don't laugh.
a few weeks ago I read an article in Oprah magazine about inner beauty. it actually was a self-test, to tell you where you ranked as far as your own inner beauty.
it was a pretty telling test, and I was only a little surprised that I came out pretty well.
and I've decided this is my path for the rest of my life: my focus from now on will be on my inner beauty. if I can be genuine and happy and have an inner knowing that my core is beautiful, I will shine on the outside in a way that can't be dimmed by anyone's opinions (mine included) of what I look like.
so this is who I am from now on.
however,
I still have an issue with my thighs.
I'm sure it began somewhere around the time when that first schoolmate told me I shouldn't be wearing the stretch pants I was because they made me look fat. (that was sally oppenheimer, 5th grade.) and it intensified the first time someone called me thunder thighs. (can't remember who, and I'm guessing 7th grade.)
and even now, when I know that my body operates like a well-oiled machine, full of strength and health, I still regret my thick thighs. I still want to be like all the other slender women out there who wear jeans and actually have extra fabric there below their butts. I want to be able to buy pants without having to try 20 pair on before finding a pair that (semi) fits and looks (semi) okay. I want to watch my shadow when I'm cycling and not constantly be judging whether or not my thighs are of grossly abnormal size, or just slightly abnormal size. today the decision moved back and forth as I changed direction: certain shadows showed a normal looking, slightly curvaceous body, while other silhouettes depicted thighs that looked like they belonged on an olympic speed skater.
I heard a statistic the other day that stated 85 percent of american women are unhappy with their bodies. which they went on to tie into the fact that the media/advertising world put these gorgeous women with perfect teeth, hair and bodies out there, everywhere, for us to compare ourselves with. and I know I do. it's hard to be surrounded by beauty and not want to be a part of it all.
so, my psyche has informed me that in an effort to keep my mental health in line, we will now be focusing on that inner beauty thing. we will be confident and capable, happy with who we are, filled with inner peace and joy, and this will radiate out so that the world will notice this aspect.
not the thighs.
this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine . . .
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
thanks, bike
I love my bike again.
and to explain why, I have to take you with me on a journey.
if only I could make this audible, I would say close your eyes, and listen to my voice, and imagine if you will everything that I'm describing, and see it in your own mind's eye . . .
it is a beautiful day, sunlight pouring over the entire valley, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. the air is clear and crisp, the temperature slowly creeping up toward the mid-forties. frost is melting from lawns and rooftops, and birds are sharing their enthusiasm for the day with calls and song. the sky is achingly blue, and you are grateful for every layer of clothing you have on because the sunshine is brilliantly deceptive on this first saturday of december.
water bottles full and in their cages, a snack in your jersey's back pocket, you pedal away from your warm home and head to the northeast, toward emigration canyon which you haven't visited in days. the wind blows gently but chillingly from the north, and when you turn up the canyon you are thrilled with the calm air and the sun that warms up your fingers.
your legs feel strong as you pedal up the gradually rising road, and the rotating movement is familiar and comforting, your cadence perfectly in rhythm with the mood of the day: flowing, appreciative, content. it's a stress free day, a day to accept what is, and to wallow in the luxury of not having to be anywhere but where you are.
passing cyclists wave or don't wave, and you don't care one way or the other, casually flipping your hand in acknowledgment of their passing.
winding through the canyon you move through sections of shadow when the sun is deep behind the hills to the south, when the shivers move through your arms and legs and you question your decision to wear fingerless gloves. but as you move back into the sunlight, your legs pump and your heart pumps as well and you are soon warm, your core radiating heat that reaches almost to the tips of your fingers and toes. sweat begins to trickle down the hollow of your back. at times the wind is nonexistent and it feels almost balmy, and you unzip your jacket to let the cool air reach your chest and stomach.
snow has dusted and clung to the hillside and the shadowy sections of road, and you occasionally see narrow tire tracks across the snow covering the bike lane. brave souls, you think to yourself as you skirt the white coating and ride out in the road itself.
from the little mountain summit you see miles and miles of late fall scenery: dry and barren trees that look like thin gray soldiers actively protecting the slopes, thirteen shades of golden brown carpeting the hillside, snow-brushed mountain peaks in the distance, and the shimmering surface of the reservoir where the southern banks are decorated with a ribbon of snow.
