My friend and training partner, Amy, met me in Santa Rosa last night after work for another lovely ride on another lovely day. As she is having some pain from injuries (and preparing for surgery- no good), we decided to skip any climbs and just chat it up from the seats of our bikes.
We headed west on the Joe Rodotta Trail to Sebastopol, looped around to High School Road to Occidental Road, to Stafford and Hall Roads and back around to the bike trail to my house. This was the first ride in which I did not have to wear knee warmers or a jersey with sleeves and it was as lovely as can be.
Hooray!
This morning, I decided to mix things up and headed to Spring Lake after ditching my grumpy kids at school this morning. It has been well over a month since I set out in my running shoes, so I mostly walked and hiked the trails around the lake, running only about half of the 4 mile path. Lovely god damn morning, I tell ya. I am one lucky lady to be living in such a gorgeous part of the planet.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I almost Forgot! Duh!
I am registered!
You can donate and view my donation page here: http://www.tofighthiv.org/goto/danisavestheworld
I Discovered My Tolerance For Eating Bugs
Another amazingly dreamy weekend of riding from Graton to Forestville, to Windsor and back again through vineyards and pastures and fields of gorgeous fucking wilflowers with my friend, Amy, was followed by a late afternoon/early evening ride from Graton yesterday.
Without a more experienced cyclist acting as our unofficial bike guide through the tear-jerking beauty of the Wine Country, I stepped up and led Amy through a short, 15 mile loop from her home on top of Graton Road to Sullivan Road, back to Graton Road, on to Frei, to Guerneville Road, to Hall, to Stafford, to Occidental and back up the hill to her house, where buffalo burgers sat, waiting to be cooked and consumed along with the Sierra Nevada's in the fridge.
The weather was perfect and we praised daylight savings for provinding our new riding slot just before dinner. As we set out, gliding mostly downhill in the 65+ degree weather, bare arms brushing with the glorious breeze, I had a moment of bliss that spread, in big-ass smile form from ear to ear. Just as the joy of riding reached a peak, however, what I may have mistaken as a swarm of locusts came out of nowhere and began darting down my throat for the following 30 minutes of our ride.
Gross.
As poor Amy's nose inhaled what we were sure was a paleolithic-sized moth, several small fly-like creatures lodged their ways in between my teeth everytime I opened my trap to take a breath. My face was pelted repeatedly with the smoke-thick army of monster insects and by the time the attack came to an end, I had swallowed about 7-9 unidentified creepy-crawlies and was left with slimy green and red inards across my face and knuckles- evidence of the battle that late-afternoon riders are sure to face in the glorious Sonoma County springtime.
Super, duper gross. And, lesson learned.
Without a more experienced cyclist acting as our unofficial bike guide through the tear-jerking beauty of the Wine Country, I stepped up and led Amy through a short, 15 mile loop from her home on top of Graton Road to Sullivan Road, back to Graton Road, on to Frei, to Guerneville Road, to Hall, to Stafford, to Occidental and back up the hill to her house, where buffalo burgers sat, waiting to be cooked and consumed along with the Sierra Nevada's in the fridge.
The weather was perfect and we praised daylight savings for provinding our new riding slot just before dinner. As we set out, gliding mostly downhill in the 65+ degree weather, bare arms brushing with the glorious breeze, I had a moment of bliss that spread, in big-ass smile form from ear to ear. Just as the joy of riding reached a peak, however, what I may have mistaken as a swarm of locusts came out of nowhere and began darting down my throat for the following 30 minutes of our ride.
Gross.
As poor Amy's nose inhaled what we were sure was a paleolithic-sized moth, several small fly-like creatures lodged their ways in between my teeth everytime I opened my trap to take a breath. My face was pelted repeatedly with the smoke-thick army of monster insects and by the time the attack came to an end, I had swallowed about 7-9 unidentified creepy-crawlies and was left with slimy green and red inards across my face and knuckles- evidence of the battle that late-afternoon riders are sure to face in the glorious Sonoma County springtime.
Super, duper gross. And, lesson learned.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Back in the Saddle, Revisited...
My bronchial feelers are mostly better, I've discovered, and I am thrilled to be crawling out of yet another 2+ week long chest cold that has held me hostage and away from my bike for weeks on end. That said, I've discovered some things about myself, my time and my motivation and fears around riding this bike.
First, there is nothing more irritating than feeling an increase in energy that coincides with the rising temperatures outside and planning a lovely ride that falls through at the last minute. Several times in the last few rainy/sunny weeks, my new-found love for saddling up on my two-wheeled wonder has been pushed to the back burner because of the cold hard realities of motherhood. I'd rush home after depositing my kids at school, fill my water bottles and stretch my shiny spandex pants up over my pasty white thighs only to have the school call, asking me to pick up a little sick kid. Frustration, I am embarrassed to admit, tends to overshadow the love and compassion I should have for my kids in these moments. I feel like I am falling behind on my training- I feel like I can't meet my goals and fall short in my motherly love during my drive to school. It is hard to shake, that feeling of annoyance, but I let it humble me as it does in most situations I am presented with as a single mom.
