Alison and the Monster

Alison is a teacher who has taught both of my kids as they made their way through elementary school.
Now that I think about it, we have known each other for seven years. We both have daughters who are the same age, are sports oriented and are pretty easy going. We became friendly while my daughter was in her class, but I believe we became friends a year later when my son was a student.

When the school year began we had many phone calls regarding my son’s creations during instruction time (eraser people come to mind). It was not awkward at all to switch from friend/friend conversation to teacher/parent and then back again. Through the laughs, we came up with strategies to get him to focus.

When spring rolled around it was time to get my bike on the road to train for the Tour de Cure ride. Alison had a student that year with diabetes and we decided to train together and help support them.

We rode quite often trying to get miles into our legs to prepare for the 50 mile route we had picked to conquer in a month’s time. At the time, we rode quite a bit with my coach Casey, especially the long rides that brought us through farmlands and horse farms. We had so much fun training for this ride that we continued our treks through the summer with a goal to ride a century in the fall. My husband joined us and while we chose to do a metric century (62 miles) we got lost with a few other riders and ended up finishing the day with 75 miles when all said and done.

The following year things changed. My husband, Alison and I went on a training ride and I talked my coach into coming with us. Initially, he did not want to go, but I convinced him that it was too nice of a day not come out with us. We started out from his house and were on our way to a nice ride around a lake and through farm country- one of my favorite routes. I had just rolled up to him and said “Now, aren’t you glad you came?” “Yes” was his reply. My husband and Alison were up ahead so I left Casey’s side to catch up with them. Then time became very slow & surreal. Coming toward us was a SUV, in my left peripheral vision I see a basketball and a dog running after it. I hear something weird and turn back to look and then I hear the moans. Casey is on the ground. I turn around and sprint back to him and it is not good. I scream up ahead to Alison and my husband and they are soon by my side. He had hit the basketball and crashed, half on the 2” high lip of the road and half in the grass. Thank goodness the head hit the grass, but the hip was not as lucky as it hit the lip of the pavement and was broken. I rode in the ambulance with Casey and visited him daily as he recuperated. I was so guilt ridden that it was very hard for me to get back on my bike. I did, but I wasn’t the same and I kind of started to withdrawal from that experience.

Alison and I continued to train with one another, but as time passed I started to find that I would not go out as often or at all when she would call. Our rides became very sporadic and eventually we stopped riding together. My bike just hung on the rack in the garage and I began to pull from a friendship. Both ridiculous, but true.

I nicknamed my bike ‘The Monster’. It is silver, red and black and I feel powerful when I’m on it. Monster has brought me over many miles and has been a faithful companion. I know it was not happy just hanging around and not eating road. Actually, I was not happy with the hanging around.

This summer, my position at work was furloughed and I have been able to spend much needed quality time with my family. It has been wonderful. I have also had the chance to reconnect with Alison and my bike. I’ve missed both of them.

One thing about a true friend is that no matter how much time has passed between visits or conversations the next time you are together it is like nothing has changed. The comfortable feelings come back, stories emerge and happiness sets in to your soul. Alison is definitely in this category and I have missed hanging out with her. We have started riding again and have gone on some old familiar routes, but have explored new ones as well.

We recently took a spin to a local country store that has been converted into a deli/restaurant. The trip was a new route for me and it was fun. This area is very quaint and we both discussed how much we enjoy small town Americana. Everyone waves as you pass by, homegrown gardens that are overflowing are shared with the public on roadside stands with a bucket for your money- an old-fashioned honor system. It gives one that feeling of being home.

Getting back on the Monster and spending time with an old friend has brought me back home.

Love is a Battlefield

I am always drawn to corny humor. I can’t help it, just cracks me up. If you pass a woman in the greeting card aisle and she is laughing out loud or even crying from laughter, well, chances are it’s me trying to collect myself from the play on words created by these card writers!

This weekend however, I was not laughing. I was yet again thrown into the trenches of another hard bike ride with my husband.