you ride down to the water and on, to the still-open gate that heralds the entrance to east canyon, and on toward big mountain, for that is the goal you've set for yourself today. it is a first: you've never ridden up big mountain in december, and you are eager for both the experience and the accomplishment.
a cyclist coming down the mountain passes you, and after waving to him you open your eyes wide in astonishment because he is wearing only shorts on his legs, and you can't imagine that he could be anything other than absolutely freezing. you give a quick shudder and are again grateful for your full tights, wool socks, thick jersey, jacket and headband.
there is snow at the edge of the road now, perhaps a couple inches, and this fuels you. occasional clumps of slushy snow sit by the white line where you ride and you are tempted to run them over, giving in to the temptation a time or two and relishing the wet squishing sound you create. the snow doesn't slip over the edge into the road until a few miles up, near the first switchback. the road curves and the bending walls of the hills protect this section from sunshine, and you're forced to ride in one of the strips where car tires have worn the snow and ice away. inside you are thrilled by this, knowing how rarely you are given such an opportunity.
as the road opens up again the snow and ice have dispersed and you can focus again on the scenery, the pines and rock formations and above it all, the sky, which has deepened another shade as you've climbed higher into it.
soon another portion of road is covered with melting ice and snow, ridges of frozen slush delineating tire-width tracks on the asphalt. you are challenged to determine the best of the four narrow lines in which to ride, and as the two uphill-climbing tracks are icy, you move to the downhill tracks and hope that you will be able to see an oncoming car before it reaches you. a slushy ridge proves too big a stumbling block and you slip, un-clipping in time to stop a fall, but you can't recover enough momentum while trying to stay in the 10-inch wide track to pedal and clip back in. you half pedal-half walk your bike through the remaining treacherous yards, then regain your seat and continue up the last kilometer or so.
your heart races with the climb and with the thrill of the experience, and during the last 500 meters you again find yourself tempted to ride through the edge of the snow that creeps over the white line, the slushy melting edge of it. so you do. you smile inwardly, and this spreads itself out to your face because you feel like a little kid. a happy little kid.
and when you reach the summit, you are victorious is so very many ways on this incredibly sunny, beautiful day. you sit for a brief time on the bench that faces the south west, looking out upon the deep valley you've just climbed and ridge after ridge of mountain lines in the distance.
there is a family having a snowball fight, their giggles and shouts filling up the well deep within your soul.
you are at peace, and you have deepened, once again, your gratitude for your bike, without which you would never have had this exact experience.
thanks, bike.
and to explain why, I have to take you with me on a journey.
if only I could make this audible, I would say close your eyes, and listen to my voice, and imagine if you will everything that I'm describing, and see it in your own mind's eye . . .
it is a beautiful day, sunlight pouring over the entire valley, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. the air is clear and crisp, the temperature slowly creeping up toward the mid-forties. frost is melting from lawns and rooftops, and birds are sharing their enthusiasm for the day with calls and song. the sky is achingly blue, and you are grateful for every layer of clothing you have on because the sunshine is brilliantly deceptive on this first saturday of december.
water bottles full and in their cages, a snack in your jersey's back pocket, you pedal away from your warm home and head to the northeast, toward emigration canyon which you haven't visited in days. the wind blows gently but chillingly from the north, and when you turn up the canyon you are thrilled with the calm air and the sun that warms up your fingers.
your legs feel strong as you pedal up the gradually rising road, and the rotating movement is familiar and comforting, your cadence perfectly in rhythm with the mood of the day: flowing, appreciative, content. it's a stress free day, a day to accept what is, and to wallow in the luxury of not having to be anywhere but where you are.
passing cyclists wave or don't wave, and you don't care one way or the other, casually flipping your hand in acknowledgment of their passing.
winding through the canyon you move through sections of shadow when the sun is deep behind the hills to the south, when the shivers move through your arms and legs and you question your decision to wear fingerless gloves. but as you move back into the sunlight, your legs pump and your heart pumps as well and you are soon warm, your core radiating heat that reaches almost to the tips of your fingers and toes. sweat begins to trickle down the hollow of your back. at times the wind is nonexistent and it feels almost balmy, and you unzip your jacket to let the cool air reach your chest and stomach.
