Movement & Exercise are not punishment

I was riding along the other day, blissfully pedaling on a somewhat cooler summer morning (a rarity these days, so it felt extra special) and realized just how much I was enjoying the ride. These occasions happen now and again, so it wasn't particularly significant, but I was soaking it all in and truly enjoying each pedal stroke. Some days simply offer a special feeling, as though I could ride forever. The perfect collision of temperature, body-readiness, feeling capable, and equipment function, I suppose. If I were to try to create it, I couldn't, but when it happens I try to enjoy every single moment to its fullest.

Having this sort of ride happens once in awhile, so it wasn't necessarily unusual, but what occurred to me as I pedaled is how often I have participated in movement -- be it running, walking, working out or even riding -- and it has felt like torture.  Sometimes it happens because my body is overworked and I am forcing myself to keep up some sort of idea of routine. At other times it may be that I have an injury and I am trying to "suck it up" and carry on. And still other moments I find that it is because of some perceived pressure I feel from others -- whether it is real or imagined. 

I have shared a bit of my past and childhood in this space at times over the years, and I know that some of that likely plays a role in how I perceive movement to this day. We were not a particularly physically active family when I was a kid, and when I did start to exercise it was only because I was being body shamed and thought that I had to do something to get fat off of my body. It was never about enjoying the activity (though I did enjoy at times), but rather had more to do with the idea that I had to lose weight and the way to do that was to work my body until I couldn't move any longer. Some of it may have been self-inflicted, but I have no doubt that outside sources were the main cause of this behavior.

The last year for me has been an exercise in not being able to maintain much of a routine. With all that was going on, it wasn't realistic to throw in one more "thing" to the mix. During the height of the pandemic, I was probably one of the few people who worked out and rode significantly more than I did pre-pandemic. Work was fairly non-existent for me and it seemed easy to fill the hours primarily with riding. I rode two to three times as much as I would have prior, and I wasn't slacking off prior to the pandemic. There were days though when I felt I was doing it out of some sort of imaginary obligation. I wasn't doing any real work and I didn't want to sit at home doing nothing, so I pedaled and hoped that it would help my mental state. Most days it did. But then, nothing extreme is maintainable over the long haul.

In the past, I have had trainers tell me that I should develop a routine so that when I have days (or weeks, months) when I don't feel like doing the work, the routine itself will carry me through the difficult time. In some sense, I understand this thinking. As someone who likes to and wants to be able to do things, but is not in any way, shape or form naturally athletic, if the base training isn't present, it's very challenging to pick up one day and do the thing - the activity, whatever it is - with any sort of capability. However, I think this thinking in general can be a bit flawed. 

When I have the idea that I must carry on, regardless of how I feel, it creates pressure or a sense that no matter what is happening, even if I am injured or exhausted, I need to stick to the routine. Granted, most trainers will build in rest days to a training program, but I do think it can become something that creates a mental pattern in which I start to think that more is better, and when the day comes that I cannot necessarily continue at the same level (due to time constraints, aging, injury, or whatever the cause), it can feel as though I am now a lesser human. Or, at least I know that is how I have felt over much of the last year. Logically, I know that isn't the case, but it's difficult to control what the mind wants to believe without significant work to do otherwise.

I have stated in the past, many times over, that my life has felt like a struggle for balance. I suppose in some sense it is what most humans are seeking. I often wonder if balance is really a thing at all and if in truth I am chasing something that doesn't exist. Maybe life is just a series of overdoing one or two things for a stretch of time and then returning to others, or adding in new interests or activities? Maybe balance is just a myth created to give humans something to hope to achieve in times when the world feels chaotic.

What I have realized, however, is that even if balance is never achievable, movement should not be punishment or feel like punishment. There may be times, moments or certain activities during which I wish to push myself harder than I normally would. Sometimes, it feels good to go beyond what I thought possible, to make it hurt just a bit, to stretch beyond what I would normally believe my limit. But, I know that when movement starts to feel like a punishment, it will definitely not be something I want to do regularly, and in fact, may be doing more harm than good. It's why I have tried my best to find activities that I enjoy, at least most of the time (there will always be those tougher days), and am reminding myself now that it's okay if I am not who I once was or able to do what I once did. I am doing what I can do now and if/when the time is right, I will do other things or more of the things I did once upon a time. 

Striving for Podium Me

Some days, I have begun to feel very slow. Wanting to find answers, I was reviewing my history on Strava. Initially, I was resistant to using this platform for tracking mileage, speed, and so on, but after using it for a few months, there was a realization that it provided information that helped me improve (both with running and riding) and I liked having a place to store information about my bikes because it helped me track how old tires are or how many miles are on a particular bike (or on my running shoes).

After using Strava for a bit of time, I realized it had become a kind of addiction. If I didn't see improvement, I would get frustrated and become more obsessed, so after some time I stopped using it all together. I needed a Strava break. At one point, I began to track some things again, but still wasn't horribly consistent with that habit, and then a little less than a year ago, I returned to tracking most rides, runs, walks and workouts through this service.

Having returned to Strava after an intermission, I was curious to go back and take a look at what I'd been doing when I first started recording. Since I don't run much outdoors these days, my curiosity was more in regard to rides I'd completed, but I thought it would be interesting to see if and how things had changed during the time span of using this software.

In the six years I've used this recording method, I came to realize that I have slowed down dramatically. Granted, there have been some severe ups and downs both mentally and physically during that time, but having thought I was doing pretty well at present, I was shocked to look back to the beginning of my records and discover that even on a bike I still ride today, my speeds have slowed between 2-6+ mph (3-10 kph) on an average ride, and running speeds were so much faster at that earlier point that I'm not even sure how I was physically completing the runs. I actually inquired of Sam, "How was I running that fast?" To which he could only respond with a shrug of his shoulders.

It's one of those curious things. Yes, I've gotten older, but in the grand scheme of life and (hopefully) not being at the end of my years on this planet, one would think that a shift so large couldn't happen in such a relatively brief span of time, especially for someone who participates in activities regularly. And yet, here I was, reading that in fact I have slowed down. The numbers simply do not tell lies.

In part, I've been frustrated because I seem to be able to push myself when riding the tandem with Sam; but when I venture out on my own it's as though I lose all focus and every ride becomes a slow, cruising ride - even when my intention is to go out and push myself. For a time, I thought it was the bicycles I was riding, until I made the connection that I have slowed on every bike - even those that I used to ride faster than at the present.

So, what happened? I wish I knew. As Sam said, "I think your brain is broken," and that's about the most sense I can make out of the situation too. My brain seems to have gone into some sort of looping record of being incapable, and yet, somehow I'm able to snap out of it when I know someone else is depending on me.

There is a part of me that doesn't want to believe my brain is broken because I thought I'd made a conscious decision to slow things down and not make everything a race, but somehow between the extreme of always wanting to race and never wanting to race, I have been unable to find a happy middle ground again. A middle ground that allows me to go faster (even if I'm just racing myself) when I want to, or relax when I have the desire is all that I'm searching for, but most days it feels as though my body protests cooperating.

I know that there have been physical shifts over the last six years as well, and these also likely play a role in the change of pace to some extent. I've become aware of both genetic and other permanent damage that I will always have to be mindful of when participating in activities too. Knowing these physical limitations exist has most certainly added to the broken-brain-syndrome.

