Perspective

Last Sunday's training ride was 55 miles. In the mountains. It was long, hellish, painful, and I was REALLY glad when it was over. Even so, the scenery was stunningly beautiful, and I was able to recognize and appreciate the view even when struggling up those mountains. I was able to thank Whoever for the blessing of being alive and able to do this.

This week was a rest week, so the long ride was only 30 miles. "Only" 30 miles. Three short months ago I thought 15 miles was a long ride. Now I'm grousing about doing "only" 30! (So, ever obsessive, I did the 30 at a full-out sprint. Note to self: "rest week" means fewer miles, not fewer miles at gut-busting pace.)

Honestly, until now I've never really believed I could ride a bike across the USA. Sure, I've been telling people it's gonna happen. But I've SEEN the mountain in Jerome, Arizona that we're going to climb. There was always that small, nagging voice wondering if I could really do it. Today the answer is "hell, yeah. I can really do it."

But the point of this post is not to recite training stats. It's to reflect on the fact that 3 short months ago my life was so different: heading into another fun summer, the only stress was figuring out how to fit my planned vacations into a productive work schedule. Everything was looking up. That was BEC (before Elyse's cancer). Now I look back on it and wonder what the hell happened. I also recognize, however, that if not for Elyse's cancer I would be a very different person right now. Elyse's cancer, and its emotional and professional impact on my life, has revealed an internal strength I never knew I had. I never wanted to run a law practice, but I can do it. I never wanted to be a cyclist but somehow I IS one. I never wanted to inspire and motivate people but somehow I've managed to do just that.

Elyse's cancer has revealed a very different Amy. And that's not entirely a bad thing.

What's extraordinary?

Congrats to Kristin Armstrong, USA's first cycling gold medalist in the time trial since Connie Carpenter in 1984 and only the second USA cycling gold in history in this event!

So, as you can see I've been watching the Olympics. For someone who hates to watch sports on tv, I'm strangely mesmerized by the Olympics every 4 years. Ever since I was old enough to sort of know what was going on (Mark Spitz, 1972, when I was 7) I've been fascinated by the athletes, the Games, and the whole spectacle. Sometimes they got me in trouble (Mom's couch cushions make great high jump mats, 1976, when I was 11), sometimes they motivated me to go out and do something like take up running again (Mary Decker, 1984, when I was 20), and sometimes they just left me awestruck by a human being's potential (any Olympics, any time). I always find something to ponder, even in the cheesy Olympic Moments, which I hate, even after the Atlanta Debacle, and even after nonstop beach volleyball in primetime this year.

This summer I'm wondering what makes these athletes so extraordinary. Is it their freakishly perfect bodies, seemingly designed by God for their specific pursuits? Is it their sheer will and determination to succeed? Is it their ability to respond positively to the greatest pressure imaginable by giving the performances of their lives? Is it all of these things? And are these qualities the province only of elite athletes?

I've always wanted to do something extraordinary. I thought about climbing Mt. Everest, but I like my fingers and toes too much to leave them on the side of a mountain 13,000 miles around the world. I thought about running a marathon, but really, running isn't my thing. Besides, a marathon isn't so extraordinary any more. Until this summer I never really found that one thing that I could use to challenge my heart, my soul, and my will, and emerge victorious on the other side.

We are all capable of doing something extraordinary; we just don't dare to think we can. Maybe it's being a compassionate lawyer in a profession full of sharks. Maybe it's raising open, honest, loving children. Maybe it's facing an uncertain future with grace and courage. We don't think we can, and often we aren't challenged or forced to summon that courage, gather our wits, and embark on that extraordinary journey.

The Team Dream 2009 ride is my Olympics. It's my chance to accept the challenge, to stand up and say "I will." I will do something about lung cancer. I will embark on a journey that scares the hell out of me. I will look at that mountain before me, take a deep breath, feel the fear, and start the climb to the top.

Then maybe, just maybe, I will feel extraordinary.