snow has dusted and clung to the hillside and the shadowy sections of road, and you occasionally see narrow tire tracks across the snow covering the bike lane. brave souls, you think to yourself as you skirt the white coating and ride out in the road itself.
from the little mountain summit you see miles and miles of late fall scenery: dry and barren trees that look like thin gray soldiers actively protecting the slopes, thirteen shades of golden brown carpeting the hillside, snow-brushed mountain peaks in the distance, and the shimmering surface of the reservoir where the southern banks are decorated with a ribbon of snow.
you ride down to the water and on, to the still-open gate that heralds the entrance to east canyon, and on toward big mountain, for that is the goal you've set for yourself today. it is a first: you've never ridden up big mountain in december, and you are eager for both the experience and the accomplishment.
a cyclist coming down the mountain passes you, and after waving to him you open your eyes wide in astonishment because he is wearing only shorts on his legs, and you can't imagine that he could be anything other than absolutely freezing. you give a quick shudder and are again grateful for your full tights, wool socks, thick jersey, jacket and headband.
there is snow at the edge of the road now, perhaps a couple inches, and this fuels you. occasional clumps of slushy snow sit by the white line where you ride and you are tempted to run them over, giving in to the temptation a time or two and relishing the wet squishing sound you create. the snow doesn't slip over the edge into the road until a few miles up, near the first switchback. the road curves and the bending walls of the hills protect this section from sunshine, and you're forced to ride in one of the strips where car tires have worn the snow and ice away. inside you are thrilled by this, knowing how rarely you are given such an opportunity.
as the road opens up again the snow and ice have dispersed and you can focus again on the scenery, the pines and rock formations and above it all, the sky, which has deepened another shade as you've climbed higher into it.
soon another portion of road is covered with melting ice and snow, ridges of frozen slush delineating tire-width tracks on the asphalt. you are challenged to determine the best of the four narrow lines in which to ride, and as the two uphill-climbing tracks are icy, you move to the downhill tracks and hope that you will be able to see an oncoming car before it reaches you. a slushy ridge proves too big a stumbling block and you slip, un-clipping in time to stop a fall, but you can't recover enough momentum while trying to stay in the 10-inch wide track to pedal and clip back in. you half pedal-half walk your bike through the remaining treacherous yards, then regain your seat and continue up the last kilometer or so.
your heart races with the climb and with the thrill of the experience, and during the last 500 meters you again find yourself tempted to ride through the edge of the snow that creeps over the white line, the slushy melting edge of it. so you do. you smile inwardly, and this spreads itself out to your face because you feel like a little kid. a happy little kid.
and when you reach the summit, you are victorious is so very many ways on this incredibly sunny, beautiful day. you sit for a brief time on the bench that faces the south west, looking out upon the deep valley you've just climbed and ridge after ridge of mountain lines in the distance.
there is a family having a snowball fight, their giggles and shouts filling up the well deep within your soul.
you are at peace, and you have deepened, once again, your gratitude for your bike, without which you would never have had this exact experience.
thanks, bike.
Friday, December 5, 2008
brightening
first, I did not go out in the cold and ride my bike today. again, I saw many heartier-than-I cyclists doing that very thing, and all I felt was, ah, they are tougher than me. soon I will sound like a broken record, but I'm hoping to get out there tomorrow . . .
second, I will now move on to the more important thing, my emotional experience of the day.
this week I've written about gratitude, and about the Christmas spirit, and the two of these collided within me today and created a wonderful, physical reaction, just like what I thought I should be experiencing the other night.
yea! I'm not the in-my-head, intellectual, cold fish I feared I was . . .
this is what happened:
I am working on my many Christmas projects, from "secret elf" to the family and friends list to teacher gifts, as I like to be at least a teeny bit ahead of the game. I needed a few supplies, so I drove down into town and visited two stores. quickly. I like to get there early in the day and get in and out before chaos (and long lines) set in. I was successful, and hopped back into my car feeling pretty good about it all.
on my way home, a wave of gratitude just washed through me, literally, and my entire chest just warmed and glowed. well, that's what it felt like, anyway. with that came the thought, I am so grateful that I'm able to do this.
and what is "this?"
my silly little presents, those small tokens of appreciation and friendship and acknowledgment. they are small; they aren't expensive. they are here and gone; they are not treasures to be displayed for years. but they mean something to me. they bring me such great joy to give that I can't even explain it. bottles of soap and small tins of cookies and a roll of scotch tape. wrapped and tied and turned into gifts from our hearts.
and the other part of "this" is that I have a car (with gas in it), I have the time, and I have enough disposable income that I can do this.
