funniest thing I have heard come out of his mouth yet. “ I hope a hunter comes and poaches that owls ass and makes a mantel piece or book ends out of him!” I can no longer hold my composure. I am gut laughing at him now. I try to explain that although I don’t think it’s funny that he got hurt I do find the blame shifting hilarious. I mean we have no idea if the owl was even there right? So he’s bleeding a bit. It’s not a real ride unless you bleed. No major damage detected. I chuckle all the way back to the car.
Riding has come to an end once again. This is the part of a ride that I hate. It’s difficult to transition. Bikes are put away. I’ve cleaned up as much as I possibly can. Mack left. Dave is sitting in the passenger seat of his car with the door open. He looks up at me and says, “Thanks for the neck rub. It helped a lot”. I of course am not only a solution girl but an opportunist as well. Perhaps I can make up for laughing at him and get to touch him at the same time. I offer to rub his back some more. He doesn’t hesitate to let me this time. I’m relieved at this. I mean he’s kind of an ambiguous guy. I have no idea if he’s even interested in me in the least. All I know is that we ride together and he makes me laugh.
Imagine if you will, he’s standing up with the front of his body against the car. My kid in a candy store hands are all over him. My body slightly pressed up against his as I’m rubbing his neck and back. We are talking about intuition and de ja vue. How we both seem to have this kind of “stuff” happen to us. I’m relieved once again. I mean those kinds of things can freak me right out. It is almost an expected thing, it is so frequent any more, but I don't think I will ever “get used” to it. It can kind of make you question your sanity. Back to talking. We’re talking. I’m rubbing. All the while in the back of my mind I’m bummed that I didn’t find a dragonfly. I tell him how I have to be careful what I think about because it seems like whatever I ponder on too long sometimes gets drawn toward me. Crazy I know but listen to this. I here this buzz. I turn to look and perched on a branch just behind us is a red dragonfly. As if to say “Here I am! Look at me!” It’s not quite as mature as the one we saw on my birthday. The more mature they are the more vibrant the color but it is a lovely red dragonfly just the same. We stop and look at it for a moment. Being the ambiguous guy that he is I can’t tell if it struck him funny or not. But as for myself my eyes are beholding a miracle. An answer to a prayer uttered days ago. I don’t tell him that I asked God to show me the dragonfly, because I’m afraid he’ll think I’m nuts. I don’t tell him that I was willing to accept something counterfeit. A simple token of a beautiful memory. I don’t tell him that God produced the real thing. Right there while we were together.
It’s made me reflect on all the times in my life I’ve wanted something but I was never willing to hold out long enough. The need to gratify myself always won out and I would get what I thought I wanted only to find out it wasn’t real or remotely close to what my heart really desired. Counterfeit. Like my last relationship. Like all my relationships if I’m really honest with my self. My ex and I broke up almost a year ago. Three days after I received an unflattering MRI report he let me go. This is an example of one of those things I didn’t say thank you for. At the time anyway. Why is it that I can only see God in my rear view mirror? We were together for almost two years. After the first seven months of the relationship I knew in my gut that it wasn’t going to work. I spent the remainder of the time trying to rearrange my self internally, and him externally so I could accept something I didn’t really want. Makes sense Huh? I was miserable.
I sit here today grateful for the pain. It brought with it this idea that God wants the best for me. Real dragonflies. Nothing counterfeit. And I fall in love with Him all over again.
Oh, I almost forgot. I have this little book about the symbolism of nature and animals. Dragonflies symbolize the power of light. I looked up the owl just for kicks. There’s a paragraph in there about the significance of the owl’s neck and it’s flexibility. It says if your neck is sore then you are hindering your perceptions in a major way and neck message is beneficial for any one working with owl totems. I almost soiled my pants when I read that.
Dave? The owl says if you let me rub your neck then it will set you straight on a few skewed views! Maybe the dragonfly will join the party and shed some light!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The warmth of a Lover
It’s 3:00 am. I had a few good nights sleep but it’s back to this again.
It was one of those days yesterday. Upon contemplating my state of mind I determined that part of my discontentment is due to the fact that I have exposed my self to you people. Most of whom I will never meet.