Fighting Boredom

Tomorrow's long ride is scheduled for 50 miles. Assuming I make it to REI today and stock up on emergency supplies--tire patch kit, mini pump, etc.--I'm going to ride in the country. Although I really like riding around town on ordinary days, the traffic, stoplights, potholes, and miscellaneous hazards really slow down a long ride. I want to get out on some back roads where I can just spin without having to stop for an intersection every block. If I'm riding where there ARE no blocks and stoplights, problem solved.

As much as I love cycling, though, boredom has become a problem for me on long rides. Most of the time (ok, any ride 2 hours and under) I enjoy the solitude that cycling brings. Really the only time I'm ever alone is on my commute to work, which has its obvious drawbacks, or on my bike. But after a while on a long ride the solitude gets to be a drag. I'm not worried about boredom being a problem on the cross country trip--after all I'll have all the other trip participants to chat with--but every Saturday I dread the Sunday morning long ride.

I'd like to end this post with some profound metaphor about cycling and the way it mimics life, but I can't. Sometimes boredom is just boredom, and you get through it to make your way to a larger goal. So tomorrow I'll spin through North Georgia, enjoying the scenery as much as possible, and occasionally imagining myself spinning through the cornfields of Kansas next summer. And knowing that next summer I'll probably be spinning through the cornfields of Kansas, enjoying the scenery and occasionally imagining myself spinning through North Georgia.

Obstacles

So yesterday I went out for a short training ride. Nothing big, just my favorite 1-hour course, Decatur to downtown Atlanta and back. About 1/2 mile into the ride I heard a pop and felt the slack: the chain broke. Where a year ago I would've freaked out and probably fallen over, derailed (pun intended) by fear, this day I just coasted to a stop to inspect the damage. Yep, chain completely broken with no hope of repair. So I simply turned around and walked home.

This little broken chain is a great metaphor for life. Whatever our plans, even if only to coast through a short training ride, sometimes shit just happens. We can't control it; we just have to deal with it as best we can. I could've screamed and cursed and raged. I could've let the unexpected derail my whole day. But it was only an interrupted workout, only an irritating development.

Larger issues are harder, but have the same basic principle. No matter our plans, life gets in the way, most of the time when we least expect it. When that happens, it's ok to scream and curse and rage, but at some point you have to get back to your life, whatever it is. Maybe it's a different life than you planned, but it goes on, with or without you. If the chain can be fixed, fix it and move on. If it can't be fixed, leave it behind and don't waste the rest of your time being pissed off about it. There are always other ways to get where you're going--maybe the journey won't be as fun, or as comfortable, but you'll still get there.

The Joys of Toys

The new bike is nothing short of SPECTACULAR. I can SO see myself riding 100 miles a day on it for 7 weeks. As a matter of fact I can't see myself doing that on any other bike. It's taken 2.5 miles an hour off my average time on my favorite 1 hour course, and the hills . . . . Well, they're still hills, but they don't seem as bothersome. Yes, my old bike was sufficient, and you can do anything on any bike, but this is sorta like the difference between a Chevy Malibu and a BMW. Convertible.

The training has begun in earnest. I've spent several months building base miles, riding about 5 days a week with a long ride on Sundays. This will continue, and I'll add about 1/2 hour to each Sunday's ride. This Sunday will be a 45-50 miler, maybe out in the country somewhere.

One of the training goals the outfitter has set for this cross country trip is to complete 2 century rides within the 6 months preceding the ride. I'm looking for a century in September or November (October is out; too busy that month). I'm considering the Beautiful Backroads Century in Cartersville, GA on September 20. If you've ridden that one and have any comments--good or bad--about the quality of the ride, or if you want to do the ride, please email me and let me know.

Thought for the day, paraphrased from professor Randy Pausch (what an amazing guy!): No matter what life brings you, you can be a Tigger or an Eyeore. I choose to be a Tigger.

Thought for the day, courtesy of Amy: when life hands you lemons, make Limoncello.

Ta ta from Tigger.