Why I Ride

Somewhere between the Airport and the Marina


I pulled my jeep into one of my usual parking spots. I'm heading out on one of my favorite rides - Airport to Marina. There are a lot of reasons I like this ride; the starting point is close to my house, it's open and flat, so I can work on sprints and increasing my speed, and the scenery changes all along the way.

"Just heading out?" the man in the car next to me asks, watching me pull on my gloves and tighten my helmet.

"Yep" I reply, hoping he'll take the hint. I don't want to talk to him. I want to ride.

"Looks like rain" he warns, eyeing the ominous clouds and looking at me like I might be a little nuts.

"Yep" I reply, checking my brakes and tires one more time.

"Why are you doing this?" He finally asks me. And then the inevitable comment, the one I knew he was waiting to throw out. "It's Saturday evening. You're a pretty girl..." He lets it trail off and waits expectantly, like I am going to put my bike back on the rack and reconsider my evening plans after his observations.

"Yep," I reply. I clip in and I take off. Thanks for your opinion, buddy, but it's my time.

As I start off on my planned 32 mile ride, his words are echoing in my head. "Why are you doing this?" Why am I doing this? After about half a mile, I start to apply some speed. I feel my muscles start to get warm, my quads start to burn. Ah, I love that feeling. The feeling that they have been worked and worked hard not too long ago, but they're ready for what I'm going to throw at them. My breath starts to come harder and faster, my lungs begin to settle into steady breathing. My body is already responding to the challenge. I think to myself "oh yeah. This is why i'm doing this."

I like riding through the airport. It reminds me of my time in the Air Force. The aircraft and the flightlines and the control tower are symbols of a time that meant a lot to me, that taught me many lessons. I let my mind run over the places, the people, and the experiences I was lucky enough to gain through my military service as I push myself through this area. As I ride, I think of some friends I have who are now serving in Iraq, one in particular. He's a biker, too. I send good vibes to him and to all those serving as I pedal through an underground tunnel. "Aaron, when you get back, we are riding this path together" I tell him this, out loud. This gets some weird looks from the guy who just passed me, but I don't care. (And Aaron, we WILL ride together soon.)

My body and my bike respond together as the miles tick off on my monitor, and the airport gives way to a business park. This is my least favorite part of the ride, but it's not too bad. I like the streetnames. Amelia Earheart Drive. Charles Lindenbergh Way. There is a ford Mustang that is always parked in front of the Shell station with a vanity plate that says "heybabe". I don't know why, but this always makes me smile. The gas station attendant always waves at me. This makes me smile, too.

The business park gives way to a frontage road that borders i-80. I love this part of the ride. I am working on my speed, so I do some sprint drills. From sign to sign, I sprint, then I slow down. I sprint, then I slow down. I do this for about 3 miles and this leaves my legs burning, my chest heaving, but still, I feel good. I feel alive and I take this time to marvel at the amazing creation that our physical selves are. I can run, I can jump, I can bike, I can dance. My body has grown a child. I think about these things and I think again "oh yeah, that's why I ride".

By now, I'm moving quickly, trying to keep the speed up as I race along the frontage road. I'm not full out sprinting, but i'm really close. I feel my lungs open up a little bit more, I feel my quads push a bit harder, and I feel something shift in me. I'm out of my own head and into my body fully now. An unconnected part of my brain watches the miles tick by on the monitor, watches the familiar scenery pass by my eyes, but I'm totally on autopilot, pushing myself as hard as I can. I race like this for quite a while, in competition only with myself, but feeling like I'm winning anyway. After a while, something clicks and I realize that I'm approaching the halfway mark of todays destination. I slow down, enjoy the quirkiness of Saltair as it comes into closer view and I marvel at how much speed I was able to put on and how long I was able to maintain it. Oh yeah, this is why I ride.

At the marina, my halfway point, I ride out to the edge and watch the sailboats as they return home. I love the water, I love boats, but I'm not here to admire them. I'm here because I'm working on my own goals, building my own cathedrals (thanks, other Amy xxox) and I need to get back on the road.