Since I started posting my thoughts a few people have told me that I should continue to tell my story. Possibly even get something published. I usually let these kinds of comments go through one ear and out the other, (Like the ones people made about racing!) I don’t know if this kind of thing happens to you but there comes a point where you can no longer deny these nudges. As if God himself is speaking to you in little clips and phrases.
It started with a few of my friends telling me I should write. My response being “I am.” “No really, like getting stuff published.” Then I showed a couple of my posts to Nancy. “You need to keep journaling. There’s something about the way you write” People responded to my post in the same way. That’s what I love about the MMBA. People respond. The give feed back. They relate. Awesome.
So I go to work yesterday and I’m contemplating the impossibility of my life right now. The red tape I have to navigate to get the funding to go to school. Wanting to be a PTA but can’t wrap my mind around 2+ years of school. Adaptive equipment, the next poem or essay I’m going to write. How I have no business on a keyboard writing anything. I can hardly speak my native tongue; much less write it. I don’t know all the rules. My spelling and grammar are atrocious. So I ask Anna to hand me some magazines. I brought in a stack of them the other day. I needed a distraction from the thoughts attacking my gray matter. Wouldn’t you know it. She brings over a small stack. On the cover of the top one in bold print it says, ”Tell your story. A top novelist shows you how.”
Does this kind of thing ever happen to you? These moments of serendipity? It’s funny because there was another article in the very same magazine about this very same thing. How things ‘fall’ into place when we are living out of our truest selves. Hocus-pocus if you ask me but I simply can’t deny it’s happening. It happened the other day when I was writing a post. I’m at my computer. Snot rockets are flying. I’m wiping away the tears from my cheeks trying to lookup the definition of the word immense. My thumbs pick a random spot on the edge of the pages and wham! There it is. Wasn’t even looking. One of those coincidences that give you the chills and you begin to feel like there are strings attached to your every movement. Sort of like dejavu, which I get frequently. But not quite.
This also happened the day I went to the school and talked to an enrollment advisor. I just went to talk, really. Check out the PTA program. I wasn’t going to enroll. Then I got that burning in my heart. 100% sure I was in the right place. You just know. I turned and looked at a stack of books on my advisors table as I sat twisting my fingers around each other and swinging my foot well into next week, and there I saw it. The Big Book. The chills. The warmth after. “Are you a friend of Bill’s?” I ask. She says yes. Damn it. Another click forward. I give her my last $20.00 with the application and I walk out knowing I’m in harmony with my “destiny”. Puke! I stop at the gas station and the people in line behind me are talking about, you guessed it. Physical therapy. I’m riding the wave on this.
Unfortunately this confidence never last and I feel the rug being pulled out. These moments of surety, this knowing eventually lead me into another dark corner which leads me into another moment of finding the path again which leads to another dark corner and the cycle goes on and on and on…. So for now I will continue to grope blindly in the dark at this thing. Like you do when you wake from a bad dream. Fingertips like heat-seeking missiles searching for the comfort of the one who lays by your side.
I’m not saying I’m supposed to be a physical therapy assistant. I am saying that I know I was supposed to be there in that office on that day. And every unwanted step I take in this direction seems to string together more and more “moments” of knowing I made the correct turn in the maze. The chills, the warmth after, like clearing a blind downhill corner on single track at warp speed. The relief that comes when you see that there is nothing in your path.
It was one of those days yesterday. Upon contemplating my state of mind I determined that part of my discontentment is due to the fact that I have exposed my self to you people. Most of whom I will never meet.
Since I started posting my thoughts a few people have told me that I should continue to tell my story. Possibly even get something published. I usually let these kinds of comments go through one ear and out the other, (Like the ones people made about racing!) I don’t know if this kind of thing happens to you but there comes a point where you can no longer deny these nudges. As if God himself is speaking to you in little clips and phrases.
It started with a few of my friends telling me I should write. My response being “I am.” “No really, like getting stuff published.” Then I showed a couple of my posts to Nancy. “You need to keep journaling. There’s something about the way you write” People responded to my post in the same way. That’s what I love about the MMBA. People respond. The give feed back. They relate. Awesome.
