Solid Ground Underneath My Feet

“Find yourself a place you belong in the universe, a place where the dirt feels like goodness under your feet.”

Pam Houston, Waltzing the Cat

This spring I had so many plans, races to be raced, training to be tackled, spin classes to be taught. I pushed myself harder than ever before, taking on hill repeats that had friends calling me crazy, long days in the saddle on a trainer suffering without end. And then the first race arrive, the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic, a 47 mile race from Silverton to Durango, over two mountain passes (they don’t mention the 10 mile “hill” you take on your way to the base of the first one), and topping out at almost 11,000 feet of elevation. I finished a little over 3 1/2 hours, well under my 4 hour goal and just in the middle of the my group. I walked away happy to have completed it but knowing I had made mistakes and could have raced better.

Two weeks later, I took on the RAT race, a 2 lap, almost 30 mile mountain bike race on my local trails. With a brutal 3,800 feet of climbing in the June sunshine, it kicked my ass. I went it to it exhausted, having spent the last week helping with the race itself, as well as work and yet another rocky spot in my long distance relationship. As I dismounted from my Specialized Enduro, which had been purchased only weeks before to replace my Trek Lush, I knew I needed a break. I needed to stop spinning my wheels, both literally and figuratively. I needed to be feel solid ground beneath my feet for a while.

I spent the following weekend hiking with Hailey at Cutler Creek, on Father’s Day. It was her dad’s favorite trail and I wanted to share it with her since he doesn’t live close enough by us to do so himself. The next weekend we hiked Dallas Trail and reveled in wildflowers up to our chests. Then Hailey departed for the summer, and I continued on hiking, walking, spending time learning to be a part of the earth again instead of hovering above it. I felt my true self begin to settle back into my bones. For the first time in over a decade, I felt the place I grew up becoming part of me once again. Then I went to Park City, which became a wreck in every sense and left me with nothing but confusion and heartache and unanswered questions and so much pain. And I struggled to get back on my bike. There was so much tied between it and the loss I was feeling and it tore at my in a deep way. After allowing myself a couple weeks of self pity, I knew from it was sink or swim. If I couldn’t ride, I needed to hike. I had been re-reading my favorite author, Pam Houston, and the line about finding a place you belong in the universe struck a chord, so I went outside, seeking out new places. Finding Moonshine Park and Spirit Gulch along the way. I found that both in biking and hiking, it is all about keeping your feet moving, one in front of the other. It is about remembering to breathe, and keeping your balance. Today, I took Hailey on a 7.5 mile hike to Blue Lake and shared with her my favorite place from my childhood and felt complete and whole and well in a way that is new. This slower moving action has given me time to process my pain and allow it to be a part of me without defining me. And hiking has been great because it has been something solely mine, something I share with my daughter and my friends. Something tangible that was left untainted for me this last month.

Lately, I have been pushing myself back on my bike. It is hard. Not having the same person to encourage you and to share your accomplishments with is hard. There is a part of biking for me right now that is relearning what I trained myself to associate with it for the last year. And possibly even further back than that ( see Getting Lost..and Finding Yourself Along The Way). I am trying to be one, solid, riding for myself and no one else. I will race again, I will train and push and suffer again. I will work to be better than ever before, but this time I will do it for myself. It will be harder without the push and encouragement and praise, but it will be my own victory. In the meantime, I will make sure to take time to find places that feel like goodness under my feet..keeping myself on solid ground.

Cutler Creek

Dallas Trail

Spirit Gulch on a sunny day

Finally back on the bike…

Spirit Gulch in the rain and fog

Jump into the fog!!

Dallas Trail

Me and my puppy

Getting back to the bike, gets better each time

Blue Lake

Rome at the lake

Such beauty in earth

Me and my best girl

Happiest mother ever

 

Country Road Catharsis

Yesterday I took my trusty Trek Madone for bit of an adventure on the gravel county roads that encompass most of where I live. While there are only 3 paved roads out of town, there are seemingly endless loops of gravel that cut between farm and ranch land, most eventually leading to National Forest. While the day ended with a brutal flat after hauling ass over some freshly laid gravel as if I were racing Paris-Roubaix, I was left stranded on the side of the road mere miles from home. But before that came to be, I got some pretty nice shots of the ride, which I of course shared on various SM platforms, reminiscing in the joy that road and many other like it had brought to me in my life from a child to a teen to an adult.