Next, the bike has brought some interesting situations into perspective. Both with relationships I have with the people in my life and the relationship I have with myself. On the days that I am sick or slowly recovering from my recurring health bullshit, he sits there, propped against my bookshelves, daunting me like an old vindictive lover- reminding me that I am getting older, that my body can't and won't bounce back as easily as I would like. I want to shove it in the closet, but instead torture myself with never-ending staring contests that it inevitably wins. I tell it to fuck off, that it is an asshole and that "someday soon, I'll show you, mother fucker". I fall into self-pity and start rationalizing this unspoken dysfunctional behavior. I consider throwing in the towel and walking away. Then, just when I am moments away from accepting my fate, my defeat, I start to breath again, apologize for my harsh words and take my two-wheeled wonder out for a spin. Then I love him again. He helps me clear my mind of self-loathing, helps me process my doubts and insecurities about my life's direction and my ability to give into the passion, sweetness and sincerity that I have found with a new lover. He reminds me that I am strong, a survivor- complete with an almost audible "Eye of the Tiger" playing on loops in the back of my mind. He brings out my confidence, makes me laugh and reminds me that I have two legs and recovering lungs that can take me anywhere I set my worrisome little mind to.
This bike has also surprisingly revived an old friendship with my ex-husband. For years, we had nothing to discuss other than the logistics of child-sharing. Now, we compare routes and tires and tips on calorie-boosting and touring. My daughters look on, amused by the conversations and likely in awe of how smooth our transition has been from tense, feuding exes to casual friends with something finally in common.
So I've been back out on the open road quite regularly again. Often, I am alone, riding against annoying headwinds, working through various scenarios and past hurts in my head. Other times, I am riding with friends, through winding, climbing Sonoma County hillsides speckled with wild mustard and chirping birds. I am gaining confidence, speed and endurance and hating myself a little less with every ride.
First, there is nothing more irritating than feeling an increase in energy that coincides with the rising temperatures outside and planning a lovely ride that falls through at the last minute. Several times in the last few rainy/sunny weeks, my new-found love for saddling up on my two-wheeled wonder has been pushed to the back burner because of the cold hard realities of motherhood. I'd rush home after depositing my kids at school, fill my water bottles and stretch my shiny spandex pants up over my pasty white thighs only to have the school call, asking me to pick up a little sick kid. Frustration, I am embarrassed to admit, tends to overshadow the love and compassion I should have for my kids in these moments. I feel like I am falling behind on my training- I feel like I can't meet my goals and fall short in my motherly love during my drive to school. It is hard to shake, that feeling of annoyance, but I let it humble me as it does in most situations I am presented with as a single mom.
Next, the bike has brought some interesting situations into perspective. Both with relationships I have with the people in my life and the relationship I have with myself. On the days that I am sick or slowly recovering from my recurring health bullshit, he sits there, propped against my bookshelves, daunting me like an old vindictive lover- reminding me that I am getting older, that my body can't and won't bounce back as easily as I would like. I want to shove it in the closet, but instead torture myself with never-ending staring contests that it inevitably wins. I tell it to fuck off, that it is an asshole and that "someday soon, I'll show you, mother fucker". I fall into self-pity and start rationalizing this unspoken dysfunctional behavior. I consider throwing in the towel and walking away. Then, just when I am moments away from accepting my fate, my defeat, I start to breath again, apologize for my harsh words and take my two-wheeled wonder out for a spin. Then I love him again. He helps me clear my mind of self-loathing, helps me process my doubts and insecurities about my life's direction and my ability to give into the passion, sweetness and sincerity that I have found with a new lover. He reminds me that I am strong, a survivor- complete with an almost audible "Eye of the Tiger" playing on loops in the back of my mind. He brings out my confidence, makes me laugh and reminds me that I have two legs and recovering lungs that can take me anywhere I set my worrisome little mind to.
This bike has also surprisingly revived an old friendship with my ex-husband. For years, we had nothing to discuss other than the logistics of child-sharing. Now, we compare routes and tires and tips on calorie-boosting and touring. My daughters look on, amused by the conversations and likely in awe of how smooth our transition has been from tense, feuding exes to casual friends with something finally in common.
So I've been back out on the open road quite regularly again. Often, I am alone, riding against annoying headwinds, working through various scenarios and past hurts in my head. Other times, I am riding with friends, through winding, climbing Sonoma County hillsides speckled with wild mustard and chirping birds. I am gaining confidence, speed and endurance and hating myself a little less with every ride.
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