I am not in charge

what would our worlds be like if we were in charge of our own paths?
I hesitate to even contemplate too deeply: to dig too far into this philosophical discussion makes my head spin.
would every ride be under clear skies with a seventy degree air temperature?
would there be smooth asphalt everywhere? (duh, yes.)
would opportunities present themselves to us regularly and gratifyingly?
would we always ride just the teeniest bit better than the time before?
would we always sleep well, would our stomachs never hurt, would we never cramp, would we always make good choices about fuel and hydration?

I am not in charge.
not of wind, nor of weather. not of other riders, automobiles, wildlife, rumble strips, or street sweepers.
there is so very little I'm in charge of it's almost frightening. we train, we try to rest, recover, fuel efficiently. but the gap between what I am in charge of and what, in reality, is, can only be closed and covered by that nebulous, intangible, seeping/growing/expansive thing called faith.

thanks to God, faith, oatmeal, bananas, john, bill, brad, michael, ivy, numerous unnamed souls, a deer, an elk, the snake river, mountain dew and swedish fish, I earned my 1000-mile award last saturday. (never mind the fact that they won't award it to me until next year: I know I earned it.)
I did what I could, and last friday I let everything go, embracing the fact that I was no longer in charge.
it's freeing, it's liberating.
you take ownership for your part, and let go of absolutely everything else, because it's simply not in your control.
whee!

now, if I can just remember to be this way all the time.
when participating in biking events, when simply riding, when parenting, while running my business, while navigating life.
I'm not in charge.
I'm simply responsible for doing my best, fueling and resting, and never ever letting go of that great big thing called faith.

onward!