Still, I know that my mind is stronger than my body and that I'm capable of more than my physical body would have the world, or even myself, believe.  That stubborn, use-it-all-up, no-one-tells-me-what-I-can-do, always-prove-myself individual is in there, attempting to get out. She makes appearances now and again, just to remind me that she's there, but I have to figure out how to bring her back to the surface when I need her to be present in the moment.

It's as though there is a "Podium Me" and there's "Defeated Me" that are fighting against each other on any given day. Podium Me knows that she's not actually ever going to podium during any race, but in a race with herself, she knows that she can push herself farther than she ever has before. She is confident, she pushes herself, she knows that the only way to improve is to continuously strive to be a better version of herself. Podium Me knows she still has work to do, but takes joy in the small victories and celebrates them, even if it's just with a smile to herself. I love Podium Me! She is awesome -- and she knows it.

And then, there's Defeated Me. Defeated Me truly believes that she is incapable, broken, slower than molasses, and will never achieve her goals. She is whiny and complains, even when there's no one to complain to but herself, which certainly doesn't improve the situation. Defeated Me has no hope and doesn't see any possibilities for the future. When Defeated Me shows up, there's almost no hope of having Podium Me arrive to the party.

The thing is, both of these people live inside me. The biggest problem is that they have to coexist because there isn't any getting rid of either one of them. There are times when I believe Podium Me has completely disappeared and Defeated Me is all that remains, but when I look deep down, I see little glimmers of her. Right now, she only seems to show up at the gym or on the tandem bike, but that's okay. She's still in there and she'll find her way to the surface again. She just has to dig her way out of the trenches and get free of the shackles Defeated Me likes to place her in when she thinks she's won.

One day, if these two can learn to cooperate and work together, I may actually find the happy middle ground I've been seeking. I look forward to that day, but in the meantime I keep watching for the little sparkles of light from Podium Me, knowing that those little everyday victories are helping her find her way back.

In the End, There Was a Beginning

If there was a medal for re-writing end-of-year/new year posts, I think I would take the gold this year. I have started writing, completed writing, and re-written so many that I have lost all train of thought at this juncture. Initially, I wanted to write about my frustrations with 2016. Not so much bike-related (though there have been those too), but more so with the state of this nation. I thought better of it though and decided to nix that would-be post. I tried starting it again with less of a bleak approach, but still, I couldn't shake the tone that was developing, and so I tried re-writing beginning with something more positive. It still didn't feel right and I wasn't expressing myself well. Over and over these rounds went, trying to find the right words to end this year without it appearing as though a dark hole has consumed me (for the record, I've only been partially consumed by a black hole).

*Image found here

Ultimately, I have come to the conclusion that there are not "right words" and while I really do want to pour out my soul, bemoan what is coming, and ultimately try to figure out solutions that work, I am not in a state of mind currently to capably express thoughts and emotions without it turning into a completely depressing post, and frankly, I don't want to be depressed nor do I wish to be a big downer to anyone else. I cannot change what has taken place and all anyone can do is move forward, believing that the best will come with work and dedication. I am choosing to believe that there are enough people who want, believe and will work for positivity that it will come about in 2017, regardless of the clouds that sometimes feel as though they loom heavy on the horizon.

Two thousand and sixteen has been a strange year for me. In many ways, I think I have matured (about time, I'm sure many would say), but in many other ways I have felt a kind of regression taking place. My responses to situations have sometimes been very childish and I have lashed out (both silently and audibly) at others. I have also become acutely aware that I have, somewhere along the way, lost some of my ability to act, and then think post-action. While that may seem like a good quality or a step toward growth for many, to me I feel as though I've lost a part of myself. I miss the person who acted instinctually or impulsively, rather than after days, weeks (sometimes months) of arduous thought and planning. I have always struggled with these two sides of myself, but generally the spontaneous side has won out in the past without effort. The passing years have turned me into what many would consider an adult, and I can't say I care for it at all.

I have struggled to fix my body as well. Injuries that arose a couple of years ago seem to plague me even today. While there has been some recovery, age has also made healing a longer process it seems, though I am grateful that progress is made, even when it feels inhumanely slow at times.

I tried to start a business this year that failed miserably before it even really got off the ground. I had invested a great deal of time and effort (and a fair amount of financial resources too) into trying to make my plan work, only to come to the understanding that our city would not allow it. It was a big blow to my emotional state, I have to say, but there is a part of me that still believes anything is possible. The fact that it involved the use of my bicycle was exciting, but sometimes timing is simply off, so who knows what the future may hold?

Although there have been many deaths that occurred this year, there was one that affected me more than any other. My father passed away at the end of April after only 72 years of life, which left me searching for answers that I didn't and likely will not find. I was grateful, however, that after multi-decades of not coming face-to-face we had an opportunity to see each other and clear the air before he left this earth. While I still may not comprehend many things, I am thankful that I came out of it with an understanding I might not have otherwise had. I realize not everyone is so fortunate and I didn't and don't take that opportunity lightly.

Sam and I have continued to push our house-renovating selves in 2016. We have some pretty cool work to show for it, but it is exhausting, body-breaking work to do for two people and it often feels as though we have no life outside of demolition and rebuilding/remaking. I appreciate that we've found ways to reuse so many materials that were already in the house or that others discarded, and have been patient enough to wait for second hand deals or sales on most other items. I promise, the house is far less dumpster-dive-chic than it sounds after that sentence. After two years, we are nearing completion of this house (if we can only stop adding projects to the list), and I think we've proven to ourselves that we are capable of more than we ever thought possible. This time has allowed me to practice patience and has taught me not to be afraid to try things that seem daunting or even nearly impossible.

My art-self has taken a full swing at switching from painting to clay sculpture. It has been challenging to find time to do what I should actually be doing (you know, my actual job and all) with continuing house renovations, part-time gigs, and so on, but the pieces I have been able to complete have shown me that I definitely have my own voice (strange as that voice may be at times), and that I believe I prefer the creative process in three-dimensions as opposed to two. Who knew? I find that I have a far less-tense approach and more creativity while working, and when pieces don't work out it stings just a tad, but I try, try again or shrug it off and move forward.

I am learning that I prefer simpler, less technological things much more than I ever thought. Things like iPads and iPods, laptops and Netflix are all fantastic to have, but I am of the belief that I could live in a much smaller space, with many fewer things and be just as happy (or maybe even happier), and my most memorable and thought-provoking rides have been those that were not recorded or shared other than perhaps with another person along for the adventure. I am still not ready to limit my bicycles (though I know I could, if it were necessary), but as for other items in life, I really don't require much and I seem to be happiest during the most ordinary moments.

As difficult as it is for me to believe, I have written fewer than 40 posts over the last year here. I'd like to say that quality outweighs quantity, but I'm fairly certain that would simply be an excuse for my lack of time dedicated to this space.

I did share my thoughts about potential road-side potty breaks, and some of you shared your own tales.

We chatted about winter and riding (and I even stated that we in our house did not need fat bikes - and yet, here I sit today riding one).

I got a bit sappy about my Rivendell, too.

Our years in Colorado have been positive, as I relayed in a post when Sam visited San Diego earlier this year.

Although the BDB Pelican technically came into my life in 2015, it really took me places in 2016.

Sam shared his summer Leadville, CO adventure riding in the Silver Rush 50 and then later his tale of the Barn Burner in Flagstaff, AZ.

I changed a flat road-side for the first time on my own (at least without a watchful eye).

And, we somehow grew a real vegetable garden for the first time with success, which brought unexpected benefits.