So I go to work yesterday and I’m contemplating the impossibility of my life right now. The red tape I have to navigate to get the funding to go to school. Wanting to be a PTA but can’t wrap my mind around 2+ years of school. Adaptive equipment, the next poem or essay I’m going to write. How I have no business on a keyboard writing anything. I can hardly speak my native tongue; much less write it. I don’t know all the rules. My spelling and grammar are atrocious. So I ask Anna to hand me some magazines. I brought in a stack of them the other day. I needed a distraction from the thoughts attacking my gray matter. Wouldn’t you know it. She brings over a small stack. On the cover of the top one in bold print it says, ”Tell your story. A top novelist shows you how.”
Does this kind of thing ever happen to you? These moments of serendipity? It’s funny because there was another article in the very same magazine about this very same thing. How things ‘fall’ into place when we are living out of our truest selves. Hocus-pocus if you ask me but I simply can’t deny it’s happening. It happened the other day when I was writing a post. I’m at my computer. Snot rockets are flying. I’m wiping away the tears from my cheeks trying to lookup the definition of the word immense. My thumbs pick a random spot on the edge of the pages and wham! There it is. Wasn’t even looking. One of those coincidences that give you the chills and you begin to feel like there are strings attached to your every movement. Sort of like dejavu, which I get frequently. But not quite.
This also happened the day I went to the school and talked to an enrollment advisor. I just went to talk, really. Check out the PTA program. I wasn’t going to enroll. Then I got that burning in my heart. 100% sure I was in the right place. You just know. I turned and looked at a stack of books on my advisors table as I sat twisting my fingers around each other and swinging my foot well into next week, and there I saw it. The Big Book. The chills. The warmth after. “Are you a friend of Bill’s?” I ask. She says yes. Damn it. Another click forward. I give her my last $20.00 with the application and I walk out knowing I’m in harmony with my “destiny”. Puke! I stop at the gas station and the people in line behind me are talking about, you guessed it. Physical therapy. I’m riding the wave on this.
Unfortunately this confidence never last and I feel the rug being pulled out. These moments of surety, this knowing eventually lead me into another dark corner which leads me into another moment of finding the path again which leads to another dark corner and the cycle goes on and on and on…. So for now I will continue to grope blindly in the dark at this thing. Like you do when you wake from a bad dream. Fingertips like heat-seeking missiles searching for the comfort of the one who lays by your side.
I’m not saying I’m supposed to be a physical therapy assistant. I am saying that I know I was supposed to be there in that office on that day. And every unwanted step I take in this direction seems to string together more and more “moments” of knowing I made the correct turn in the maze. The chills, the warmth after, like clearing a blind downhill corner on single track at warp speed. The relief that comes when you see that there is nothing in your path.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Wheel chair vs. Singletrack mind
Post race blues. Just not feeling right. Coming down from the emotional/adrenaline high of Sunday. The whole experience blissful and cathartic to say the least.
So I'm going through the motions. Doing the deal at work. Dialing numbers and asking for money. I'm talking at this lady named Brenda. I barf the script on her and ask if she would like to match her last gift of $5.00. She says this.."I have ms and I'm having vertigo right now and my right arm is numb, but as soon as I'm feeling better I will send that in." In an instant I saw my future. My first impulse was to say "yeah, me too" but I couldn't make myself say it. There is part of me that is instantly repulsed when I hear people say they have it. Most days I can carry on and not focus on it too much. The way it affects me isn't so visible to the untrained eye. But today, if you looked close you could see that I choked back the tears for the rest of the shift, not able to shake the image that Brenda's words evoked in my mind.
This is exactly why my bike is so important to me . I was so depressed when I got home from work that I couldn't see anything good in the future. Nursing homes. Alone. Seriously, who would consider a relationship with someone who has this time bomb ticking inside of them? More like land minds releasing at random, wherever they choose, affecting whatever they want. I try to take the best possible care of myself. I have no vices anymore. So this is where the bike comes into play....
I know as soon as this ride is done and I've left these lies on the trail, life will be good again. I clip into those pedals and after a few miles I'm no longer diseased of mind and body. I drop that wheel chair after the first mile, covered in dust. It can't keep up with me. The fingers of fear lose their hold as the wind rips it from my back. The sun burns it up and my sweat repels it. The whistling from cutting through the air mutes Brenda's voice and all I can hear is my tread on the trail. With each turn of the crank it gets weaker as I get stronger. I'm pulling away from it now. Beating it to the finish. I am strong, I am able, and maybe even beautiful.