I love giving my little presents; I love the fact that I might just be brightening some else's day.
because each time I give even a little something, it brightens my day like every cloud has left the sky and the sun is shining down, everywhere, casting a yellow-gold glow over the entire world.
third, I wish you all the very same brightening.
second, I will now move on to the more important thing, my emotional experience of the day.
this week I've written about gratitude, and about the Christmas spirit, and the two of these collided within me today and created a wonderful, physical reaction, just like what I thought I should be experiencing the other night.
yea! I'm not the in-my-head, intellectual, cold fish I feared I was . . .
this is what happened:
I am working on my many Christmas projects, from "secret elf" to the family and friends list to teacher gifts, as I like to be at least a teeny bit ahead of the game. I needed a few supplies, so I drove down into town and visited two stores. quickly. I like to get there early in the day and get in and out before chaos (and long lines) set in. I was successful, and hopped back into my car feeling pretty good about it all.
on my way home, a wave of gratitude just washed through me, literally, and my entire chest just warmed and glowed. well, that's what it felt like, anyway. with that came the thought, I am so grateful that I'm able to do this.
and what is "this?"
my silly little presents, those small tokens of appreciation and friendship and acknowledgment. they are small; they aren't expensive. they are here and gone; they are not treasures to be displayed for years. but they mean something to me. they bring me such great joy to give that I can't even explain it. bottles of soap and small tins of cookies and a roll of scotch tape. wrapped and tied and turned into gifts from our hearts.
and the other part of "this" is that I have a car (with gas in it), I have the time, and I have enough disposable income that I can do this.
I love giving my little presents; I love the fact that I might just be brightening some else's day.
because each time I give even a little something, it brightens my day like every cloud has left the sky and the sun is shining down, everywhere, casting a yellow-gold glow over the entire world.
third, I wish you all the very same brightening.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Christmas spirit
it's 41 degrees outside, and a few hardy cyclists are out there in the rain-sleet-sunshine-snow-confused day that we're having. but not me. I'm having my THIRD IN A ROW day off the bike. difficult to imagine, isn't it? I'm hopeful that tomorrow will bring me a day in which I wish to ride my bike and the weather wishes to cooperate with me. I'm feeling like it will happen.
but today has been sprinkled with a little Christmas spirit around here. and I have quite enjoyed it.
for the past 12 years or so, my kids have played the role of "secret elf" to a small group of people each december. for the 12 days leading up to Christmas, they drop off little presents at these people's homes, ringing the doorbell and running to hide before the door is answered. on the final day, which we arrange to be Christmas Eve, they actually wait for the door to be answered, and wish the people a merry Christmas.
we choose some neighbors, usually those who are a little older or who live alone. my grandpa used to be one of the recipients, until he died a few years ago. and we have always been secret elf to an incredible, teeny little bundle of love and energy named Clara.
we first met Clara about 15 years ago. she was on a list of care-providers who were available to come to our home to "babysit" our disabled son, and we so fortunately picked her name from the list. she is in her seventies now, and she lives alone in a senior housing complex here in town. she has a son who died a few years back, and another son who has disabilities and lives in a residential facility. she volunteers at a school for kids with disabilities, performing a "foster grandparent" role there.
teeny Clara is hispanic, and although her accent is thick, it's the speed with which words jump from her mouth that cause me the greatest challenge. Clara is full of energy, and even more full of love, and has been one of the amazing gifts that my oldest son has brought into our lives.
today I began collecting items that we will give as "secret elf" gifts. I try to keep them on the "practical and useful" side, though my kids have always teased me that they more likely belong in the "strange and weird" category. I select rolls of tape and cans of soup, and my favorite, a small bottle of "joy" dishwashing soap. candy, clementines, scrub brushes and matches also find their way to my shopping list, as well as candles or bright red spatulas.