I also found myself working part-time in a bike shop for a decent chunk of the year.

*Image found here

All in all, the year was a positive one, just as I hope it has been for you. There have been some questionable moments, but without those, I suppose life would be rather dull. I have hopes for many things in the coming year, but I am trying not to get ahead of myself, and instead focus on appreciation of today and what it has to offer instead of jumping into the future. Ah, growth, it rears its head yet again (let's see if it lasts).

May anything negative stay in the year that is leaving and only positive moments be in store for your 2017! Thank you for continuing to read and share your thoughts here in this space. I am grateful for short and long distance interactions with the fine folks who happen along here, and I look forward to continuing to share and grow with you in the coming year. Thank you for taking time to leave comments, and huge thanks to those of you who have e-mailed to share ideas and photos as well.

Happy New Year! I hope it finds you riding in good health, with a smile on your face and any wind always at your back.

Happy Thanksgiving!

On a recent Flickr hunt to find a specific photo taken several years ago, I came to a conclusion that I hadn't realized until the evidence was right in front of me. Apparently, I have a "spot" in which I like to stop to take photos while out riding. I'm sure it's not as uncommon as it may initially have seemed to me, but I found it interesting that with nearly every bicycle I've owned (that wasn't used only as an around-town bicycle), I have stopped to take a photo at some point in almost the exact same location.

This photo originally stood out because everything seemed so green for the time of year.

It could be proximity to home (the location is only about 8mi/13km away), making it an easy stop off spot on most routes, or perhaps it's simply that I am drawn to something in that particular area that causes me to veer off and stop. I tend to shy away from routine, so it rather surprised me that I have developed an unconscious but regular habit of stopping in this spot - for whatever reason seems to grab me in the moment.

When I came upon this picture of the Velo Orange, I realized it was the same spot I'd stop with the Crown Jewel above to take a photo.

I suppose it's true of many things in life though. It's easy to develop routines without even realizing it's taking place. The older I get, the more I realize it's a part of life and unless I remain vigilant and aware, I can easily fall into habits - whether they are positive, negative, or neutral. Sometimes though, I cannot help but wonder if routine is really so bad.

The water was disappearing from the lake in this picture, but it is, once again, the same spot I'd stopped for so many other photos.

With Thanksgiving upon us, I understand that it is the start of the holiday season for us in the United States. Some look forward to it with great anticipation, while others dread these final weeks of the year for a variety of reasons. I think most of us have traditions or routines that we expect during this season though, and I find myself very aware of my own expectations and habits.

This looks like a different location, but it's actually just a few feet around the corner from the same spots photographed above.

Today, for example, I baked pies in anticipation of Thanksgiving. This year, it was decided that pumpkin and apple were the flavors of choice. We, in our household, do not have a "usual" for this holiday, with the exceptions of making a few homemade pies and having a good workout at some point in the day. I have always enjoyed that our tradition is non-traditional, but it seems that we have still managed to find ways to sneak the expected into our routine.

Not the pretties of apple pies, but it smells good! :)

It has reached a point today that our non-traditional drill has become the tradition and routine of our home, so, even trying to bypass the expected habits we have inadvertently created our own, making a different-from-some-others holiday, yet still somehow routine. It may not be the same as others will celebrate, but I love our developed-over-the-years traditions, and I look forward to getting on a bicycle at some point during the day, even if it's just to wander the unusually empty roads.

Wherever your Thanksgiving finds you, and whatever traditions (or not) you may have, I hope you find enjoyment and peace and that you are able to celebrate, if only for a few minutes, on a bicycle. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours from the Endless Velo Love household!

Change Is Difficult... Even for People Who Like Transitions

To those who know me well, they are aware that I am a person who thrives with variation and change. I don't do well with the same old routine day after day, nor in traveling the same routes or even following an obstacle-free path that has been perfectly laid out in front of me. I tried for years to modify this quality, believing that something is wrong with me because I need to see new things, make my own path, and experience new adventures more frequently than the average person, but I think my last half decade of life (or so) has taught me that I need to stop fighting who I am - which is a struggle some days all its own.

There are always times when we need to, perhaps, reel ourselves in and understand when we're making poor decisions or choosing dangerous actions, but if no one is getting hurt, there's no reason to think that craving variety is a "bad" thing.

*Image found here

But, very few people live in a world of constant change. Habits develop. Routines are found. Whether enjoyable or not, realities of life take over and these responsibilities can't help but form a certain level of repetition. Ruts are developed, slowly with repeated movements and the thought of how one arrives in such a place comes into question. The thing with ruts is that if they go untouched they just get deeper and deeper until a giant, sometimes inescapable hole is formed.

A lot of change has happened for me personally over the last two years. Injuries compounded with other injuries, attempted and failed business, loss of family, the realization that my body may never do many of the things it once did, allowing myself to walk away from passions in life... just to name a few... they have all brought a reality check.

Some of the changes that took place I had complete awareness of as they were happening, while others kind of seeped in gradually laying the ground work to become unwanted attachments. When this happens so gently over time there's sometimes little consciousness about what is taking place. Life moves forward until one day I just felt heavy. Literally and figuratively.

Even though I am an emotional person, I am not weak. My passion about various topics or injustices comes from that emotion. Yes, it makes me sob uncontrollably at the Clydesdale and Puppy commercials, but that same emotion has the power to bring change, if put to use in a directed, purposeful fashion. The problem, at times, is recognizing that the passion is lost or has been guided down the wrong path.

This year, I have begun to recognize the potholes in the road and rather than just letting them sit unattended, I have made plans and directed action to help fill in those ruts, or in some cases, started building new roads to take me around the insurmountable obstacles. After all, some things aren't worth hitting head-on when it's easier to take a slight detour.

I have a lot of repairs to make right now and a lot of new roads to build. I'm ready to take on the challenge, even though I know I may not be able to take the most traditional paths along the way. I also realize that some things are more difficult than others to repair, rebuild, or even re-route, but things that come easy are rarely worthwhile.

To this end, I am still figuring out the blog. My suspicion is that it will remain in tact and moving forward, but I've found myself trying out some different adventures, so perhaps there will be some detouring into outdoor-related, but not exactly cycling-specific topics. We will see where the future takes this space. As always, thank you for continuing to read. I look forward to continuing to share and hearing your thoughts and feedback as well.

Bicycles and Gear: Give Cheap a Chance?

Growing up, I had a friend who was extremely frugal. She was and still is the sort who takes unopened ketchup or mustard packets left on a restaurant table so that she doesn't have to buy them for her needs at home. Even today, despite having a job that provides income to sustain her lifestyle, she sees no reason to go out and buy a bag of sugar when there are packets readily available during a meal out that can be collected for later use. I will never forget one outing during which I had ordered a cup of hot tea. The server had brought two tea bags and a couple packages of honey, and when I only used one tea bag and none of the honey she quickly inquired, "Can I take that... if you aren't going to use it?" She doesn't view it as stealing, but rather just taking what someone may have used while consuming a meal -- a means of conserving monetary funds. I suppose whether this is theft or not is somewhat debatable, but it's merely a representation of one of her habits to keep expenditures to a minimum and one illustration of her thrifty life choices.

Admittedly, I am almost the opposite of this. Well, perhaps the opposite isn't entirely accurate. I don't think I'm unnecessarily wasteful, but I don't feel the need to take unopened packets of various condiments home with me when patronizing restaurants, and I tend to live more by the saying you get what you pay for when it comes to acquiring goods for personal use or my home - even if it means having less things.