There are people who love me who at times have tried to sway me on the biking thing. Afraid I'll get hurt or, I'm sick so I shouldn't. To them I say this: Take away my bike and you take away my life. It is my friend, my doctor, my therapist and my professor. It is my act of worship. It is what keeps me here.
So I'm going through the motions. Doing the deal at work. Dialing numbers and asking for money. I'm talking at this lady named Brenda. I barf the script on her and ask if she would like to match her last gift of $5.00. She says this.."I have ms and I'm having vertigo right now and my right arm is numb, but as soon as I'm feeling better I will send that in." In an instant I saw my future. My first impulse was to say "yeah, me too" but I couldn't make myself say it. There is part of me that is instantly repulsed when I hear people say they have it. Most days I can carry on and not focus on it too much. The way it affects me isn't so visible to the untrained eye. But today, if you looked close you could see that I choked back the tears for the rest of the shift, not able to shake the image that Brenda's words evoked in my mind.
This is exactly why my bike is so important to me . I was so depressed when I got home from work that I couldn't see anything good in the future. Nursing homes. Alone. Seriously, who would consider a relationship with someone who has this time bomb ticking inside of them? More like land minds releasing at random, wherever they choose, affecting whatever they want. I try to take the best possible care of myself. I have no vices anymore. So this is where the bike comes into play....
I know as soon as this ride is done and I've left these lies on the trail, life will be good again. I clip into those pedals and after a few miles I'm no longer diseased of mind and body. I drop that wheel chair after the first mile, covered in dust. It can't keep up with me. The fingers of fear lose their hold as the wind rips it from my back. The sun burns it up and my sweat repels it. The whistling from cutting through the air mutes Brenda's voice and all I can hear is my tread on the trail. With each turn of the crank it gets weaker as I get stronger. I'm pulling away from it now. Beating it to the finish. I am strong, I am able, and maybe even beautiful.
There are people who love me who at times have tried to sway me on the biking thing. Afraid I'll get hurt or, I'm sick so I shouldn't. To them I say this: Take away my bike and you take away my life. It is my friend, my doctor, my therapist and my professor. It is my act of worship. It is what keeps me here.
Sticks and Stones
I've been delaying writing anything this morning. Sometimes I hate that I have to do this, but the lump in my throat won't go away unless I do. It's weird this blogging thing. The privacy of being exposed. Where I can just put myself out there and I don't have to see your reflexes to what I've written, and you can't see the state I'm in as I scramble around on this key board. These "keys" of my heart are most often soaked with tears as I write.
I was going through the papers on my desk this morning. Just trying to keep things tidy. Bills with past due balances, junk mail, lists,endless list of stuff and things. My brothers picture, my number plate and ....the bubble gum wrapper. I taped it to the back of my plate and put the date on it. I went to put it in this box I have where I put stuff like that and it made me think of the cedar,sassafras and quartz. They were sitting here when I wrote that last poem. I couldn't find them. anywhere...
It's funny, this box thing. Every now and again I go through it and pitch the very things I save to remember people or events. I usually do this when I'm sad or anry or just plain bored. When the world and it's people have pained me once again. The items inside become nothing more than just that. Chunks of the material that has made up my life. pain and indifference canceling out the value. How easy it has become to pitch them without a second thought. Kind of like when I used to smoke and it got down to the butt. Out the window it went. totally useless.
It was then that I had to sit down and write. I couldn't find my sticks and stones. I couldn't find the evidence. The compulsion to go run or ride was immense. I wanted to shove all that stuff in the box for what? so I can take it out later and toss it? like it means nothing?
That box has been kind of like my heart, I guess. keeping all the good stuff hidden from everyone. In a way I'm glad that I haven't found them, although I do hope they turn up. They would be doomed for future tossing if I had. I don't want to toss people away any more. So the number plate sits on my desk with the wrapper taped to the back, along with my first broken chain and I wonder...