Tonight, I received an alert an old friend had commented on my photo, and sure enough, the views brought back to him the same reminiscence of growing up here and what magic that was. And I began to sob, as it came full circle to me how ingrained the place I live is in my happiness, and how biking has brought me back to the person I was as a child, awestruck and giddy at the paradise that awaits me out my front door. And how close I came in some ways to losing that.

I spent my teen years planning my escape from small town hell, my twenties in purgatory torn between my love of the city, the ocean, the endless summer of California and the mountains that called me home and the cool summer evenings that allowed me to sleep like a newborn. I spent the last year in limbo, one foot in the door, one foot out, trying to balance work and love and family, and pushing myself to embrace the idea of living somewhere other than here. Ultimately, the decision was made for me, but it was the right one. And perhaps the fact that deep down, I love this place with every beat of my heart became the final straw in a relationship fraught with so much difficulty.

Now, as I try to rebuild aspects of my life, make new plans, come to terms with the loss and questions that gnaw at me as the sun sets and the night comes down, I find solace on my bike on these solitary country roads. It’s not the hardest riding I have done, not the most challenging or strenuous, but it allows me to be in the moment in a new way. The simple turning of pedals as I breath in the floral air is a long forgotten meditation I am beginning to pull form some ancient muscle memory.

As I ride down these roads, I recall my first mountain bike, a magenta and yellow Huffy that sat waiting under the Christmas tree for me, that then had to lie in wait for months before the snow melted and I could ride it. I can still close my eyes and remember the feeling of freedom it brought to me as I sailed down the county road, ending at the reservoir and dipping my feet in the water that was snow just days before.

I have spent the last few years so focused on being better, stronger, faster, that I have often forgotten the real reason I ride my bike. Rides like yesterdays bring me back to that simple joyful place. And moments like tonight, when my experience can evoke a response from someone else lucky enough to remember how great it feels to come home on these roads, make all the struggles, both on and off the bike, worthwhile.

Our Best Self

I was alive with blood and sweat
I was burning up inside
I was over everything
The dust of my life
I was alive with blood and sweat
My head was in the clouds
No water left to tread

Your best self. It is what we all strive for. Being the best version of ourselves, however that may manifest.

It is funny how we define what makes us our best. For years I let Strava define my best self on my bike. For the last year, I gave my time and heart to someone who I felt made me my best self in many ways. All of this can be great until it fails you.

Sometimes I am slow on my bike. My log of miles and time and elevation only tells a small story of who I was on that day. Today, I rode slowly up the hills of my hometown trails. Trails I haven’t ridden since I tackled the first annual race on them, riding 30 miles and climbing almost 4,000 feet of elevation under cooking sun while dust blew all around me. Today was only my second day back on those trails, and also my second day on any trails since the metaphorical rug was pulled out from under me.

After a year, the man I had grown to love and who I felt brought out my best qualities left, with no warning or reason. He left so unexpectedly that my bike gear remained in his car as he departed. It arrived less than a week later, also with no apology or explanation. The box holding my helmet, gloves and glasses sat untouched on my counter for days. Finally one morning, I woke early, took out my new puppy, and decided to ride. As I donned my helmet, tears began to run from my eyes. I don’t know when cycling became intertwined into my relationship, maybe it was that I had finally met a man who enjoyed riding with me, maybe it was that the last time I had worn that helmet was on vacation with him. Maybe it was just simply that I had spent the last year sharing my rides with him, sending him pictures and Strava results. Whatever it was, going through the motions was the hardest thing I had done in quite a while. But once I was out on the road, as I watched the sun rise over the mountains, I began to feel myself again.  The air was cold, the chill from the nights’ rain was cold against my bare arms. My legs ached and my lungs burned. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t pretty. It just was me at my basic level, alive with blood and sweat, burning from the inside out. It was me learning to be me again. the girl who existed before I let others define who I was.

Sometimes the outside validation of who are at a certain time in our life is inaccurate. Sometimes we have to be able to look into ourselves and know that who we are in the most intrinsic sense. Sometimes we have to put all of those exterior results to the side and know the truth that lies deep within us, know all the struggles we took out on the road or the trails that day, and know we conquered something just by being out there. Sometimes our best, our best self, is the not the side that gets up and rides when the sun is shining and all is well, or the side of us that conquers a race after months of training and preparation, but it is the most broken side of ourselves that picks up the pieces and rides in the rain, low on sleep and all cried out, suffering just for the sake of knowing you are alive and living.

Getting Lost..and Finding Yourself Along The Way

On Day 2, we all spent  little time feeling as if we should have tackled some additional single track instead of the standard route of 28 miles. I know we somehow felt that we had to take on all available miles for us to feel accomplished on the trip. To compensate, we added a ton of singletrack options to our Day 3 route, incorporating the Rim Trail and then the Aspen Loop to Hornet Spur.