For example, I don't find most furniture manufactured in recent years to be of high quality, so if I have the option, I'd rather find a second hand item that has made it through several decades (or even centuries) than spend on a fiberboard or plastic piece that will likely end up in a landfill much sooner than furniture should. Life has taught me that thinking I'm getting a deal on something because it's new but cheap usually results in disappointment with broken or unusable items.

When it comes to bike parts and cycling gear, I tried less expensive options when I first started out and found that I simply didn't like what I came across, and so a kind of habit developed (unconsciously, really) that caused me to seek out more expensive items, believing that if I spent more I would get a higher quality, longer lasting, more usable product. Generally, that thought has held true. Which is not to say that every product that costs more is or has been of higher quality or functions better, but simply that I have found that being willing to spend a little more and perhaps have fewer of an item allows me to obtain more comfortable cycling shorts or a longer-lasting bike part.

I am by no means a snob (bike or otherwise), but I suddenly was jolted into awareness of my unconscious behavior when I realized I was mentally protesting a particular garment for cycling simply because it was 1) less expensive than other items I'd typically buy, and 2) it was being sold by a discount cycling outlet type of store that carries off-brands.

Oh my word... I am a snob, I thought. How else could I explain my reasoning for not wanting to try a product simply because it's less expensive? Maybe it wasn't quite snobbish, but I definitely didn't have any valid reason to not give the item a try.

I started thinking about other areas of life and bargains I have found on items. Several of my favorite pieces have been the least expensive items I've purchased and even favorite dining spots are often not the fanciest, most costly places. Basically, I reminded myself that just because something is less costly or appears on the surface to be less-than-desirable doesn't necessarily make it useless, bad, or inferior.

So, with these thoughts in mind, I decided to purchase said item and give it a try.

The funny thing is, it turned out to be a remarkably usable product that has functioned better than some items on which I've spent three to four times its price. Since then, I've had a couple of other this-shouldn't-be-this-inexpensive type of purchases that have panned out well, and even though I do think that there are times when spending more can save a headache in the long run, I was reminded that just as an item can be expensive and useless or of low quality, it is also possible that an item can be inexpensive and still quite wonderful and usable.

I am grateful that when I initially started to cycle in adulthood that I didn't run out and buy the most expensive things I could find, but on the other hand, once I knew what I liked and didn't, I know I started to accept that I would need to spend more on the items I wanted for my bike or for gear. Somehow that realization seemed to get warped into an idea that spending more was the only way to find good items, which I know is not true. Yet, that thought process seemed to prevail until I came to understand that I was unintentionally but quite routinely avoiding certain items simply because they appeared to be too inexpensive, even if I thought they could work.

What are your thoughts on less expensive parts and goods for cycling? Is cheap worth trying when it comes to parts, bicycles or other gear, or do you believe that spending more will always provide a better product? Are there certain items you spend more on and refuse to compromise on your preferences, or are you willing to give an off- or generic-brand an opportunity to prove its worth? Have you bought anything expensive that you wish you would've passed on buying after using it, and/or have you bought anything less costly that you found to be a remarkable item for its price? Feel free to share your experiences.

The Big Picture

With April being the official 30-days of riding month, I was excited to get started with a ride - regardless of how short - every day this month. Things got off to a nice start, but then quickly went awry. A few days into April, I came down with what I believed to be a cold. Each day, however, I found myself getting slightly sicker and more tired. By about the fifth day of my presumed cold, I was in bed, trying to figure out who had put such a horrible hex on me.

One of the early days of 30 days of riding this year

And so, my 30 days of riding was only a few days in when I had to call the mission off. Being unable to functionally walk more than a few feet, my body was in no shape to pedal anywhere. I hoped it was only a few day setback, but I soon discovered that this flu was not going away quickly. Days quickly turned into a week and then even extended beyond; and then, as if to make matters worse, a family emergency arose, necessitating a trip to Georgia for the better part of a week. Before I knew it, here we are nearly at the end of April.

For some reason, a story from a few years ago popped into my head when I thought about the goal of 30 days of riding this year and the obstacles that sometimes present themselves.

When I went back to college eight years ago, I knew I wanted to major in art, but I had no idea what I wanted to do within the vast possibilities of that broad subject matter. Like any major, there were basics that had to be taken before advanced coursework was chosen, so I tried to figure out what made sense as I plodded my way through the stuff that had to be done, regardless of my final decision.

One of these early classes was a drawing class. Having never really drawn (other than more of what I'd term doodling as a child), I had more anxiety about this class than I can possibly convey. Tears were a part of every single class. I would shake uncontrollably most days because I couldn't get over my fear of knowing that I had no clue what I was doing, and I was terrified by the reality that I was surrounded by people nearly half my age who had been drawing their entire lives and were quite proficient at it. I often wondered what I was doing in this class at all and had many days and weeks that I considered dropping out entirely.

There was a part of me though that was interested in drawing. Much as I feared the subject, it was something I wanted to conquer. I knew I only had to pass one drawing class, but the thought of getting through weekly assignments and class drawings seemed insurmountable at the time.

I can recall one particular day during which I was having a supreme meltdown. The professor had been so concerned that she pulled me out into the hall to have a chat.  Her words to me were, "You're not going to get through this class crying for 5 hours a week." Of course I knew that, but I couldn't figure out how to make it stop - the anxiety, the fear, the self-doubt - it was all wreaking havoc internally and the only release seemed to be in the form of tears.

As if having the teacher pull me out of class wasn't mortifying enough, she then returned with me to my drawing table to see what it was that was causing me so much grief. Our subject matter was set up in the middle of the room and the students sat in a square around it, each drawing the subject from different angles. I had attempted to start the drawing, but I felt as though I just didn't know where to go. I was overwhelmed. As much as the instructor would tell all of us to simply draw what we see, I believed I couldn't see enough to really put anything on paper.

As the professor and I sat chatting, attempting to work through my problems, she finally said to me, "It's not that you don't see enough, you actually see too much. Stop focusing on all the small details and intricacies and look at the whole; the big angles. You see all of it just fine - too well, really - but you're obsessing about details that are unimportant for a quick sketch."

Somehow it seemed to help that another person believed I could get through the class and that this person understood that I could actually see what I believed I couldn't. I ended up excelling in the course, and by the end my drawings were being used as examples of what to do. Quite the turn around for someone who believed she couldn't draw. If I'm honest though, even to this day, I have moments when I regress and struggle to strip things down to their most basic form. I still want to be sure to incorporate every little detail and can get lost in those details instead of focusing on the bigger picture. Sometimes this is a strength, but for other occasions it can be a severe detriment.

This personality quirk is easily relatable to many situations in life. I can find myself lost in the mire and then don't see the possibilities over the long haul; or vice versa when I find myself wanting to achieve some sort of large goal but then fail to plan or work up to bigger events over time, rather than just going out and completing it. I realize that just because I wasn't able to complete the 30 days of riding challenge, it doesn't mean that there cannot be other goals along the way, nor that I couldn't do 30 days of riding some other month.

Sometimes, I just have to remind myself that I have to look at the big picture and not focus on the little details that are easy to get caught up in if I'm not careful. Are you biking the 30-days of riding challenge? How have things gone for you? Have you found obstacles along the way or have you been able to push through thus far?

