Holy Sh*t I'm Nervous

My stomach is full of snakes, reeling and lunging dramatically from my throat down to my bowels.  I haven't raced since May of 2014.  I've become a different person since.  I no longer run and I no longer try to unless I'm careening down a steep hill chasing after my kids.  In little more than a year I've tried desperately to reignite my passion and see myself at the starting line once more.  Every ounce of my energy focused around that moment when I could run again for so long.  When I realized it wasn't going to happen, I couldn't run without extreme pain, I begrudgingly decided to take a break.  I no longer wanted to heal for running.  I wanted to heal for me.

The only time I run anymore is when I take my boys mountain biking.  I run beside them while they pound the roots.

This April my husband bought me a mountain bike for my birthday.  I also invested in a used road bike.  Four months now I've devoted my energy to those two sets of wheels.  It is the antithesis of running.  In fact, most runners can't stand cyclists, and especially mountain bikers.  I've been glared at by more trail runners in the last few months than my seven-year-old has rolled his eyes at me in his entire life.  "I'm one of you!" I always want to scream at them.  I'm no dirty biker.  I get over politely.  I smile, I wave.  "Enjoy your run!" I always share enthusiastically.  But it doesn't help, I've crossed sides and today I am going to prove how far I've come.

My husband's first race.

I entered a local mountain bike series. A couple weeks ago, I watched as my husband rode a race as my guinea pig.  Standing on the side of the mountain cheering, I could only think, "These people are BAD ASS!"  I've never seen so many crashes, bloody knees, pounding muscles, and smiles of pure grit.  It scares the hell out of me, but I want to try it.  The races are held in the evenings during 90 degree heat.  There aren't any water stations and only a medical crew at the finish line.  There are no t-shirts, goody bags, or other prized materials.  I will earn a beer at the finish line and nothing more.   


Approaching the starting line is a celebration.  I've learned in the past year that I'm strong and adaptable.  I love competition.  It's that competition that has my stomach flexing and turning.  I'm excited, nervous, curious, and want to throw up.  I don't just want to survive the race, I want to thrive in it.  This isn't the outcome I pictured for myself a year ago, but I am proud of becoming a Bad Ass.


~Roadburner

A Soggy Ride

Soggy weather or not, I found heaven.  This morning I shed the glances from other moms at the carpool drop off at my boys' school.  I wore 3 layers on top and bike shorts on the bottom.  I'm sure they were thinking, "That lady is nuts!"  But a little rain never stopped my running.  Who cares if traveling at 18 mph forces the water droplets to pelt my face and leave a constant stream of water running down my glasses?  The roads were empty and the animals were out en force.

I've never seen the Platte River this high.  It was spilling over the edges by a good 6 feet.  The water lapped the edges of the bicycle underpass.  But the sound of rushing water provided peace and serenity. 

The best time to enjoy a wildlife refuge is in cooler temperatures, when you can actually see animals.  The rain drizzled constantly, cooling my body efficiently, and finally proving to my husband that my $100 cycling rain jacket I bought two years ago was a great find!  I rode 17 miles around Chatfield State Park, keeping to the paths and roads that hugged the reservoir.  All of the clouds hung low and because I was one of a very select few weirdos who braved the weather, it was utterly silent.   

Those are vultures.

At one point, I rode along a dirt path atop the dam, admiring the 100 foot drop to either side of me.  Swallows swooped daringly in front of my bike by the dozens, greedily grabbing at the invisible insects.  They didn't seem to notice or care about my presence and instead protected me from a constant battering of bug juices on my handlebars.   

Several deer hunkered down in the woods, enjoying the peace, standing erect and proud like statues.

For once I wasn't rushed.  I didn't feel like I had anywhere to be or a speed to conquer.  Because of the quiet, my competitive spirit slept, finally leaving me to enjoy the ride.  I stopped often, watching the herons, vultures, deer, bunnies, and song birds.  My mind drifted and I had some time to process the news from last week.  My life is complete.  I can do everything except run, and while there may always be a hole begging to be filled, I am not in any hurry to undergo another surgery.   This decision needs more time.  I'm not giving up on running, just taking a planned break; and this time it will be my choice.

FYI clipless shoes aren't ideal for hiking.

Meet BlueBelle.  Today, I christened my road bike as a cyclocross bike.  She took it like a champ!

For one full year I have done physical therapy every single week. I've been in constant rehabilitation mode and not had the opportunity to enjoy activities.  Throughout the healing process I kept telling myself, "When I get back out there, I won't take it for granted."  By constantly wanting to run, I'm taking what I can do for granted.  I've worked hard to get to this point.  Last year I couldn't ride a bike or sit in a car for any period of time as the pain was unbearable.  I have my life back and I want to enjoy this summer filled with cycling, mountain biking, hiking, camping, Pilates, and swimming.  Surgeries come with risk and rehabilitation, no matter what a surgeon says.  They don't have to live with the consequences of their words.  I do.  For now, I am going to make my own adventures and ride on, rain or shine.


~Roadburner