Rim Trail

 

The Rim Trail turned out to be a pretty rocky and steep trail, and actually offered less views than anticipated, but did help us test our technical skills. Aspen Loop initially appeared to be eerily similar, as it began with a steep punchy climb littered with large and loose rocks, but quickly flattened to a fun, flowy trail. Somewhere along this trail, I had a flash of realization of how far my technical skills have come this past year. I also had a much deeper realization of how my motivation to ride well had shifted.

For the first year or so on my mountain bike, I feel I generally was pushing myself to keep up with friends, or more often, with guys I was dating, one in particular. For a long time, every accomplishment out skill I gained or obstacle I overcame on a bike, I immediately thought how stoked this guy would be that I could keep up better or be able to ride more with him.

While this motivation served me well, it was great to realize that something had shifted within me and I no longer associated my gains to a bygone relationship, and began to see these as my own. I started to see all the new places I could go as I grew stronger. My abilities no longer were a guide to what I could do with someone else, but what I could do on my own. I had begun to ride for myself, not anyone else. It was a truly liberating feeling.

As we ended the Hornet Spur trail and rejoined with the road, we stopped for a lunch break, and Jess split from Kristin and me to ride the last bit of Hornet while we continued on the road…or so we thought.

Lunch Break!

We had misread the map and didn’t realize we were on Highway 90, not the Divide Road. Long story short, 5 miles and multiple stops later, we hit cell reception and checked Strava to see our location, and realized we were more than a little off on location. Kristin and I turned around and began the long ascent back to where we first went astray.

As we arrived back at our lunch spot and headed in the right direction, we bean to feel a little better. We shortly met up with Jess, with about 10 additional miles under our belt, and headed towards the hut with the agreement that we shouldn’t split up again…that way, worst scenario, we are at least all lost together.

By the time we arrived at Columbine Hut, we had logged 49 miles and were spent. It was the perfect hut for a mellow evening. We relaxed in some camp chairs on the deck of the hut, and unwound from the day.

Pasta and wine dinner, hut style

The night went quickly, just enjoying a badass bacon olive pasta thank to Kristin’s ingenuity, and of course, some IMT rosé in a can. Sleep came quickly that night after all those miles, and we all looked forward to Day 4. Despite our exhaustion, we planned to again take the alternate route and add on what appeared to be some epic single track. Stay tuned for Day 5: The Never-ending Singletrack….

Morning at Columbine Hut

What a Difference a Year Makes

What a difference a year makes.One year ago from tomorrow, I took my first road bike ride. And as allof you know, it was love at first ride.

12 months later, I know own that road bike (Zelda), as well as a cross bike (O-Ren Ishii) and of course, my Trek Lush 29’er, Bettie (finally, a name, right?)…and you know that cycling has become my passion.

When I began last August, the local climbs like Dallas Divide and Log Hill seemed ever beyond my reach. I couldn’t imagine having the strength to ascend them. Now they have become my regular rides, and I feel stronger each time I ride them. I rode the piccolo route on George Hincapie’s Gran Fondo in South Carolina, raced a season of cross, started mountain biking and have found an amazing group of new friends through it, and even rode a day of Ride The Rockies through Colorado National Monument. Most recently, as you know from Gravel, I even took on some gravel road riding. It’s been a momentous year, to say the least.

A year felt like a big deal, and worthy of a new challenge. The opportunity arrived in the form of an invite from Primal Wear/Feedback Sports/Mad Greens to join their team for Tour De Cure, a fundraiser for American Diabetes Association. With 30 days to prepare, I accepted the invite, registered for the metric century (100 km, 65 miles), began to train and began to harass all my friends, family and business email contacts for donations.

Now the day is almost here. Tomorrow I will rise at the unholy hour of 5 am and start my adventure! It will be my longest ride to date by about 15-20 miles. I look to it with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

Thanks to those in my life who have supported me this past year, who have encouraged me and guided me and helped me to grow as a cyclist and as a person. Thanks to those who showed their continued support of me by donating to the ride. For those who would still like to, please do today, there is still time and it goes to a very worthy cause. You can donate by clicking here

Most of all, I look forward to years ahead of me, of seeing where this will take me next, what more this can bring to my life. A year ago today, I never would have imagined this is where i would be, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You can see what a difference a year has made in my life.