I love doing this, and my kids love it. it has become such a part of our Christmas season that I can't imagine the holidays without it.
and it brightened my day today, as I searched the grocery and discount stores for silly things we can wrap up and deliver. the ground may be bare, and the economy might be a mess, but there is still a sense of excitement and joy in the air. I felt it today, swirling around. a true Christmas spirit will always survive whatever calamity exists in our overly dramatic world.
and Clara, bless her very being, will always embody the true and beautiful spirit of the season: pure and joyous love.
but today has been sprinkled with a little Christmas spirit around here. and I have quite enjoyed it.
for the past 12 years or so, my kids have played the role of "secret elf" to a small group of people each december. for the 12 days leading up to Christmas, they drop off little presents at these people's homes, ringing the doorbell and running to hide before the door is answered. on the final day, which we arrange to be Christmas Eve, they actually wait for the door to be answered, and wish the people a merry Christmas.
we choose some neighbors, usually those who are a little older or who live alone. my grandpa used to be one of the recipients, until he died a few years ago. and we have always been secret elf to an incredible, teeny little bundle of love and energy named Clara.
we first met Clara about 15 years ago. she was on a list of care-providers who were available to come to our home to "babysit" our disabled son, and we so fortunately picked her name from the list. she is in her seventies now, and she lives alone in a senior housing complex here in town. she has a son who died a few years back, and another son who has disabilities and lives in a residential facility. she volunteers at a school for kids with disabilities, performing a "foster grandparent" role there.
teeny Clara is hispanic, and although her accent is thick, it's the speed with which words jump from her mouth that cause me the greatest challenge. Clara is full of energy, and even more full of love, and has been one of the amazing gifts that my oldest son has brought into our lives.
today I began collecting items that we will give as "secret elf" gifts. I try to keep them on the "practical and useful" side, though my kids have always teased me that they more likely belong in the "strange and weird" category. I select rolls of tape and cans of soup, and my favorite, a small bottle of "joy" dishwashing soap. candy, clementines, scrub brushes and matches also find their way to my shopping list, as well as candles or bright red spatulas.
I love doing this, and my kids love it. it has become such a part of our Christmas season that I can't imagine the holidays without it.
and it brightened my day today, as I searched the grocery and discount stores for silly things we can wrap up and deliver. the ground may be bare, and the economy might be a mess, but there is still a sense of excitement and joy in the air. I felt it today, swirling around. a true Christmas spirit will always survive whatever calamity exists in our overly dramatic world.
and Clara, bless her very being, will always embody the true and beautiful spirit of the season: pure and joyous love.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
on being grateful
I attended a gathering the other night, and at one point we all shared thoughts about what we were grateful for. we had been asked to bring in representations of those things, if we wished, to place in the middle of us all as we shared our stories.
so many similar and different things, people, experiences, and feelings were shared . . . (though I was the only one who said "my bike"), but what I felt during the entire process was that everyone felt gratitude better than I did.
and I think of myself as a pretty grateful person.
but these people were really feeling it, complete with tears and wavering voices and deeply quiet tones.
since that evening I've been thinking a lot about what gratitude really is, and how it's supposed to feel. I've done some research, and I'm still certain I don't have the answer. gratitude is defined in many ways, but most use words like thankfulness, feeling, awareness, and appreciation. "a state of being grateful." and most of these can be accomplished at the thinking level. which is where I seemed to find myself the other night, when everyone else seemed to be someplace much deeper. I felt shallow (not just because of the bike comment), when everyone else seemed to be deeply engaged with their entire hearts and souls.