Of Molehills and Mountains

The last few weeks, I have found myself in a very reflective state which also seems to coincide with the inability to look at things with any sort of detachment or objectivity. Sometimes, this happens because I'm attempting to protect my reflective period and what comes from it, and other times it just seems to just be what it is - whether good or bad.

There is an ebb and flow to these feelings and while I am always aware of my emotions there are times when I find it impossible to write anything here that is in any way technical. These are the days when I find myself thinking on where I have been, where things are going, and how I intend to get to a given point.

What I have noticed during this time is that there is a correlation between my processing and how I face rides. When I'm focused and able to take on the particulars of a subject, I concentrate my energy while riding and feel confident in climbing and even pushing myself in regard to speed. I believe myself able to tackle anything that is put in my path and while I am aware that I'm not much faster than any other day, somehow I feel and think myself more capable.

The opposite is also true. When I'm not feeling mentally up-to-par, I find myself defeated before I've even started. In fact, sometimes I don't even bother to start because I'm convinced that I will just end up a quivering pile on the side of the road. Logically, I know this isn't true, but it's easy to convince myself otherwise when I've dug myself into a mental hole.

This has been a rough season in regard to cycling. Not only have I faced physical challenges that I didn't want to deal with, but I've had a lot of bike/mechanical/fit issues to contend with and it's created a mild amount of depression. Pulling out of those darker thoughts some days is challenging, but if I have learned anything from riding a bicycle it is that choosing to do nothing will in no way help matters.

As we near the end of August, I can feel my insides craving some sort of challenge. I can sense that doing nothing significant this year is eating at me, tearing at my self-worth.  I haven't climbed any ridiculous mountains, I haven't chased any sort of personally unattainable distance, and in fact, I haven't even scheduled or registered for any event at all this year.

Several days ago, I told Sam that I wanted to go and ride Rebecca's Private Idaho. It's an absolutely ludicrous thought because I haven't ridden more than 40 miles in a stretch at all this year, and those "longer" rides have felt like torture, having need to stop every 3-5 miles to work out pains and problem spots. More recently, a long ride is somewhere in the vicinity of about 20 miles. As stated, this definitely hasn't been an all-star year, and it is obvious that I am in no physical shape to take on a major challenge.

Still, I have this urge to attempt a ride that seems insurmountable. I haven't quite decided if the reasoning is simply because I believe I've missed out on too much and want to make up for it, or because I have some sort of sick desire to prove myself incapable of completing a big venture in my current state.

I've pretty well decided that Rebecca's Private Idaho isn't happening. It's too close in time to the Leadville extravaganza and there is much that needs attention here at home which doesn't really allow for several more days away so close to our last departure. Not to mention that there is a ridiculous amount of climbing involved for someone who hasn't pedaled uphill much at all this year.

With all of the pondering though, I realize my great capacity to turn little things into big, and vice versa, depending on my frame of mind.

On one hand, I try to allow myself some leeway, some kindness in dealing with persistent injuries. It's the part of me that understands that healing takes time and pushing things physically isn't always the right option.

On the other side, I question why I don't push harder and simply deal with the pain. After all, there are those in far worse situations than me. I cannot help but feel somewhat like a failure for not being able to drive myself to do the things that are more challenging at present.

In spite of the mental battles that often take place, I am so thankful to still be riding. I may not be taking on the challenges I'd hoped to face this year, but there is time enough for all of these things. My body is slowly healing and I'm finding ways to stretch distance on the bike when things aren't quite so painful. Who knows? I may still get to one of those ambitious goals yet this year.

Taking Back the Bike

Several nights ago, as I was attempting to drift off to sleep, there were many things running through my mind. I suppose, the purpose of sleeping - or at least dreaming - is to work through the happenings of the day to come to some kind of resolution. It wasn't horribly surprising that a chunk of thought-filtering this particular evening centered on bicycles. It's not uncommon for me to go to bed pondering some type of bike topic, but on this day, I was particularly troubled. I am both watching and living as I try to sort out where I went awry.

*Image found here

First, I need to go back a short bit in time.

I believe that 2013 was the pinnacle year of cycling for me. Not only did the summer bring more hours in the saddle, but I rode the entire year, regardless of weather, more than I had any year prior. It wasn't just time in the saddle that made me believe it was my peak though. I enjoyed every ride I took with rare exception throughout that year.

Sometimes enjoyment came from what I learned on the ride, other times it just permitted me an opportunity to understand something about myself. I took on longer distances than I ever had prior, I tried my legs at climbing rather than avoiding it like the plague, I intentionally traveled through snow storms, and I pedaled through what were arguably the most dramatic rains Colorado has seen. It was a fantastic year - warts, so to speak, and all.

As the year drew to a close, I started wondering if I could bring about even better results in 2014. Perhaps I could make a plan that would allow for fewer mistakes and greater returns. I started to plan and attempt to figure out what would make for progress in the year to follow.

Part of those plans included the possibility of a custom bicycle. It was something I'd considered for some time, and, as my presumptions went, if I'd had pretty decent results with something off the bike shop floor, surely creating something made just for my measurements and peculiarities would be even better. A true bike utopia, I imagined.

As you may recall, the results were far from the blissful ideal I'd thought they would be. I rode through the summer on the new custom, assuming that I was to blame for the problems. My body was not in the shape it had been in the summers prior, I hadn't been riding the same distances either, and I just felt off for lack of a better way of stating it.

While the failure of my attempt sunk in, I began trying to figure out how to get myself back on course. My thinking was that if I tried again with a custom and it ended up being a good fit, I could get myself righted and the good feelings and fitness would resume once again.

There were lots of reasons to try again with another custom, despite the fact that there were possibilities to be found without going through the unknowns a second time. Still, I wanted desperately for something I seemed unable to find, and as hindsight always seems to provide a much clearer view, I was determined to right a wrong.

During my second attempt, I was sure I knew what I was asking for in a bicycle. I had learned my lessons and was certain that after the not-so-great first round during which I had requested a fast, light road bike, perhaps I needed to take a step back. Maybe my request was part of what had steered the ship in a wrong direction and the best sort of road bike for me would combine some speed with the ability to do really long distances? So, as I moved forward, I kept these thoughts in mind as I planned to combine two separate needs into one. What could go wrong?

While riding during my "epic" year of cycling, I had come to the conclusion that multiple bikes (or at least as many multiples as I owned) were not the answer for me. I wanted to figure out a way to combine many types of riding into as few bicycles as possible. Throughout that year (and the year to follow) I sold off bikes as they seemed at the time superfluous.

For example, why would I need two road bikes? I had one that was a bit heavier but was perfect for carrying a little extra stuff and great at getting me over the really long distances in comfort. I also had one that was quite light and fast and though it caused a few physical issues when covering long distances, it was the right choice for speed.

As I started to sell off bikes, the heavier option was the first to go. In retrospect, it was a horrible decision because it was a fairly ideal choice for those days when I want to cover distance, but don't have it in me to deal with the fatigue of a light road bike. It was comfortable, it was (or I was) fast enough when needed, and it gave me the opportunity to reflect as I rode rather than being entirely focused on picking up the pace.

Eventually, the lighter bike was sold as well in an effort to trade up to something even better, or so I thought, which in turn provided the impetus to begin truly looking toward the possibility of a custom bike. I had a bit of the grass is always greener thought process going on and I believed that if one thing was good, something else, this fictitious creation I was making in my mind, could be even better.