Coming down from Axel Project Bicycle Classic

My dad and I after our first ride together. Slightly a family divided, he’s in Primal Wear, I’m in my always present Hincapie Sports

Gran Fondo Hincapie in South Carolina

Cross racing begins

Podium time!

Perfect weather for a short sleeve jersey, and a great time for my fav Hincapie jersey!

Ridgway Area Girls Ride! Loving all that I am learning and friends I am making

Lucky Number 7

Seven has always been my number. And of course there is always the mysticism behind it that intrigues me. And this month marked 7 months of cycling for me.  I marked the occasion by riding up to Ouray Colorado, often referred to as the Switzerland of America, and a few miles up Red Mountain Pass. I put in about 26 miles for the day, and reflected as I rode home in a nasty spring headwind, how much stronger I have become. This year marks 7 years since my separation and eventual divorce, and I never at that time would have seen myself where I am now.

Cycling has given me strength in numerous ways. In the obvious way, physically I am stronger than I have been since becoming a mom. I weigh 2 pounds less than I did when I got pregnant with Hailey over 10 years ago. That fact, confirmed at my yearly checkup last week, constantly brings a smile to my face. But while that is fun, that is the smallest aspect of what I have gained.

Cycling has given me strength in solitude. I used to long for company, for noise, for distraction. Cycling has given me the strength to be by myself, to foster that independence that I have been struggling to claim for years. I can be by myself for hours in unknown and foreign destinations, and feel secure when I am on my bike. It instills within me a fierceness that radiates from within. I am by no means fearless on my bike, but when I am riding, whether climbing or descending or just spinning along the flats, I feel less fearful, more able to take on the world.

Within my solitude of cycling, I have a found a new friend in myself. The girl that I buried for years under work and responsibility and fear and sadness and anger. The person I was and could be again, when I released past regrets and future worries and let myself live in the now.

But its not all solitude. Cycling has brought new friends into my life, both nearby and far away. There is something amazing and unique about the cycling community, a sense of camaraderie and encouragement and support that is endearing to me.

I don’t know what lies ahead of me in life, as no one does, but i know that looking back on my last 7 months I am proud of who I have become. A little lighter, both in body and in spirit.

The Shape of Things to Come

“So you know that you’re going to have cyclist legs now, right?”

This was the question posed to me by a girlfriend shortly after I embraced the sport. We all know what she’s referring to. Large, muscular, un-ladylike upper thighs that will make skinny jeans a nightmare. For a girl with my build, slim but with a tendency to build bulky muscle easily, this was almost a dealbreaker. And then I thought about that said about myself. Was I willing to give up a newfound sport and all the health benefits that came with it, to maintain a slimmer cut of jeans? Unfortunately, the answer was almost yes.

As a woman, I contemplate body image a lot. We are bombarded by the image of the perfect woman constantly, even within sports. Whether its Victoria’s Secret or sportswear, all we see is sculpted and almost inexplicably perfect bodies. The idea that I would knowingly participate in a sport that would take my body further away from the societal norm scared me.

Then I thought about my daughter Hailey. She is 9, and so far somewhat removed from the constant media barrage of body image, but she is already aware of it. I have tried my hardest to focus my praise of her away from appearance (which is hard, she, in my eyes, is the most stunning beautiful girl on the planet) and to focus on her other assets, her mind, her wit, her boundless creativity. I want her to enter the adult world self assured and confident. Did I want her to see me counting calories and pointing out my bodily flaws, or did I want her to see me being healthy and independent, finding a sport that makes me happy and brings me joy that can carry through my entire life?

I chose to ride. I chose to accept that to do so means my body will never fit into the standard mold. I chose to have my daughter see me as strong. A strong cyclist, a strong woman with a strong body and a strong heart. I chose to have my strength inside be reflected by my strength outside.

I want my daughter to love her body, no matter what. I want her to embrace her strengths and even her weakness, and to know that every scar we have is evidence that we made it through something painful. And I have to be the person I hope she will be one day. I can’t tell her to be confident while I obsess over a scale or a pants size. I can’t teach her to be healthy while I starve myself. I can teach her to be healthy and fit. I can teach her to love how the machine that is her body can work in ways that are amazing and awe inspiring.

And of course, my friend was right. My body has changed since I began riding regularly. But I have begun to embrace the shape of things to come. I will never be the skinny girl in the magazines. But I will be the strong woman cycling on the trails with my daughter. I will be the woman with cyclist legs who looks like she belongs on the podium when she stands on it.  And there is no question that is who I want my daughter to see

 

Podium time!

Me rocking cross on Oren Ishii

Cross racing begins

Last race of the season