The battle on the road took place in an actual battlefield. The loop is short and challenging enough to hurt depending on how hard one decides to ride it. If you have read my previous post Livestrong, Baby, then you know that my husband does not ride “easy”. I was in for a hard ride and encouraging the battle from within to come straight to the forefront to challenge me to finish and finish strong. I say this was a fight from within, because this past week, I rode the bike quite a bit and my skating training was extremely hard making me tired and my legs heavy.

We arrived early and were quickly reminded to watch for deer. Because this is a National Park and sees much activity on a daily basis, wildlife is very nonchalant about one’s presence. We interrupted breakfast for the doe above and you could almost hear her go “Hmpf” as she trotted off.

At our starting point we ran into an old skating friend who was riding with a couple of buddies. It was nice to see him and hope to see him back on the ice sometime soon.

We settled into our ride and the chill of the cool morning air gave me goose bumps. The first crest is not steep, but I found myself struggling to try to keep up and soon got dropped like a hot potato. My muscles were screaming at me. The battle had begun.

The song “Love is a Battlefield” sung by Pat Benatar, written by Mike Chapman & Holly Knight started playing in my head:

“We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us were wrong
Searchin’ our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

You’re beggin’ me to go, you’re makin’ me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you’ve had?
Believe me, believe me, I can’t tell you why
But I’m trapped by your love, and I’m chained to your side

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love is a battlefield

We are strong, no one can tell us were wrong
Searchin’ our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield…”

This song kept my mind off the pain in my legs that seared with every single incline. It made me think of the young soldiers that walked these very grounds preparing to battle for what they believed to be true and right and the love of their country. Even through the pain, they pushed and kept going until ultimately defeating the British and German Army. The Battle of Saratoga was the turning point of our country’s Revolution.

What would be my turning point?

I would not have that answer until our second trip around. I made it through all the hills, being dropped and then fighting my way back to my husband’s wheel. We got back to our car and rested for a minute. The sun had now burned off the morning fog and it was warming up quickly. We started our second loop and this time I felt more relaxed. My muscles were warmer and they were not revolting as they had an hour ago. Then we saw it. Our carrot was about 300 yards ahead of us on the path and my husband turned to me and said “OK, let’s go get him!” and before I knew it, we were a train of two working to catch the cyclist ahead. It didn’t take long, but before I could think about it, we were climbing the first incline and I made it ¾ of the way up pasted on the wheel in front of me. I fell off a little and when I made the crest of the hill, looked back and saw that the rider we just passed was now working to catch us! We came to a great decent and I tucked and flew. We made it through the first turn about and on the climb back I saw him just finishing his decent. From that point on I just thought “Turn over. Turn over these legs!”

I then noticed others working through their own battles: a couple of runners with bottles and GU on their hip packs- training for their next marathon. A few dog walkers, one in particular had a shiny metal prosthetic leg, which my first time around I hadn’t noticed at all. Then we came upon a guy named Larry. He was dressed head to toe in wartime garb and was kind enough to let us take his picture. He was making his way up to the battle camp that was set up for the day just past the knoll behind us.

We said so long to Larry and as we pulled away, another cyclist in a yellow shirt passed and said “nice day, huh?” not waiting or wanting an answer as he was just stating the facts. We rode for a few minutes, always keeping the yellow jersey in sight. About 3 minutes ahead of us is a snotty hill and my husband was literally twitching to go after the rider ahead. I finally caught up enough to say “go catch him- just wait for me at the top of the hill” and I swear time moved in fast- forward. My husband took off like a rabid dog and was gone in 2 blinks of an eye.

Here is where my turning point came. I was feeling better on this trip around, but obviously, not as good as the Tasmanian Devil that just took off. I passed a sign that said One Way. Yup. I have one way in and one way out. Up the hill I went and came to the next sign -The Great Redoubt. Do I doubt that I can finish this ride strong? Yeah, maybe a little bit. That hill hurt, according to my legs and I have a long slow climb before I’m done for the day. My husband was just coming up from the roundabout and said “You did awesome on that hill!” That is all I needed to hear to take that little bit of doubt that started to creep in and wipe it clear from thought. All I could say was “I love you!” We both smiled and I tapped the side of my helmet. When asked why I was doing that I said “I just got the title for my next blog post.”