I wondered if true gratitude needed to involve a deeper connection than what I've been living.
and I'm not much further along with that thought process than I was that night.
today I passed a car that was making a terrible squeaking noise, and I thought, oh, thank you, I am so blessed to not have any car troubles at the moment. thank you, God, for my car that works so well. this is just how I think. and I feel this all the way into my heart, but it just doesn't always seem to be enough. it doesn't come with bells and whistles and hugs and tears, it just comes.
the other night a woman named Emma exuberantly shared her gratitude with us, saying that a year ago she lived without any gratitude at all. she just didn't think that way. and now, she is awash with gratitude and thrilled with living in that place.
perhaps I am just so accustomed to living here that I don't well up with emotion over it? I'm hoping that's the answer, because the only other answer I can come up with is that I'm not genuinely feeling gratitude. and that can't be possible, because I know I am.
so, perhaps I've worked this out now.
perhaps there are honeymoon phases, when one first learns the joy of being grateful. perhaps the intensity of feelings ebb and flow. perhaps we emote differently, though we may be touched just as deeply.
I am so grateful for a million things, and truly, for everything in my life because I know it is all for the best. as difficult as some things are, I know that to trade them would do me a disservice. but the other night I didn't want to wax on about my children, my family, my house, my friends . . . all of those things I am so very grateful for. I went right to the heart of the matter, and jumped in to the biggies.
I already gave you a preview, but, well, the bottom line is that my short list of things I'm grateful for, shared the other evening, was:
my bike
our canyons
my writing
thanks for letting me share those most important things here with you.
so many similar and different things, people, experiences, and feelings were shared . . . (though I was the only one who said "my bike"), but what I felt during the entire process was that everyone felt gratitude better than I did.
and I think of myself as a pretty grateful person.
but these people were really feeling it, complete with tears and wavering voices and deeply quiet tones.
since that evening I've been thinking a lot about what gratitude really is, and how it's supposed to feel. I've done some research, and I'm still certain I don't have the answer. gratitude is defined in many ways, but most use words like thankfulness, feeling, awareness, and appreciation. "a state of being grateful." and most of these can be accomplished at the thinking level. which is where I seemed to find myself the other night, when everyone else seemed to be someplace much deeper. I felt shallow (not just because of the bike comment), when everyone else seemed to be deeply engaged with their entire hearts and souls.
I wondered if true gratitude needed to involve a deeper connection than what I've been living.
and I'm not much further along with that thought process than I was that night.
today I passed a car that was making a terrible squeaking noise, and I thought, oh, thank you, I am so blessed to not have any car troubles at the moment. thank you, God, for my car that works so well. this is just how I think. and I feel this all the way into my heart, but it just doesn't always seem to be enough. it doesn't come with bells and whistles and hugs and tears, it just comes.
the other night a woman named Emma exuberantly shared her gratitude with us, saying that a year ago she lived without any gratitude at all. she just didn't think that way. and now, she is awash with gratitude and thrilled with living in that place.
perhaps I am just so accustomed to living here that I don't well up with emotion over it? I'm hoping that's the answer, because the only other answer I can come up with is that I'm not genuinely feeling gratitude. and that can't be possible, because I know I am.
so, perhaps I've worked this out now.
perhaps there are honeymoon phases, when one first learns the joy of being grateful. perhaps the intensity of feelings ebb and flow. perhaps we emote differently, though we may be touched just as deeply.
I am so grateful for a million things, and truly, for everything in my life because I know it is all for the best. as difficult as some things are, I know that to trade them would do me a disservice. but the other night I didn't want to wax on about my children, my family, my house, my friends . . . all of those things I am so very grateful for. I went right to the heart of the matter, and jumped in to the biggies.
I already gave you a preview, but, well, the bottom line is that my short list of things I'm grateful for, shared the other evening, was:
my bike
our canyons
my writing
thanks for letting me share those most important things here with you.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
sitting one out
I saw a few people on bikes this afternoon and I wasn't the least bit jealous.
usually I have a little twinge, a prick, some form of a squeeze of my heart.
but not today.
today was a day off the bike, and it was good.