How do you live outside of the box and still keep your apartment clean?
I was going through the papers on my desk this morning. Just trying to keep things tidy. Bills with past due balances, junk mail, lists,endless list of stuff and things. My brothers picture, my number plate and ....the bubble gum wrapper. I taped it to the back of my plate and put the date on it. I went to put it in this box I have where I put stuff like that and it made me think of the cedar,sassafras and quartz. They were sitting here when I wrote that last poem. I couldn't find them. anywhere...
It's funny, this box thing. Every now and again I go through it and pitch the very things I save to remember people or events. I usually do this when I'm sad or anry or just plain bored. When the world and it's people have pained me once again. The items inside become nothing more than just that. Chunks of the material that has made up my life. pain and indifference canceling out the value. How easy it has become to pitch them without a second thought. Kind of like when I used to smoke and it got down to the butt. Out the window it went. totally useless.
It was then that I had to sit down and write. I couldn't find my sticks and stones. I couldn't find the evidence. The compulsion to go run or ride was immense. I wanted to shove all that stuff in the box for what? so I can take it out later and toss it? like it means nothing?
That box has been kind of like my heart, I guess. keeping all the good stuff hidden from everyone. In a way I'm glad that I haven't found them, although I do hope they turn up. They would be doomed for future tossing if I had. I don't want to toss people away any more. So the number plate sits on my desk with the wrapper taped to the back, along with my first broken chain and I wonder...
How do you live outside of the box and still keep your apartment clean?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
First Losers Club
Monday, August 18, 2008
First Losers Club
Race day arrives. I head out to the Fort with my brothers picture on the dash.
One of the last conversations with my Coach consisted of him lashing me because I registered beginner instead of sport. But it's my first race?! "Wait until I tell you I told you so!" he says. So it's like that huh? He's one of "those" people. First on the agenda. Change registration!
It's a good thing I arrived early because I wouldn't have done that for fear of what my eyes beheld as I walked away from that table. People on tricked out bikes, wearing superfastbadass clothes. They were everywhere. I was surrounded.
So I decide that riding around nervously is in order while I wait for people I know to show up. My bike isn't right because my chain and rear cog aren't mated. I snapped the chain Thursday night on a group ride for the kids at T.M.I. (www.mibike.org ) Shameless plug. check it out! The tech for Breakaway looks at it. There's nothing I can do but pick a gear and stay there. Fabulous!
More nervous riding. My people appear. How foolish of me to think that having them there would alleviate some stress. "Your gonna do great, you're gonna smoke 'em!" and other stuff like that came out of their mouths. Pressure! What if I don't place? What if I don't even finish? What if I get puke in my bottom bracket before I even start? Then the Coach arrives.
We go down to the start to watch Ed take off and I start to feel a little more at ease, like this might be do-able. He asks me if I want to ride around the lot. We ride around a few times. He's talking, I'm listening stressing about my bike. He taps my shoulder. I look and there pinched between his index finger and thumb is, you guessed it…a piece of Bubble Yum bubble gum. Original flavor. I melt. Not because of the heat. Okay he's trying to make me cry. He's one of "those" people!
It's time. I'm at the start. Gum in mouth. He's whispering sweet race nothing's in my ear, and I'm off…..
I won't bore you with the race details but I will say this. The highlight of my day was having my Coach there at the beginning bringing a sense of calm. In the middle, shouting from the edge of the woods. At the end in the home stretch as I'm dying, riding along side of me encouraging, pushing, coaching. You have no idea how much you have impacted my life. Thank you.
Some things I learned on race day not necessarily in order of importance:
1) Mountain Bikers are the nicest people I've ever met.
2) it's the coolest feeling to pass people on tricked out bikes in superfastbadass clothes.
3) it's devastating to have them sling shot past you, you crash about a mile later and never see them again until you're on the 2nd place block at the awards ceremony. It's also an honor when they ask you to ride for their team.
4) Replace your cog with the chain no matter what they say.
5) I'm going to like single speed much better.
6) The people you meet on any given day may become part of your existence. Shaping and molding who you are.
7) What we do, those seemingly small decisions, things like bubble gum and letting people pass, profoundly affect those who come after us.
8) It's not about the bike you ride or the clothes you wear.