The ride back is usually easier, but the wind turned on me and instead I find myelf fighting a strong, steady headwind. My already tired muscles protest this change of plans, but they are loyal and they give up the complaints soon enough and keep working. They ache, I'm tired and this is suppposed to be the easier part of the ride. To keep my mind occupied, I start to do one of my favorite mental exercises...I start to list the things i'm grateful for. And to add a little spice to my ride, I decide to think about each thing for the space of half a mile. I begin, of course, with my daughter and the half mile is filled with her smile, laughter and funny little words. Next comes my sister, which leads into thoughts about her twins and husband. My mom, my aunts, my grandma, my dad are all juxtaposed with thoughts of gratitude directed towards my friends, the person who invented floor cleaner that gets out baby puke, and my deep and unwavering gratitude for the person who convinced me to try road biking (Candace, I so love you). This little mind game does what it always does for me: the miles fly by, i feel peaceful and blessed and very loved and before I can even get through a minor portion of my gratitude list, I realize I am almost back to my jeep, and in the distance that has passed, I have found miles of peace.

Oh, yeah. This is why I ride.

I finish up the ride with muscles burning and I know I'll be feeling them for a while. It was a tough one, because of the distance, the strenuous speed drills and fighting the wind most of the ride. But my mind feels clearer, my body is tired and I know that rest will comes easily tonight.

As I load up my bike, I am feeling calm, mellow and a little sleepy. The threatened rainstorm never did appear and I am happy to have been out in the mountain air for a while tonight. I pull out and just as I am pulling up to a traffic light, I look to the truck next to me. The driver also has his riding gloves still on and he glances at me and takes in my helmet-mussed hair and my bike on the rack on the back of my car. I can see the smudge of grit around his face where his glasses were, and I know I have an identical one on my face, too. He smiles at me, and I smile back.

"Hell of a night for a ride," he comments through our open windows. "You look like you took on the whole 32. Even with that headwind, you can't beat that."

"Yep, I did," I say, and smile. "I'm tired."

"Well, that's why we ride," he says as the light turns green.

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Liking what i see

I like these pictures.
A lot.
And for me...
This is huge.

Today, I am ...

*Grateful for a job that fulfills the part of me that needs to answer questions and solve problems.

*Excited to get out on my new bike and RIDE!

*Trusting that the rather large investment I made in my health and happiness will pay off.

*Recognizing the intuition is a powerful, powerful thing.

*Understanding that it's ok to just let something go without analyzing it to shreds.

*Happy for other people's joy, as we are all connected.

*Realizing that the mistake I thought I made was actually an experience I need to have in order to learn the lesson I needed to learn.

*Anticipating a weekend of free time and play.

A beautiful thing

I just returned from a week in California, visiting my sister and her 14 week old twins. It was so fun to see how much the boys have grown in the few months since I last saw them, and to watch how their little personalities have emerged. Tate is a such a little flirt with a twinkle in his eye and a mischevious grin, and Liam is a fun-loving, sweet little guy with a goofy, infectious laugh.

As much fun as the twins are, it was just as amazing to observe how my little sister has grown into herself in a new way. Anyone who knows Becky knows that she is incredibly natural with kids. She relates to them differently than most adults and they love her for it. With her own children, however, this natural ability has deepened and grown into something beautiful. She glows when she is with her babies, and they gaze at her with adoration and trust. It was lovely and touching and endearing to watch her go through the motions of caring for two newborns, and realize that, with every bottle fed, every bath given, the mother-child bond grew a little bit stronger, a little bit tighter. Motherhood truly is a beautiful thing.

On the long drive home, with my little one sleeping contentedly in the backseat, I reflected on how being a mother changes a person, on how it has changed me. The experience of growing my child was a difficult one, but was also miraculous and so full of joy. When I think of the many days I fought debilitating nausea to stay upright and functioning, I have to also remember how I felt when I recognized the sensation of her little foot drawing an arc across my belly. I think about how she would push her head against my diaphram when she stretched and recognize the same gesture even today, when she has grown so much. I remember the first time she looked right at me, and the first time I KNEW she KNEW who I was.