I know, corny! But like I said, I can’t help it!

Livestrong, Baby!

Yesterday, my husband and I had our own little Tour de France game goin’ on. I even donned my “yellow jersey” for the occasion. It was a day filled with sprints, climbs, hammers and cracks and it was awesome.

In 2006, my husband was diagnosed with testicular cancer. We were fortunate to have caught it early, but its effects were life altering. We suddenly became acutely aware of what is important to us as a couple and to our family. It is a hard thing to go through even if the prognosis is good. The shock of the news, surgery, treatment- whatever form that may be- (in our case radiation) and the years of follow-up, always with the pit in your stomach waiting to hear that “it’s good!” and you can exhale with the small sigh of relief.

We admired Lance Armstrong and his riding abilities since his first return to the cycling scene, but became true fans in 2006. His foundation LAF helped us in our search for as much information as possible and I believe gave us hope that we could pull thorough this challenge in our lives. What is most amazing is that it gave my husband encouragement to get back on his bike.

When my husband and I first met, he was a cyclist and I was not. He had a beautiful blue Trek bike and I had a red Puch. The Trek was light and fast, the Puch, heavy and slow. I used my bike to get to my job as a lifeguard during the summers of college. He commuted on his as well, but also trained. We started riding together and I worked my ass off trying to keep up with him, which of course never happened unless he was kind enough to slow down. As the years passed, we upgraded bikes, however he was always ahead on our rides and I was always working.

My husband is a very gentle soul and very evenly tempered and not extremely competitive; however, something happens to him when he is on a bike. He doesn’t want to catch and pass the person he sees in front of him, he wants to catch pass and crush the person ahead of him, especially if it is on a hill; and can he climb! He does not compete, but if he did, he would definitely be successful! One thing that I have noticed over the past year or two is that he has become very lean yet has not lost any of his power on the bike. Hmm, sound familiar? I think with certain folks, cancer and the outcome of it, does change the structure of one’s body. For him it only made him stronger on the bike!

Recent rides for us have been the same old, same old- he’s ahead and I’m working hard. That is, until yesterday.

I have been working very hard this summer to get back into shape for speed skating season. Last year was basically a hiatus for me as I had no time to commit to training, so I decided to lay it on the line this year and go for it. I’ve been cycling as much as I can but he has definitely been on more rides than I this summer. Last week we did a fairly hard ride and he crushed me. I knew I was holding him back and apologized the whole way home. I just couldn’t hang.

Yesterday, we started our day watching the Tour de France and the mountain top finish. It was so exciting. We talked about the ride and how the riders finished and our thoughts on the team’s game plans. We decided for our ride we would do a fairly flat ride that has a snotty hill to it and a few rollers, but great for interval training with long flat stages. We got our stuff together and were off.

The first hill is short, a little steep but hard for me because it is right at the beginning of the ride. He was up and around the bend before I was half way up. I caught up to his wheel and then the game began. He started with his usual high cadence and took off, only this time I stuck to his wheel. A little peek over his shoulder and the hammer came down. I matched it. Another peek and this time surprise. He slowed and we rode side by side for a little while chatting and quizzing to see how each felt. He knew I had been riding over the weekend and already had a hard ride under my belt. But I answered with “I feel pretty good.”

We hit the first long flat stage and I could see him revving up and clicking his gears. I thought “Stay here. Stay here for as long as you can.” And I did! I thought “Yes! TODAY is the DAY!” Another excel and I was still the yellow shadow. I saw a road sign up ahead and decided to sprint for it- I broke off and threw down my own hammer and broke away for a few, but soon he was on my wheel and I brought him past the sign. We did this cat and mouse up to the snotty hill, which he blew up to the top, but this time he was not waiting as long as usual. It’s a small path up this hill and the overgrown brush reminded me of the crazy fans on the mountain stage we watched earlier. We eased through the rollers and were soon on our way back.

