Final ride for 46

My racing age this year is 48. Tomorrow is my birthday. Do the math.

I've watched in horror over the years as I creep up the age checklist box on surveys. Old age taunts me as the box for 20-29 becomes 30 to 35. Stupid fucking surveys. Note to self: ignore surveys.

The last ride of my 46th year almost didn't happen. "I'm tired. I got up too early. I FUCKING suck." Seriously, I've got myself convinced that I'm an old fart, decomposing before my very eyes. This has become my rationale for giving up. It's an unbelievable pity trip that I've been basking in way too long.

Enough.

From this day forward, I am no longer my racing age. Instead, I will simply be my racing category--45+. That's my new age. 45+. Technically, we're all decomposing before our collective eyes so I don't know why I am taking this so personally and letting it inhibit my riding pleasure.

Fortunately, I snapped out of my pity torpor and managed a nice 40 miler with George and Naomi (missed you M!). Tonight offered excellent conditions for a ride and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Almost as much as I did on my 30th birthday ride:At least I've upgraded my bike since this photo was taken.

Thanks, George and Naomi. I can't think of two people I'd rather say "See ya later" to 46 with than you two.

When the going gets wet, it's time for a cross bike

Fuck it.

I went for a ride at 3:30 today, even though it was drizzling. By 4:00 the drizzle had upgraded to downpour. Must have gotten its hands of some of the pro peloton's extra steroids because it was aggressive as hell.

But I didn't mind. I dusted off the Felt, donned the awesome pink Swobo jersey that the even more awesome Kerry Combs sent me, and set the Ipod to random shuffle. The rain was warm and refreshing. There were few cars on the road and no bikes other than yours truly. I started to get excited for cross.

It rained harder. Fuck you, rain! I don't care.

I dropped into the Wissahickon and noodled along Forbidden Drive getting muddy and messy and having a ball. Part of the fun was watching people pity me when in fact I was having a blast. The soundtrack didn't hurt, either. Ipod was in sync with the ride:

Passenger / Iggy Pop
Personality Crisis / New York Dolls
It's Not Unusual / Tom Jones
Time is Tight / Booker T. and the MG's
Make Mayan a Hawaiian / Southern Culture on the Skids
Whirlwind / Roxy Music
I Fought the Law / Dead Kennedys
Chinese Rocks / Johnny Thunders (may be the best song to hear in the rain ever)
Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head / Burt Bacharach (I shit you not)
Somebody put Something in my Drink / Ramones
Trouble Everyday / Zappa
Emperor's New Clothes / Sinead O'Connor

It's 6:15 now and birds sing outside my window. They're singing, "Hello sun! Welcome back! That sucker inside typing should have waited 2 hours to go ride."

Fuck you birds. That sucker inside is totally stoked that she rode in the rain.

I have accepted the weather. It is good.

This is for you, Nikki

I'm posting. See? Now get off my back, sister.

I attended a meeting on Monday, organized by Kristin Gavin, regarding riding with women who live in a residential treatment facility. These women have seen a shit storm of bad times, ranging from substance abuse to violence and beyond. I don't know what that beyond entails exactly nor do I want to. While I normally eschew ambiguity and despise it in student papers, I believe it's appropriate in this instance.

Nikki was there. So were a few other women I know who also volunteered to help women learn how to empower themselves via bikes. I was inspired--not just by the cheese plate and cookies, but by the program's mission.

I made the crack about food, because as I explained to Nikki, if I don't crack jokes I'll burst into tears. These women have endured losses and tragedies that would kill me. Literally kill me. Six feet under. Kick the bucket. Pushing up daisies dead.

I swapped my drug addiction for a bike addiction 20 years ago. I'll never be fast and win lots of races (okay, any races) but that's not what I'm in it for. I am in it to belong to something greater than myself. Cycling and sobriety have given me everything, and to be able to share these gifts blows my mind.

Kristin has created life-altering opportunities for women with her Gearing Up program. I am so proud of her and excited to be part of its initial phase.

Cover Girl

So my Cycling Mom article finally made it to press. I'd sort of forgotten about it and enjoyed a surreal moment when the mail came through the slot with my photo on the cover of a magazine.Today I did I sweet little 20 mile ride with Gus and the boy. It doesn't get any better than a family ride. We averaged a blistering 12mph pace (honey hasn't ridden in awhile since the golf obsession) and stopped at Tommy Gunn's BBQ at mile 15. It was a beautiful day and I'm 100% thrilled that we managed to go together.

I'm also thrilled that someone who shall remain nameless neglected to sign the boy up for travel soccer this fall. What's he going to do? Cyclocross, of course!

25

Last week I attended my 25th college reunion. Today is the 25th anniversary of the Philly bike race. I bought my fist mountain bike when I was 25. I have to lose 25 pounds. Wow. According to Velo News, the race favorite wasn't even around 25 years ago.

Well, Boasson-Hagen didn't win and I'm never going to lose 25 pounds.

Events that are possible: A motorcycle ride at the bike race. Check. Finally being close enough to see a print finish. Check. Walking into a mob scene and knowing a better part of the mob. Check.

How close did I get? This close:I even asked a question during the press conference.

After the race I returned home and thought about all the ways in which I lead a charmed life. While not remotely charming, I'm nevertheless charmed. Naomi and M stopped by on their return from the Danville race to bring me a postcard of the aforementioned town. What did I do to deserve friends like this? Charmed.

Meet the Press

I totally forgot that I had requested a press pass from the Pro Cycling Tour for Sunday's race. Imagine my surprise when I received word on Wednesday that it was granted. Adhering to the same race routine was getting rather stale, so this should inject some freshness.

My main goal (other than accurate coverage, of course): a lap around the course on a motorcycle without pissing my pants on the Fall from the Wall.

The Fourth Estate should be very nervous.

See you on Sunday.