Even now, many months later, I am still changing and growing from the experience of being her mother. I am more patient and more willing to sit and wait and let her explore the exciting world of cracks in the sidewalk and tiny insects on plant leaves. My priorities have shifted to include bath-times and family nights and bedtime stories and prayers. My world has become slower and smaller, my days orbiting around an almost two-year old, who has my smile and hands and her dad’s red hair and silly laugh. I work harder and take better care of myself because I want her to be proud to have me as her mother. I try to be a good example for her, to teach her by my actions about honesty and kindness and open-mindedness. I remind myself to be open to new experiences and new people, because I want her to do the same.

I don’t know that these changes would have occurred without the experience of motherhood. In trying to teach her right from wrong and the ABCs and compassion and how to tie her shoes, she has taught me to be kind, and patient and how to approach life and love with an open and ready heart. Being a mother has opened up my world like nothing else could have. I’m so grateful to have the experience of raising her and helping her grow into the person she will be. And I’m grateful to be able to watch my sister have these opportunities to grow more fully into her own, to embrace this part of her wholeheartedly. I am so glad I took the time to witness all of this firsthand.

Making me smile tonight

Some things that are making me smile tonight....

*When I ask Riley "Is that ok?", she replies "Tay".

*We ordered pizza tonight (again) and she chanted "pizzapizzapizzapizzapizzanummanummanummanumma" while i was paying the delivery man. She's a funny, smart, silly girl. And then she ate two and a half pieces. Good thing it was whole wheat crust with half the regular cheese. Gotta sneak some health into her diet somehow.

*Goofy text from a new-ish friend. It's always nice to know someone is thinking of you while re-sectioning a liver (Wait - on second thought - should he be texting in surgery? Maybe the nurse did it for him...? I hope the nurse did it for him...) Anyway, still nice.

*Mother's day is coming up this weekend, and I have some BIG PLANS to celebrate myself. Wahoo!

* I can't imagine anything as lovely as the daffodils on my dining room table. I'd take a picture for you, but alas, the camera is in my work office.

*Riley threw my hair-dryer overboard the other day (it wasn't plugged in) so I have been sporting wavy hair all week. I am choosing to call it "beachy-sexy" rather than "crazy-nutty" but still, I have wavy hair! Let's hear it for the post-pregnancy hormones that totally change your hair type!

*Javier (my mountain bike) was injured yesterday, but he's ok today. All thanks to a nice bike doctor at Cyclesmith in SLC. And at NO cost since he sold me Javier a year ago and remembered me. If you are in SLC and need work done on your bike, I highly recommend these guys! They are super-nice, very service oriented, and will answer all your dumb questions like "Q-what's this thing called? A-That's the disk brake. Q-What do you do with that? A-Stop."

*Riley and I are going to see my twinner nephews in a WEEK! And my Best Frister! And my favorite Brother in Law! And my favorite Joe in Law! California, here we come and this time - WE'RE BRINGING KATE!

Just putting a few of those things out there! Good things going on all around.

Blossoming

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom

~Anais Nin


I love this poem. I think about it often when I am dealing with something particularly hard or painful. But as much as I love it, I don't think I fully understood what Nin meant, however, until very recently.

As most who read this blog know, I am a writer. I have been putting pen to paper my whole life, but in the last few years, it has become something of an obsession. Taking the thoughts, emotions, stories, and ideas that are swirling around in my head, and committing them to paper is sometimes painful, sometimes joyous, sometimes easy, and sometimes the hardest fight I can imagine, but always it is healing. Always I find that when I let the words come, I let the world go. I have found truth and courage and love in the lines I have written. I have found forgiveness and compassion by recording the story. I have found my way into understanding by simply letting the words flow. I cannot imagine a life that does not involve telling my story.