On our last decent, I was ready. So ready in fact, that when we got to the bottom and the flat I was the one yelling “Faster! GO!GO!GO!” He picked it up, but I passed and down came the hammer again. Another hill…down…up…and at the top, my foot came unclipped from my pedal. The stinker! He heard that and took off! One thing that is to my advantage- you make me mad and I will go after you with everything I have. I gritted my teeth and all I could hear in my head was Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen commentary. “Oh, my! The maillot jaune (yellow jersey) has been put in a spot of trouble! Will she be able to claw her way back to the wheel of the break-a-way rider? I don’t believe it, the gap has been bridged and we have a race back on our hands.” A peek over the shoulder and a shake of the head and click-click, he’s off again. We got to the next flat stage and the jersey cracked. Paul and Phil in my head “Paul, I think the yellow jersey has cracked. Yes, Phil, I believe you are right. A gallant effort has been put on this afternoon, but I believe it is all over now and the yellow jersey must ride their own pace just to stay alive.”

It took a while, but I eventually caught up. An easy spin and one last effort. This time, the yellow stuck to the wheel and lost no time across the finish.
It was the first time that I was able to hang and actually push my husband to ride harder. It was great and we both had so much fun!

Lance is inspiring those on the roads in France, but also those on the roads at home.
Livestrong!

The Wheels on the Bus

I am in the market for a new car. I currently drive a minivan and although I have loved the space for the family, it is now time to part ways for something smaller. Gas is just too expensive. It has served its purpose well for our family. I will miss the ease of putting my road bike in and out; believe it or not, more than keeping the kids separated on those long haul trips.

I hate to say this, but as a woman, I loathe buying a car. It is almost as painful as getting the oil changed. A guy never has to endure the same thing we do when it comes to mechanics or salesman. Now, don’t get me wrong, I realize that it is not every mechanic and salesman, but it is pretty darn close. I cannot stand when the oil change place wants to call you in to the shop to “show” you what’s wrong or what they need to work on. I don’t need to see it. Just do it.

A few years ago with two toddlers on my arm, I had such an experience. The kids were tired and hungry and in desperate need of a nap. I thought I would be able to zip in and out because there was no waiting line. Well, after waiting for 30 minutes, the technician came in and asked me to “come on out and I can show you what we did”. My reply to him was “No, thanks.” He looked back at me with a perplexed stare and repeated himself. Again, I said no and “Really, I don’t need to see it. If you are done, then I’m ready to leave.” My kids were starting to resemble gremlins with tearing through the coffee service station and I let them! Normally I would have tried keeping them out, but it was just one of those days and by this time I needed a nap too! The tech was so surprised by my “no” rather than the canned “OK, sure” that everyone always does, that he just went through the door, got in my car and pulled it out of the work station bay. From that point on, “No” became a magic word in that scenario and works to this day.

As I said, I am in the market for a new car. I have been doing my homework for months now trying to narrow down what I want and what will fit our budget. My husband just went through this process a little over a month ago and bing, bang, boom within a day had a car. We got our quotes from a few places and when it came down to the sale he got a little bit of a dance; the back and forth with the manager to see if our offer would be acceptable. Another dealer about 45 minutes away was quoting the price we wanted. We began to dicker over $300.00. When our salesperson came back, I finally said, “Listen, you can sell your car to us right now, or we can drive to the other dealer and get the price we want. It does not bother us to leave and drive the 45 minutes.” They sold us the car and 2 hours later we drove it off the lot.