I've had days like this before, when I think I would be just fine if I never rode my bike again. they always surprise me, and I get swept up with the feeling of enough. the same feeling I get after I eat about a pound of chocolate bridge mix: enough. no more. ever. how did I get to this point?
and then somehow, the next day, the bike starts looking good again, and so does the chocolate. satiation doesn't last long for me.
but while I'm in it, the feelings are amazingly intense. biking is hard, I'm tired, I ache, oh, how nice not to have to pump up those hills today. I glory in the spaciousness of my day, all that extra time. I revel in the laziness, in the fact that I haven't coated myself with sweat and dirt nor (this time of year) cloaked myself in cold. and I can't imagine that I ever want to put myself through the process of going for a bike ride ever again.
because it is a process:
scheduling the ride: when can I best fit this in my day, when will it be warmest and does that dovetail in with my work/kid schedule? if not, do I need to tweak something? I need a good 90 minutes, and then at least 20 minutes to shower and be presentable if I have to be seen by anyone other than my kids or those who love me tremendously.
making sure the bike is ready: proper air pressure in tires, lubed chain, semi-clean, no funky noises, full water bottles(s), spare tube necessities in pack, money.
making sure I am ready: weather-appropriate gear on (you know what a guessing game that can be), sunglasses, helmet, shoes, heart monitor, cell phone in a pocket, a treat if I'm going on an extra long or extra challenging ride, extra gear for the downhill stashed somewhere on me or on the bike.
I don't miss this process when I take a day off.
and I often don't even miss the thrill, the freedom, the joy, the peace.
some days it's okay to step out of line and sit one out.
usually I have a little twinge, a prick, some form of a squeeze of my heart.
but not today.
today was a day off the bike, and it was good.
I've had days like this before, when I think I would be just fine if I never rode my bike again. they always surprise me, and I get swept up with the feeling of enough. the same feeling I get after I eat about a pound of chocolate bridge mix: enough. no more. ever. how did I get to this point?
and then somehow, the next day, the bike starts looking good again, and so does the chocolate. satiation doesn't last long for me.
but while I'm in it, the feelings are amazingly intense. biking is hard, I'm tired, I ache, oh, how nice not to have to pump up those hills today. I glory in the spaciousness of my day, all that extra time. I revel in the laziness, in the fact that I haven't coated myself with sweat and dirt nor (this time of year) cloaked myself in cold. and I can't imagine that I ever want to put myself through the process of going for a bike ride ever again.
because it is a process:
scheduling the ride: when can I best fit this in my day, when will it be warmest and does that dovetail in with my work/kid schedule? if not, do I need to tweak something? I need a good 90 minutes, and then at least 20 minutes to shower and be presentable if I have to be seen by anyone other than my kids or those who love me tremendously.
making sure the bike is ready: proper air pressure in tires, lubed chain, semi-clean, no funky noises, full water bottles(s), spare tube necessities in pack, money.
making sure I am ready: weather-appropriate gear on (you know what a guessing game that can be), sunglasses, helmet, shoes, heart monitor, cell phone in a pocket, a treat if I'm going on an extra long or extra challenging ride, extra gear for the downhill stashed somewhere on me or on the bike.
I don't miss this process when I take a day off.
and I often don't even miss the thrill, the freedom, the joy, the peace.
some days it's okay to step out of line and sit one out.
Monday, December 1, 2008
turning back
do you know how many times I think about turning back at some point before the final destination when I'm on a ride?
would you believe at least half the time?
that would probably be accurate.
it's not always during the first 15 minutes, nor is it always at the most difficult point. today it happened about halfway up the canyon. I thought to myself, I don't really have to do this. I don't really have to do this.
how many things in life can one say that about?
I suppose, just about everything.
but we usually choose to just do it anyway.
I think about not doing things, and then I do them anyway.
I think about turning back, and then I just keep going.
like nike says, just do it.
don't think about it, don't strategize, don't bargain, don't rationalize or talk yourself out of it . . . just do it.
which is what I did this afternoon.
which doesn't mean I won't still think about turning back early tomorrow.
would you believe at least half the time?
that would probably be accurate.
it's not always during the first 15 minutes, nor is it always at the most difficult point. today it happened about halfway up the canyon. I thought to myself, I don't really have to do this. I don't really have to do this.
how many things in life can one say that about?
I suppose, just about everything.
but we usually choose to just do it anyway.
I think about not doing things, and then I do them anyway.
I think about turning back, and then I just keep going.
like nike says, just do it.
don't think about it, don't strategize, don't bargain, don't rationalize or talk yourself out of it . . . just do it.
which is what I did this afternoon.
which doesn't mean I won't still think about turning back early tomorrow.
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