Theoretically speaking, it would be better. It would combine the best worlds into one machine and I would have - finally - achieved the perfect bike.

The problem with theory is that it is just that. Sure, it is at least partially based on practice, but the entire premise of the theoretical is that one is supposing an outcome based on current knowledge, perhaps some research of others work or findings, and a bit of the unknown.

Ah, the unknown. The undiscovered is what motivates me to try out the ridiculousness that is often in my head. The lure of making something that seems unlikely or even impossible come to fruition. I cannot seem to help myself. There is something about the possibilities with the yet-to-be-discovered that is entirely seductive. Like a Siren calling to me, I seem to follow the hypnotic song, unaware that my demise is just around the corner.

So, as I planned out the second attempt at a custom road bike, I was sure that I knew where I was headed and while there is always the possibility of things going wrong, I felt confident and sure in trying out this new possibility. Two bikes in one; what could be be better?

While the bike itself is precisely what I asked for, I'm not sure I was in the right head space to make a proper decision or to truly understand what was needed in a second attempt. After first round faltering, I believed I was well aware of my needs, only to be smacked in the face with reality as I continued to ride. It's difficult to ignore a failure when it's entirely of my own doing.

This year has been an abysmal attempt at improvement. I thought things were headed down the right path when fairly early in the year we had a good stretch of somewhat clear weather and I was already out on the bike, racking up miles. Most of the rides were simply for transportation, but it was a good start, I thought, at heading in the direction I wished to go.  I was anxious for clear roads so that I could begin adding to my distances. I was ready, I thought, to start breaking personal records and setting new goals.

The thing is, riding never really picked up any sort of momentum. There are various reasons for it. I could blame injuries. I could find fault with bikes. I could look at situations, or work, or any number of possibilities for scapegoating. I ride, but it's not the sort of riding I'd hoped to do.

The amusing part is that it's not really lack of momentum that seems to be the trouble. It's relatively simple to keep propulsion going once getting started, but I've lost something along the way that has brought in self-doubt. All of the supposing and thinking and theorizing - it's all created a situation in which I hesitate with decisions. I vacillate with whether to ride because I know longer distances aren't possible. Instead of appreciating and savoring what is doable for now, I concern myself with the whys of being unable to accomplish an arbitrary goal that can easily wait; I think on the many things that have gone wrong instead of focusing on what is very right.

I believe part of the problem is that I feel the need to repair a situation that I myself started, when in reality, I believe everything that has transpired is part of a process of discovery. I've spent too many hours thinking if-only sort of thoughts, when in reality that time could've been spent utilizing what I have, riding whatever short distances are possible, and accepting that not every week, month, season, or year is going to provide the same outcome. As in life, if I never experience the lows how can I truly appreciate the highs? This may not be my greatest season of cycling, but it doesn't mean that everything needs to come to a screeching halt either.

With that idea, I know that I have to reclaim a piece of me that seems to have nearly vanished. I have to salvage something that was taken by another part of me. It's a strange situation to be in a tug-of-war with myself, but I have to accept that there are certain limitations on me at the present and little is ideal at the moment. However, it doesn't mean some things are not possible. I can enjoy the riding in moderation that is possible and understand that it is perfectly acceptable, perfectly imperfect.

We are passing the midway point in July and as much as I can feel summer fading away, all is not lost. Summer is not the end of riding and every day presents an opportunity and a choice. I can choose to wallow in failed theory and injury, or I can learn from mistakes and cut myself some slack, which seems the healthier - physically and mentally - option. I'm prepared to enjoy the time I do have on a bicycle, allowing my body, along with its two wheeled friend, to take me where it will, where it is able. I may have needed a bit of time to realize what I was doing to myself, but I'm ready now; I'm taking back the bike. 

An Injury & What is to Come

I can be a very tenacious individual. When I want something, I go after it - full throttle. It's hard to derail me when I'm on a mission, and although I am very much a go-with-the-flow person, and try to let everyone live their own life (as long as it doesn't harm others), when I want something bad enough or believe in something passionately, it's quite difficult to deter me.

Sometimes this trait comes across as absolute stubbornness, other times it is viewed as craziness, and still others may have just accepted that I simply am who I am. I suppose the perspective is completely dependent upon who one is asking or their own life circumstances and beliefs.

This little tidbit is important because I think it's essential to know that I don't give up easily on the things that are important to me.

It hasn't been something I've hidden, but this year (or the last six months of what will be this year) has been a very trying and frustrating time on a bike for me, and I can't help but feel a bit like a fraud as I write posts about various happenings, parts, or bicycles. Not that anything I've written has been falsified in any way, but I'm not exactly feeling like the person I think I should be and it's causing conflict within.

*Image found here

It started with lack of time to ride due to renovations, which turned into extreme bodily pain because of the work being done, resulting in ongoing trauma to various parts of my body which never seem to go away.

All of these things have definitely shortened or eliminated many rides I would normally take this time of year. I've had to take a step back and realize that I have to modify and adjust, and as someone who always wants to do more or be "better," it's an entirely discouraging proposition to realize that this may not be the time for such aspirations.

Last week, as I was participating in a non-cycling activity, my back was injured. It was the sort of injury that left me barely able to walk or stand upright. I'm not entirely sure how I made it home on my bike, but I did. When I finally limped through the door, I let out a wail, "Why now?!" It was all I could think to cry to the skies. I have a history of back injury, but over the last several years I've been able to, at least for the most part, keep severe injury at bay with regular exercise and strength training. It just seemed unfair that one false move had now crippled me.

The morning following the injury, I went to the walk-in Urgent Care office to see if there was anything that would help ease the pain. I've went through this before many years ago and until the muscles decide to relax, it's challenging to get everything back in place. In addition, I'd been asked to shoot some photos of an outdoor wedding in the mountains the following day, and knowing that I am not a photographer by any stretch of the imagination, the added pressure of now being injured wasn't helping my stress levels.

The doctor was sympathetic, but informed me that all activity is out the window until I'm on the mend. No kickboxing, no running, no walking the dogs, no picking anything up, and no riding a bike. Pretty much, she wanted me to sit on a firm surface and wait for the injury to heal.

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I had just started a running schedule again over the last few weeks and was working toward a goal before mid-August. Kickboxing is my go-to exercise and happens several times a week. Riding a bicycle? That one hurt most of all. How can I not ride a bike? It's not just a form of exercise for me, it's transportation.

Of course, I've never been one to exactly follow what anyone tells me, even doctors. I view it as more of a suggestion, a guideline, if you will. The next day, I decided to take a short trip by bike up the road and while it certainly wasn't the easiest thing I've done recently, as long as I didn't push too hard, I seemed to be okay.

Riding a bike - even short trips - has been my reflection time. It's the opportunity to clear out everything in my head and attempt to find new strategies for whatever is in front of me. With all of the previously existing injury frustration, this set back wasn't helping matters.

*Image found here

Dealing with the ongoing issues from early in the year and then adding in this injury, I was starting to question everything. It's easy to start feeling like a victim. The "why me" questions take over and it's all too easy to find myself spinning downward and out of control. Later, I went through the usual - though necessary - self-pity type of thoughts: It seems unfair, why am I being punished, where did I go wrong, will I ever be able to reach the goals I've set?

In reality, this is a temporary setback. All of the injuries will be relatively short-lived (at least I hope), and while I may not be healing from the earlier injuries and strains as swiftly as I'd hoped, we have found ways to modify my bikes and I've tried to come to grips with the idea that long rides are just not as likely until everything heals and/or works itself out.

