"You looked shell shocked at the start line," says my bike buddy. Yes, waiting with one leg on the pedal, arms on bars, and poised to push off, all I could think: "what am I doing here?" And while the women around me in my 40-something age category tried to reassure me they felt the same way, I was stunned.
We're on a wide dirt road. Waiting. Waiting.
Ten second countdown. Heart is pounding outside my chest. Nine. Wow, that woman's legs look strong. Eight. Apparently, other people think you can do this. Seven. I'm 42. Six. Can I puke now? Five. Four. Three. Two. Off we go. I'm last.
The big race is tomorrow. I'm fine, really. I have talked myself out of the 'I want to vomit,' feeling. Actually, I'm just thinking of the post-ride beer. That, and a giant chocolate chunk cookie from La Gourmand coffee shop--it's more chocolate than cookie. Hey, don't judge. Everyone has their motivation. Actually, the motivation certainly goes deeper than a cookie.
Just to bring you up to speed, I did the pre-ride yesterday: it's two laps of a 6.8 kilometre loop full of twists and turns, burms and fast straight-aways. Only two big hills and it's not a technical course.
So, back to the motivation.
This seems to be a theme with me. What is home? Frig, I dunno. It certainly isn't a place with four walls. But it was odd returning to London this weekend, a place that should be home if you consider time a prerequisite for home: I lived here from 1993 until 2014. Certainly the longest I have ever lived anywhere. But, I have to qualify this. I went away every summer.
This weekend I drove back to London from my current home in Toronto. As I drove to my mom's after my trail run through one of my favourite parks, Komoka, which hugs the Thames River and then shoots up the valley, I got back in the car and then as I'm blindly driving, since I know every street, store, corner and tree so well, I missed the turn off.
So, I bought a road bike, which as a mountain biker, means a huge cultural, emotional and physical shift for me. To fully immerse myself in this change, I joined a bike group and last weekend I went on my first road bike trip: 75 kilometres from my apartment in downtown Toronto to the burbs of Oakville.
Meeting at a coffee shop at 8:30am, I wasn't surprised by the other riders: all the men were wearing team jerseys, talking about bike components and their pitiful sluggish shape, this being the first group ride of the summer.
"You're going to the dark side?" This is a sales guy, fitting me for a road bike. Yes, after 15 years on a mountain bike, I have decided to ride a skinny bike, wear a...
So, my friends, recently I blogged about treating Toronto like a far-away place and explore what that means--treat it like a completely new place, which it really is for me. I lived here in 2000 as a student but I went back to London to hang out with a boyfriend almost every weekend. I never explored Toronto. Then, a really magical thing happened: I recently found a kindred spirit who also wants to re-discover her backyard, but her backyard is in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
When I'm away, I become someone else. Instinct and spontaneity return. Without the stress of work, without the familiarity locking me into habits and patterns, I listen to my gut, which means, I also take risks. I become more, well, more me!
I eat at restaurants alone and I don't care if people stare-- they're staring more from the fact the blond hair and fair skin scream, 'I'm not a local!' Especially in Indonesia last year when I had locals take pictures of me.
What I learned today:
no matter how kind you are, repeatedly, to some individuals, some people are just dickwads. There is no amount of kindness that will break them. They are just f**witts and should be...
For one month I will write a daily idea, thought or truism that stuck with me.
Today, January 26: you must take care of yourself and that includes your mental health, physical, spiritual etc...
We're on a wide dirt road. Waiting. Waiting.
Ten second countdown. Heart is pounding outside my chest. Nine. Wow, that woman's legs look strong. Eight. Apparently, other people think you can do this. Seven. I'm 42. Six. Can I puke now? Five. Four. Three. Two. Off we go. I'm last.