9) It's about what's in your heart…
I started race day reading my bible. I came across a verse in Ezekiel. It goes something like this….."Wherever the Spirit would go , they would go, and the wheels would rise along with them, because the Spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels."
Standing under that tent waiting for the awards I got all choked up. I had to step away on more than one occasion for fear that someone would see me tear up for no apparent reason. You see, occasionally I am seduced by the belief that I don't need anybody. Do you know what I mean? The lie that comes when you know it's going to hurt too much to care. Well, I realized something amidst the buzz under the tent. That we are in fact the Living Creatures. Wheels filled with the Spirit. Rising up among each other. . And I felt a part of something larger. Larger than the bike I ride, the clothes I wear or my circumstances on any given day. And I wondered if this is what it feels like to be home.
And last but not least…
10) I need you people.
First Losers Club
Race day arrives. I head out to the Fort with my brothers picture on the dash.
One of the last conversations with my Coach consisted of him lashing me because I registered beginner instead of sport. But it's my first race?! "Wait until I tell you I told you so!" he says. So it's like that huh? He's one of "those" people. First on the agenda. Change registration!
It's a good thing I arrived early because I wouldn't have done that for fear of what my eyes beheld as I walked away from that table. People on tricked out bikes, wearing superfastbadass clothes. They were everywhere. I was surrounded.
So I decide that riding around nervously is in order while I wait for people I know to show up. My bike isn't right because my chain and rear cog aren't mated. I snapped the chain Thursday night on a group ride for the kids at T.M.I. (www.mibike.org ) Shameless plug. check it out! The tech for Breakaway looks at it. There's nothing I can do but pick a gear and stay there. Fabulous!
More nervous riding. My people appear. How foolish of me to think that having them there would alleviate some stress. "Your gonna do great, you're gonna smoke 'em!" and other stuff like that came out of their mouths. Pressure! What if I don't place? What if I don't even finish? What if I get puke in my bottom bracket before I even start? Then the Coach arrives.
We go down to the start to watch Ed take off and I start to feel a little more at ease, like this might be do-able. He asks me if I want to ride around the lot. We ride around a few times. He's talking, I'm listening stressing about my bike. He taps my shoulder. I look and there pinched between his index finger and thumb is, you guessed it…a piece of Bubble Yum bubble gum. Original flavor. I melt. Not because of the heat. Okay he's trying to make me cry. He's one of "those" people!
It's time. I'm at the start. Gum in mouth. He's whispering sweet race nothing's in my ear, and I'm off…..
I won't bore you with the race details but I will say this. The highlight of my day was having my Coach there at the beginning bringing a sense of calm. In the middle, shouting from the edge of the woods. At the end in the home stretch as I'm dying, riding along side of me encouraging, pushing, coaching. You have no idea how much you have impacted my life. Thank you.
Some things I learned on race day not necessarily in order of importance:
1) Mountain Bikers are the nicest people I've ever met.
2) it's the coolest feeling to pass people on tricked out bikes in superfastbadass clothes.
3) it's devastating to have them sling shot past you, you crash about a mile later and never see them again until you're on the 2nd place block at the awards ceremony. It's also an honor when they ask you to ride for their team.
4) Replace your cog with the chain no matter what they say.
5) I'm going to like single speed much better.
6) The people you meet on any given day may become part of your existence. Shaping and molding who you are.
7) What we do, those seemingly small decisions, things like bubble gum and letting people pass, profoundly affect those who come after us.
8) It's not about the bike you ride or the clothes you wear.
9) It's about what's in your heart…
I started race day reading my bible. I came across a verse in Ezekiel. It goes something like this….."Wherever the Spirit would go , they would go, and the wheels would rise along with them, because the Spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels."
Standing under that tent waiting for the awards I got all choked up. I had to step away on more than one occasion for fear that someone would see me tear up for no apparent reason. You see, occasionally I am seduced by the belief that I don't need anybody. Do you know what I mean? The lie that comes when you know it's going to hurt too much to care. Well, I realized something amidst the buzz under the tent. That we are in fact the Living Creatures. Wheels filled with the Spirit. Rising up among each other. . And I felt a part of something larger. Larger than the bike I ride, the clothes I wear or my circumstances on any given day. And I wondered if this is what it feels like to be home.