I've attempted to look at this time as an opportunity to find solutions rather than focusing on what I cannot do. I'm missing out on some things, yes, but perhaps there is reason for it. Maybe I need this time to learn something about myself or to understand that not everything goes exactly as we plan it. Sometimes, I think I've learned a lesson, only to find myself in the midst of a similar situation, at which point I start to question whether I truly learned what I was supposed to or not.

At the moment, I am on a search for balance in all things, trying to accept that I have (what I hope are) temporary restrictions, and within these limitations still set goals and strive to be a better me. It's not an easy task for someone who dreams big, and who doesn't take no as an answer to something truly desired. Fortunately, I don't give up easily.

In all of this, I ask as a reader for your patience as I fight through demons and attempt to jump over hurdles [screw what the doc says - I can still fight and jump :O)]. I have no intention of focusing on my personal injury issues (unless they somehow relate to the topic being discussed), but know that I am trying to find ways to work around current bumps in the road which may result in periods of silence or an occasional slightly off-normal-topics post.

I have no plans to stay off my bike, but I also understand that there are constraints to what is currently possible. I am anxious for healing to take place (and it is already happening) and looking forward to resuming what would be regular rides sooner than later. In the meantime, I may take this opportunity to do more reviews of parts that I've neglected to talk about thus far, or to write about past events that managed to go by without acknowledgement.

*Image found here

We are presented with challenges every day. Some are easier to contend with than others, but I hope that whatever you face in your today, you meet it with determination and a belief that you are capable of solving any dilemma and overcoming any obstacle.

Happy riding, my friends. I look forward to being back in the saddle for extended periods of time in the near future.

(Anti)Plan of Attack

Throughout the winter season I became frustrated with my lack of riding time. As spring drew closer, I started fantasizing about never getting off of a bicycle. In practicality, I understood that wasn't a possibility. There are aspects of life outside of riding that require time every day, not to mention the fact that I'd spent at least a couple of months nowhere close to touching a bicycle through the coldest part of the winter season.

An awareness that my muscles had lost all but the most minimal strength became a quick realization. How on earth would I continuously ride a bicycle for any length of time when traveling a couple of miles into town seemed to find me just on the brink of muscle failure? To my complete dismay, this is only a slight amplification of the truth.

As I continued to think on all of this and ride only occasionally, the Errandonnee event arrived. It was a perfect opportunity to continue to ride short distances and to test any sort of theories about riding a bike forever. Forever is a long time though, and because I am extremely cranky without sleep, I continued to adapt my plan for continuous riding into thoughts that seemed more reasonable.

I had also made claims regarding riding every street within my home community, and had not announced but had been plotting a way to ride at least a 20 mi/32 km continuous ride for 30 straight days. Perhaps not the loftiest of goals, but it seemed a good way to warm into the season. I had waffled back and forth between that idea and doing 6 centuries over the course of 30 days, but I figured my muscles hadn't seen the work they should have over winter, so it was better to stick with the daily, shorter distance rides. Though it would tax my mental fortitude, it made more sense strength- and endurance- wise for the time being.

My ability to ride daily was tested with just short distances around town for about a week and a half. This activity didn't bother me a bit, so it seemed completely reasonable that I should, in all likelihood, be able to complete 30, 20-mile days in a row.

Soon, April arrived and I was reminded that it is the official month when lots of people on bicycles commit to 30-days of riding. This should have made my personal commitment that much easier, but for some reason, it did not. Instead, I have found myself feeling the mental strain of trying to create a schedule to follow.

There is a very real possibility that you, dearest reader, are one of many people who prefer to have a schedule or a plan of action, but there's something about making a formal plan that causes everything to go awry.

Instead of looking forward to riding, it is easier to put off starting. As soon as I believe I have a plan of attack, I start to second guess it - which is precisely why I prefer not to plan things at all. If I have no time to think about it, there's really no reason to put off a task. Plus, I find that I do much better when I just wake up on any non-specific day and do something that seems ridiculous. Ludicrous behavior and planning just don't seem to mix well in my experience.

The irony of it all is that I have been riding nearly every day for a couple of months now, but as soon as a label or idea is put to the miles pedaled it becomes a kind of chore or I lose interest in what is supposed to be the main focus. When I feel some level of pressure to commit to a particular "thing" it all seems to come unraveled.

As I attempted to begin the 30, 20-mile days of riding, it didn't last long. It was almost as though putting a specific to my pedaling jinxed the entire process. It isn't that I could not or cannot start again, but I've come to the conclusion that any time I try to plan something, it never seems to quite go well.

What is most interesting is that spring seems to bring out in me this compulsion to make goals and plans for the "riding season." I cannot seem to help myself, despite my knowledge that the planning itself is often the demise of the entire goal. I understand that setting goals, making plans, and even sharing all of it to keep myself accountable are all more likely to result in a positive outcome, but it rarely seems to work in my favor.

In my experience, it almost seems to come together when I have a loose idea with no specific time frame and I simply happen to accomplish the goal without even truly realizing what has happened. I almost view it as a way of fooling myself into believing I'm not going to complete a given activity, but then working toward it all along.

I do realize how crazy this must sound. I also understand that on some subconscious level, I must comprehend that it is a form of goal setting, but my brain and body seek out ways to keep the process fun because I know how bored I can get with routine (which is a reality of working toward any goal - routine/repetition is necessary).

Feasibly I cannot ride continuously, forever on a bicycle, but the idea of it is still something that captures a thought in my mind every now and again. Maybe I will complete riding every street in my city, I'll ride 30 days of 20-miles, end up doing the 6 centuries in 30 days instead, or it may be something else entirely. For me, not really knowing (even if the idea is there) is part of the enjoyment.

Perhaps one future spring season will arrive and I will come to grips with the idea that I simply have a different way of going about goal-setting. Until then, I'll likely continue to convince myself that I can set goals and follow logical steps to get to an end point. But, then again, maybe the self-mind games are half the fun?

The Fire Within

*Note: This started as a personal journal entry, but I decided to go ahead and share it here because even though I've come to no real conclusions, I don't think I'm alone in my feelings and thoughts (or at least some may go through their own version). Additionally, I have some friends testing for black belts in kickboxing this weekend, and a friend running a marathon, and I wanted them to know that no matter what they may be feeling, they have support around them and that we all go through moments of being unable to believe in ourselves - regardless of what we are attempting in life. The post has little to do with bicycles (though, interestingly enough, bicycles were part of the original conversations), so I just want to give a heads up to those looking specifically for bike-relevant topics.
*************************
"I think I'm going to see if I can run up to Estes Park in a couple of weeks." This was the statement that caught me off guard as I was in the middle of a tear-filled, multi-dimensional, crazy meltdown. In the moment, however, it was enough to pique my interest to not only temporarily stop the crying, but also to ask for clarification. "What do you mean, you're going to 'run to Estes Park?'" I volleyed back. "As in, physically - from our front door, to the mountain in Estes Park? You're going to run there? That has to be like..." Sam finished my sentence, "Thirty-two miles. It'll be like an ultra-marathon," he smiled. "I don't know if I can actually do it, but I want to try."

Just for visual purposes... all of that "green part" would be mountains, in case anyone was wondering.