Today, I had an appointment to test drive a car. My experience was completely different. I walked into the showroom and barely got a hello. I was seated at the salesperson's “desk” and he proceeded to take phone calls. The last call he had was finished with a “yeah, I have a customer here and I gotta go.” Once he said good-bye to his phone friend, he asked, “So, what am I going to sell you today?” Well, let’s get through the test drive and we’ll take it from there, shall we? My reply “Since I am testing two different vehicles, let’s see which I like best and then we can talk.” We test drove the first car, which he sat in the backseat, not offering anything other than turn right or turn left. Talk about a backseat driver! No info on what model I was driving, what options came with it, nothing. I only knew by seeing an info sheet that he threw onto the passenger side floor. We got back to the lot and he went inside to get the key for the second car I was testing. He left me standing in the parking lot holding the license plate waiting. OK, enough was enough. I walked into the showroom and found him chatting with the customer service girl…”oh, are you ready to go for your test drive now?” No you big Yahoo, I want to stand in the middle of the parking lot waiting for you. I politely handed him the plate and said “thanks for your time, but I think I’m all set.” Apparently, he didn’t need to make a sale today and another dealer in the area will reap the benefit of his mistake.

So, my quest continues and hopefully I will soon have new wheels to bring me from point A to point B without having to break the bank or my patience.

Tour de France 2009

There is one month out of the whole year that my husband and I will agree on something to watch on TV. We enjoy a few series shows here and there, but for the most part don’t really watch the same shows. The exception comes as the calendar moves to the month of July.

The excitement in our house is palatable…an autographed water bottle from US Postal makes its way onto our mantel. An autographed Coors Light cycling team shirt drapes nearby. Outside, my garden is teeming with a variety of sunflowers ready to bloom their bright yellow heads and face the daily sun. It is time for the TV pilgrimage to France and a 3 week bike race that has us sitting on the edges of our seats and routing for our favorite riders as they race in the le Tour de France.

As I had mentioned in a previous post, I love sports. I have loved them for as long as I can remember. As a young girl I was fascinated by Ruffian and watched her tragic match race with Seattle Slew. I read everything I possibly could on how she was healing and I cried when she didn’t make it. I kept a huge poster of Secretariat, another great race horse above my bed. It was an awesome thing that looked like a headboard that went to the ceiling. This is what I looked at every night before going to bed- the muscles on this animal just amazed me.

I watched the Steelers or Cowboys play every Sunday. I watched Billy Jean King on the tennis courts. I even watched a little bit of the Indy 500. But my favorite time in front of the TV, barring Sunday night with Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and then the Wonderful World of Disney (I’m really dating myself here) was ABC Wide World of Sports. I loved whatever they were covering- it didn’t matter- skiing, tennis, track, boxing, weightlifting- all of it. Maybe it was hearing Howard Cosell’s voice or possibly the way Jim McKay always made you feel like he was sharing the athlete’s story with just you. I couldn’t get enough. Then one Sunday as a special broadcast, they covered the Tour de France. It was 3-weeks of the entire race combined into one hour of coverage. Basically, the highlights of the tour; however, it was still exciting to watch these guys flying on their bicycles through the little towns in France. I was hooked.

Then cable arrived. Coverage of the racing started to encompass more than just a day. If you were lucky to find an obscure channel, you might have been able to catch a week’s worth of racing. But then came OLN, or now called Versus. They not only cover every stage of the race, but they cover the entire stage with commentary! That is a good 2-3 hours of bike racing! And if you missed something, they repeat the coverage 2-3 times over the course of the day! We will be able to see great feats of athleticism like that of Secretariat or Ruffian and learn a new story of a cyclist that will break away from the group and race until their legs feel like rocks and their lungs feel as though they will burn out of their body at any moment.

So, I welcome July with the anticipation of watching greatness unfold on the roads in France, in the Pyrenees and Alps and ending in Paris. I will sit with butterflies in my stomach wondering how do they go through the throngs of crazy roadside spectators and will scream “will you get out of the way already?!” at the Viking helmet clad moron that is trying to run with the cyclist-OK, maybe living in a Winnebago on the side of a mountain for 3 days with nothing else to do but drink enables one to wear the helmet, but cheer standing still!