And last but not least…
10) I need you people.
Coach
Friday, August 15, 2008
Coach
As I was driving down the road, going over the mental list of things to make sure I'm ready for the race this weekend, I'm taken back. Reflecting on my first childhood race.
My brother Marty teaching me to ride. Believing that I could do anything on that Huffy Cactus Flower. And let me tell you I could. As long as he was there. I launched that thing off a six foot dirt mound at the speed of light, all the way to the moon. Neighborhood boys would request a performance as they stood in disbelief at the fearlessness of....yes a girl! And there my brother would sit on his GT beaming with pride arms folded across his chest. Crooked little half smile.
I was going though a box of pictures recently and I came across one of him on his bike. Sitting on it. unconsciously one with the bike, even in stillness. Polishing the gooseneck. Loving his bike. If I had a scanner I would show it to you. You can tell just by looking at it that he has got it. That thing in him. Only another biker can see. . Sometimes you run across them that have this "thing". It's tangible. An aura around them that you can almost feel. The spirit they carry. Like the old pictures of the Saints with the halo's that denote enlightenment. Yeah that was him! The eyes that say "It's no secret. Just ride. You're chosen. You belong." That was my brother.
He was the only one who could have ever talked me into doing some of the things we did on those bikes. It didn't matter if it was jumping dirt, bombing down hills, laping the bmx track in our yard for hours, or blazing new trails in the woods on anything with pedals. If he told me I could do it then I could. He had that gift of encouragement. Those of you that have it please don't take it lightly.
He groomed me and tutored me. He was my coach...and the one who told me I was good enough to race. So thats what I did. Powder Puff all the way. I remember that first race like it was yesterday. I could hear him bragging me up to his friends. He handed me a piece of Bubble Yum just before our heat took off. He grabbed my shoulders and said "This will make you faster, you can do it. Your gonna win!" The gate dropped. My ears honed in on his voice cheering from the sidelines, coaching me all the way through. Past the pile of flesh and steel of the other two(yes, only two!)girls that crashed on the first burm . Over the table tops and whoop-dee do's. I could hear him cheering as I crossed the finish in first place. Let's just say that at that moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was proud to say that I was his little sister. After that day we could look each other in the eye and see that "thing" reflected to each other.
I wish I could say that those days carried on into our adulthood. But the story goes more like this. Marty took up four wheels with an engine instead of two with pedals. He died three months after his 16th birthday. Until recently part of me has been buried with him. I only rode when it was neccessary after that. From point A to point B.
Years later I ride again. I'm racing as well. I can hardly believe it. People have been telling me since last summer that I should. I would just say to myself "Whatever! those days are long gone." Eric told me that if I entered the lottery he would pay my Ice Man fee if i got picked. I entered thinking it was safe. I wouldn't get picked. I made the second round! I was seriously contemplating selling it and giving him back his money until a few weeks ago. Last month I met someone with that "thing" is his eye and that crooked smile. He told me at just the right moment in space and time that he thought I should race. In August! Gulp! Maybe it was that cocky grin, but I began to believe that perhaps he was right.
He got a road bike the other day and I was giving him crap about abandoning the trails. I've talked to so many people who get a road bike and they stop treading. His words were this. " I live to mountainbike. This is just another tool to improve that. It's life support." How profound. That it is, Double D! Life support!
This Sunday is more than just a race, and my mount, more than a bike. This is picking up where I left off so many years ago. This is life support. Climbing out of my brothers grave. That 14 yr old girl, built like a boy is riding . Her brothers voice and that crooked smile, seeing Her through to the finish. And so this is Mountain Biking..".the church of the rollng wheel"....
Where the dead are resurrected.
Coach
As I was driving down the road, going over the mental list of things to make sure I'm ready for the race this weekend, I'm taken back. Reflecting on my first childhood race.
My brother Marty teaching me to ride. Believing that I could do anything on that Huffy Cactus Flower. And let me tell you I could. As long as he was there. I launched that thing off a six foot dirt mound at the speed of light, all the way to the moon. Neighborhood boys would request a performance as they stood in disbelief at the fearlessness of....yes a girl! And there my brother would sit on his GT beaming with pride arms folded across his chest. Crooked little half smile.