Since the birth of my daughter, and the concurrent demise of my marriage, I have been writing the story. Recording the details, documenting my feelings, pulling it together. For others, because my story might help another, but mostly for her, so someday she can read the story as it happened. So she knows me on a different level. So she can see that she was in every thought I had, her happiness was the center of every decision I made, her health and well-being was always in the front of my mind. I want her to know what these years have been like and understand why our life is what it is. I want her to understand that I was scared at times, that I was elated often, that I felt strong and weak, sometimes at the same time. That I made so many mistakes and did so many things perfectly. That there was a lot of laughter and love, but that tears were part of the days, too. That I don't regret the outcome and that I learned many lessons on the way. That she was wholely, fully and completely loved.

I want her to know our story.

Now the time has come for me to start putting pieces and parts of this story out into the world. I'm getting ready to send some of the writing that has come from this time in our lives out for publication, and I am shocked to realize how hard this step actually is. This realization really hit home for me the other day as I was trying to finish up the last task I have to do to get this stuff on it's way. I am sending some essays and a couple of poems as part of a compilation of women writers, and I have to include an authors portrait with it. I asked my friend Jenica to take these for me. She is a fabulous photographer, a gifted artist, and most of all, she understands that creative parts of our soul need to be nurtured and guided. She has guided and nurtured me often in the relatively short time i've known her. I trust her. I trust her judgement and I trust her vision. I feel incredibly authentic around her, and I know that the creative, authentic me will show up in her portraits.

I knew I'd be nervous, because I'm not a natural in front of a camera. I don't really like having my picture taken. I think I look weird and unnatural in photos. Jenica sensed this and was easy and gentle (as she always is) but I was not loosening up. We tried it for a while, and instead of the process getting easier, I broke down in tears.

We backed off the picture-taking and instead chatted the afternoon away. As she always does, Jenica provided insightful comments and a new way to think about things. I left her home feeling noticably calmer, but with a lot to think about. Why was I reacting this way? What about having my picture taken scared me enough to bring me to tears? Why did a photo session feel threatening, when it was being orchestrated by one of the kindest, most compassionate, most REAL women I've ever known?

Here's the realization I came to, after a lot of thought, meditation, and (yes) journal writing.

The pieces are ready to go. They are done and are only waiting on the Author portrait to send out. Taking the pics is the final touch to getting them out there. It's the last thing to do, the last box to check, and then a part of me, a part of my story, a little piece of my world is going to be on display, with my face attached to the words. This is not a small thing. It's scary. I'm inviting anyone who reads my work to know a little more about me than is necessarily comfortable. I'm opening up a part of my life that is equal parts joy and pain for public view. It's a lot to deal with. So it's ok that it's scary. I still am going to do it. I still need to do it. I still WILL do it.

Because the risk of staying tight in the bud, of not putting myself out there, of not sharing my words and my heart and my story with the world, of not offering the fruits of this talent I have been given...that scares me more than the risk I'm taking to give myself the chance to blossom.

A few days later, I still feel a little raw, a little vulnerable. I know I'm getting ready to take a step that is necessary to my personal and creative growth, but it's still going to be hard. I still need to have the portraits done...that box remains unchecked. But understanding why it scared me allows me to find ways to deal with it.

I feel cracked open, but sometimes cracking open is the only way to let in the light. And the light is neccesary for blossoming.

Sitting with uncertainty

I'm usually a very decisive person. I figure out what I want, I plan how I'm going to get it, and there you go. Game on. And I have to say, 99% of the time...when I decide what I want, I get it. It just takes me defining what it is, specifically, that I want.

This has not necessarily been the case for me lately. I'm in a state of flux in several areas of my life, and have been for a while. I'm ok to live with uncertainty for a period of time. I understand that it's necessary and it's an important step in defining what I really want, but I'm getting kind of tired of it. I flounder back and forth on the ideas of moving, of changing careers, of going back to school, of serious relationships, of buying a different place, of religious beliefs. None of these are small questions in the grand scheme of things, but I am getting so frustrated with having them bounce around in my head endlessly. I need to decide what I want.

So I'm putting it out to my blog readers, to my friends, to my family, to the Universe. What do you do when you don't know what you want? How do you figure it out? How do you sit with the uncertainty when you don't have the answers? How do you find the patience to wait for them to come?