For those unfamiliar with the area, the altitude difference is over 2,500 feet (starting at almost 5,000 feet and climbing to over 7,500 feet), but you can imagine what it would be like to not only cover 32 miles running, but to also include this massive amount of climbing for over half of the run. It's a highway though, with motorized traffic, and no real protection from said motorized traffic. However, people bike it throughout the summer, so I suppose if someone wanted to run it, why not?

I was dazzled by this idea. It's not the first time Sam's presented something that seemed "superman-ish" to me, but even for him, this seemed kind of out there in terms of possibility of completion. I know he is capable of doing just about anything he sets his mind to do, but 32 miles... up hills (or mountains).... running... and soon?

The beautiful Rocky Mountains

"I could drop you in Lyons. Then you'd only have to run up the mountain (only), which is probably still about 20 miles," I offered as a compromise. "I mean, I will be your SAG or whatever you need for whichever you choose; but, wow, that seems like a really incredible thing to do!" Sam responded by stating that it was just something he'd only do once, but it seemed like something he wanted to attempt. He then said something that would send me into a kind of whirling dervish of thoughts. "You know, you're the one who started all of this. People think I'm the one who's crazy, but you started it all."

Sam went on to explain his reasoning. He talked about my initial foray into athletics with wanting to run a marathon several years ago. I drug him into it because I didn't want to do it alone (even though I did it alone because he's much faster than I am). Then, the start with kickboxing and soon bringing him along, and my attempts with attending every class offered for months, just to see if it could be done. I wanted to ride a century, just to see if I could do it and set about completing it on a random day without telling anyone, and then two weeks later, did it again, dragging him through the toughest portion. He talked about my plotting a means of completing a half Ironman at some point (which, as a side note, still seems crazy to me - for many reasons - but I can't help but think it's possible).

I had to stop and think. Am I the crazy one in all of this? The thought seemed preposterous. I am not the athletic one, or the person who wants to try "crazy" new feats of endurance, strength, and so on. I am simply the one who gets drug along (happily) with the true athlete to cheer him on. Sam then said, "Really, you're the inspiration for all of these things." Which just sent me back into my crying state - though for completely different reasons.

Over the last few years, I have been fortunate to be surrounded by people who are so encouraging of each other. They will cheer for you when you think you have nothing left to give, they offer a hand when you don't think you can stand up, and they won't allow you to think that anything is impossible. It's difficult not to be motivated when around these sorts of people. During this time with these folks, the term "inspirational" has been used to describe me. I share this not because I think I'm something special, nor because I agree with them, but rather because I feel the need to explain what that word has actually meant in my warped brain.

*Image here

Often times, I believe this word is over-used. There are many cases in which it is an apt term, but when it is said so frequently, and in so many different situations, and definitely when in reference to me and my endeavors, it starts to have less impact and true meaning in my mind. To make matters worse, when I hear this word associated with me, the thoughts that come are typically one of these...

1) They are using this word because they feel sorry for the fat woman who thinks she can do what everyone else can do.
AND/OR
2) They are using this word because there isn't anything nice to say about what I'm doing.
AND/OR
3) Wow! These people really don't see very impressive things in life, do they? (or other similar thoughts)

For someone who has always struggled to keep up with others athletically, "inspirational" doesn't seem the correct term in my mind. It feels more like a pitying term. "Trying," or "Attempting," seems more appropriate, but "inspirational" just seems like a word invented to make me think I'm not riding on the short bus when it comes to athletics, when in reality, the short bus picks me up very quickly on the athletic road. For the record, I know this is not the intention of anyone in my life; however, I can't help but think these thoughts in regard to myself. Again, I am not an athlete, I am not special (at least not in any good way), and I don't do anything to justify this sort of label.

Before our conversation had mozied down this path, the topic Sam and I'd been discussing revolved around my lack of motivation and feeling depressed in regard to so many aspects of life. I kept saying that I just can't get myself out of this funk and everything I do seems wrong. I had expressed that I realized I am really not good at anything and that I stupidly attempt so many things, hoping that I will be decent at one of them, only to find myself failing either due to lack of effort or because I am genuinely not any good at it. Sam always tries to help by saying that I am good at a lot of things, but deep down, I know that isn't the truth. I go back to my self-hating talk because it's what I know and it feels more comfortable to believe that I am incapable. If I tell myself I'm a failure, that I'm no good at my attempts, when someone else says or thinks it (or implies it with their "inspirational" tag), I can agree - because it's the truth as far as I'm concerned.

But, here we were (Sam and I), in the depths of a conversation that was supposed to be about Sam and his potentially amazing feat, and I was crying because I realized that of all the people in my life, there is no way he chose that specific phrasing because he had no others. He is generally a man of few words and prefers action over chatter, so when voicing his opinion, I know it is intentional and purposeful (or sometimes snarky/humorous - but even that is purposeful). These words were deliberate and meant to sink in and settle, and fester just a bit. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Apparently, my tears falling weren't quite enough for Sam, so he added, "I just want to see you back in that state of mind. You know, as the woman who says 'to hell with all of them' and takes off on her own path. The one who motivates me to do what I do. The one who races to beat the guy on the bike who just passed her because he seems impossible to catch. The one who does the Burpees even though they injure her simply because she can do them. The one who makes her own challenges and then surpasses her own expectations."

I was now in full-waterworks mode... and I remained there for several hours. I had a lot to think about and sometimes tears are the most cleansing and therapeutic for me.

I read a book recently about people with similar personalities to mine and one of the ideas shared was that while we (as a group) are completely at ease hearing criticism about things we know to be true of ourselves and will acknowledge and let go of these statements, we are scarred by things said by others regarding us that are false. These statements stick with us for long stretches of time. We think about it and wonder if we've over looked something, searching and pondering why these statements were made. Ultimately, we come out fighting, and present vehement opposition to those making the accusations. We may even argue like someone who is guilty of these acts or qualities, even though the exact opposite is true. Perhaps this is partially why I am uncomfortable, sometimes even to the point of fighting over the notion that anything I do is at all inspirational: I simply cannot accept this as truth about myself.

It's easy to feel adrift in a sea of people who are better, who do more, who have that "special skill" I just never seemed to acquire, who are more "blessed," who are more athletically inclined, who are far more artistically gifted, and I find myself believing that everything I do is not good enough. Instead of allowing myself to seriously ponder the notion that I am an inspiration to someone, I immediately head it off with self-destructive thoughts.  But, why? There are so many who inspire me for various reasons, so why isn't it plausible that inspiration could be found in me?

It's unsettling to come to the realization that this word I've very purposefully avoided is being thrown in my face... and not in a bad way, but in a manner that is intended to cause me to stop and think and maybe even come to the realization that it's okay not to feel "inspirational" myself, but to also understand I may just have to make peace with the reality that perhaps others feel it is an appropriate term to use - and once in awhile in reference to me, even if I don't like it.

*Image here

Despite the fact that I can find many reasons to believe I am about as opposite as inspirational comes, I do know that I don't give up. There is a fire within me and even if it starts to die down during stretches of time, it's always there smoldering, waiting to reignite and burn brightly once again - it may just need some fuel to get restarted. Maybe I don't view myself as an inspiration, but perhaps there is something there of value - something to build on - and perhaps one day I'll be able to hear that "I" word without internally cringing. In the meantime, I'm happy to have others who offer up their own incredible and fascinating feats of athleticism, as I attempt to figure out where the bus is dropping me off. I can only hope it's on the road to figuring all of these quirks of mine out.