I was going though a box of pictures recently and I came across one of him on his bike. Sitting on it. unconsciously one with the bike, even in stillness. Polishing the gooseneck. Loving his bike. If I had a scanner I would show it to you. You can tell just by looking at it that he has got it. That thing in him. Only another biker can see. . Sometimes you run across them that have this "thing". It's tangible. An aura around them that you can almost feel. The spirit they carry. Like the old pictures of the Saints with the halo's that denote enlightenment. Yeah that was him! The eyes that say "It's no secret. Just ride. You're chosen. You belong." That was my brother.
He was the only one who could have ever talked me into doing some of the things we did on those bikes. It didn't matter if it was jumping dirt, bombing down hills, laping the bmx track in our yard for hours, or blazing new trails in the woods on anything with pedals. If he told me I could do it then I could. He had that gift of encouragement. Those of you that have it please don't take it lightly.
He groomed me and tutored me. He was my coach...and the one who told me I was good enough to race. So thats what I did. Powder Puff all the way. I remember that first race like it was yesterday. I could hear him bragging me up to his friends. He handed me a piece of Bubble Yum just before our heat took off. He grabbed my shoulders and said "This will make you faster, you can do it. Your gonna win!" The gate dropped. My ears honed in on his voice cheering from the sidelines, coaching me all the way through. Past the pile of flesh and steel of the other two(yes, only two!)girls that crashed on the first burm . Over the table tops and whoop-dee do's. I could hear him cheering as I crossed the finish in first place. Let's just say that at that moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was proud to say that I was his little sister. After that day we could look each other in the eye and see that "thing" reflected to each other.
I wish I could say that those days carried on into our adulthood. But the story goes more like this. Marty took up four wheels with an engine instead of two with pedals. He died three months after his 16th birthday. Until recently part of me has been buried with him. I only rode when it was neccessary after that. From point A to point B.
Years later I ride again. I'm racing as well. I can hardly believe it. People have been telling me since last summer that I should. I would just say to myself "Whatever! those days are long gone." Eric told me that if I entered the lottery he would pay my Ice Man fee if i got picked. I entered thinking it was safe. I wouldn't get picked. I made the second round! I was seriously contemplating selling it and giving him back his money until a few weeks ago. Last month I met someone with that "thing" is his eye and that crooked smile. He told me at just the right moment in space and time that he thought I should race. In August! Gulp! Maybe it was that cocky grin, but I began to believe that perhaps he was right.
He got a road bike the other day and I was giving him crap about abandoning the trails. I've talked to so many people who get a road bike and they stop treading. His words were this. " I live to mountainbike. This is just another tool to improve that. It's life support." How profound. That it is, Double D! Life support!
This Sunday is more than just a race, and my mount, more than a bike. This is picking up where I left off so many years ago. This is life support. Climbing out of my brothers grave. That 14 yr old girl, built like a boy is riding . Her brothers voice and that crooked smile, seeing Her through to the finish. And so this is Mountain Biking..".the church of the rollng wheel"....
Where the dead are resurrected.
Clouds Revisited
clouds revisited
laying in the rose garden
sun kisisng me.
i feel them overshadow
glancing my way .
open my eyes
see
that color again...
slip away to a place
suspended in time...
cold creeks
blue snakes, red dragon flys
tallest trees whisper how small we are.
bodies glistening
hearts pounding. i stir inside
to the crossroads perfect timing
where the cedar and sassafrass
scent will fade
as the quartz keeps time with
the parting embrace,
and i wonder
how you are as i slip away again
under the color
of your eyes.
laying in the rose garden
sun kisisng me.
i feel them overshadow
glancing my way .
open my eyes
see
that color again...
slip away to a place
suspended in time...
cold creeks
blue snakes, red dragon flys
tallest trees whisper how small we are.
bodies glistening
hearts pounding. i stir inside
to the crossroads perfect timing
where the cedar and sassafrass
scent will fade
as the quartz keeps time with
the parting embrace,
and i wonder
how you are as i slip away again
under the color
of your eyes.
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