Bike Blog Two: Magic in the Moment

Bike Blog Two…Magic in the Moment

I remember when I was little and anything was possible and it was easy to believe in everything. My “ouchie” really felt better with my mother’s kiss, scary things really lived in my closet and under my bed, and I KNEW I would become famous and live in New York City. I was born a believer, we all are, and then life slapped me in the face and I began to doubt. I’m not sure exactly when that happened, maybe when I found out peas weren’t really Martian heads, like my sister had told me they were; maybe when I failed beginner swimming lessons (I think I’m the only one that’s EVER happened to), or maybe when I got books for Christmas. No matter the actual event, doubt entered my world, and has been here, off and on, ever since.

But, six months ago, the believer in me came shining through. I signed up to ride 150 miles in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. Never mind the fact that I didn’t own a bike, hadn’t exercised regularly in 20 years (yes, seriously), or had ever really wanted to be a biker. I was committed, I believed I would succeed, and it felt good.

And I continued to believe. I talked myself through the pains of an aching back, stiff neck, tight legs, sleeping toes, and tender hands. I pictured myself riding strong in the mountains, knowing that I would be fine. I didn’t really train on hills, living in Wichita, Kansas, but rode into the wind which is equally tough (or so I believed). All was good. Even when I struggled with an injury only three weeks before the ride, I was confident that I’d be fine and would ride well.

Then, I got to Colorado. The mountains were amazing – and HUGE. The air was thin, and there were bikers everywhere wearing matching jerseys and riding fast. I began to doubt. Could I really do this ride? I didn’t train on hills. Sometimes, I still forgot that my shoes were attached to my bike, and I’d fall (twice in one week). I didn’t even train on the roads, let alone the highway! My longest ride to date had only been 36 miles, less than any event ride. And, I had just recovered from an injury…who was I kidding?

Then, something happened…I started to ride. The sting in my legs was replaced by the exhilaration of hitting 29mph on my first downhill. My shortness of breath was replaced by the rolling Arkansas River 5 feet from the bike path. The ginormousness of the mountains overshadowed all my doubt. It was a magical moment. I began to believe again, understanding that my purpose in this ride was bigger than my abilities. And as it turned out, I did great!

Bike Blog One: The Reality of it All

Well, I haven’t been in the Colorado Rockies in a very long time. And, let’s just say the last time I was here, I was in a younger, more wild stage of life, and it is just a lot different than I remember. And, it’s AMAZING! It’s the kind of amazing that makes you step back and ask “so, why am I living in Wichita, Kansas?” Then, of course, I remember that…ummmmm…my husband and I work there, have four kids rooted there, and have friends and family near there; but still, the mountains and cooler weather make for a good argument.

I left Wichita in 112 degree heat on a Tuesday morning at 10:30. Everything was carefully packed, including a newerish, fabulous road bike and all the accessories that go along with it (including bike shoes that caused two embarrassing falls within one week at the same busy intersection). I was on my way to begin the final phase of this crazy bike adventure.

So, as I sit here in my room tonight, as ready as I’m going to be, I’m thinking about all the things that have happened to bring me to this point. I’ve missed kids activities to get in a needed ride; I’ve not made (many) dinners for my family to get in a needed ride; I’ve spent money I didn’t have for gloves, shorts and a helmet. I’ve not cleaned my house, not folded laundry, not helped with homework, and not shown-up for date night. I’ve been cranky, sore, tired, absent, and gone for long periods of time. I’ve relied on Mike to hit the grocery store, order pizza and pick up my slack; and he has. I’ve expected the kids to do their part without being prodded, and they have. Thank you!

I also think about the lofty $2,500 fundraising goal I set. I had no idea why I picked that number and no idea how I would raise it. Mike helped me put together The First Ever Courage Classic Bike Ride Event hoping a few people would come by and hoping to raise $500. We had many guests and raised $1,900 that night, with more donations arriving after the event. The support we received from the community and our friends and family overwhelmed us with kindness. All the donations, sweet notes, cards and thoughtful comments that came my way made me see the world differently; more together, more real, more genuine.

My initial goal to “give back” has morphed into an honest NEED to give back; to be as genuine toward other people as has been shown toward me. You just don’t realize how much little things matter until you are the recipient of those little things.

Margaret

What's Your Plan?

So, I like to think I’m in control of my world. I plan my day, set out my clothes, and iron whatever may need to be ironed the night before. I schedule appointments before they are necessary, write everything down that I need to remember, keep my house pretty darned clean, try to plan meals, call my mother several times a week, and tuck my kids in bed at night. I make time to lunch with my friends and get in a few date-nights with my guy. I keep my paperwork up to date and am actually looking forward to organizing my garage later this summer. Although there are things I definitely could do better, I’m pretty happy with my little corner of the universe.

And just when I’m feeling really good about my world, something completely random happens that brings me back to reality. Something that reminds me that life isn't about my plan, it's about the actions that come from my plan. The planning is my view of myself, who I want to be; and my actions are proof of who I really am.

That'll give you something to think about today.

Margaret

To My Friend...

We met for the first time at a street fair, and were immediately friends. We spent weekends shopping and lunching, mornings walking the town, and evenings sipping wine. We never had to think about what to say; we were comfortable, honest, and genuine. It was the best friendship since those of my childhood.

I don’t know exactly when it changed. Maybe when I went back to work, and was less available. Maybe when our children didn’t click as well as we did. Little issues started making tiny dents in our ability to connect. But still, we were strong. We met in the early mornings to walk, we snatched extra sale items from Target to share, and we helped decorate each other’s houses. We discussed colors and textures and accessories. We met up for garage sales, had cook-outs and swim dates and long phone conversations. We celebrated birthdays with trips to the City and favorite lunches and beautifully wrapped packages. It was easy to pick out perfect presents because we knew each other so well. OK, so you were better at presents, definitely.

More changes came. Tensions at school took a toll. Competitions and comparisons entered the relationship, changing our friendship. Plans were made, but not kept. Plans were made, but changed. Plans were made, but others were there too. It was just different now. We walked once in a while, with more quiet between us. We agreed to disagree. We became more separate, but we still cared. We continued to talk, but were less available to each other. We shopped and lunched with different people, walked with different friends, judged more harshly. I missed you!

We met on your porch and apologized and hugged and asked to start again. We agreed that we’d grown too far apart. You shared of a health scare. I was sad. I wondered why I didn’t already know. We planned to meet on Thursday mornings at the bagel shop, to keep in touch and rekindle our friendship, but it only lasted one meeting. It was the first time that I considered that the value of our friendship might not be equal. It was a life lesson for me, one that I continue to consider.

I look back and only see the good times. I don’t remember all the bumps and bruises and uphill stretches. I see our friendship as it was initially; comfortable, honest and genuine, still the best since those of my childhood. May only good things come to you, my friend.

Margaret

What Makes You Tick?

When my first daughter was born 17 (almost 18) years ago, I imagined that she would be bald (like me) fair-skinned (like me) and loud and demanding (Ok, again, like me). I guess I should have accounted for the fact that half her chromosomes belonged to my darling husband, but still, I was completely shocked when a dark-skinned, black-haired (I couldn’t even see her scalp!) baby entered this world. I was surprised, I was in awe, and I was in love with this little creature who was nothing like I thought she would be. And, in that moment, I learned that she was her own person. On day one, I understood that it was my job to love her and nurture her and help her grow into herself, to help her figure out what makes her tick, and then help her become successful doing that. I needed to support who she would become.

But, it really isn’t that simple….

I’m a parent to four, very different, kiddos. Each has a different hair color, a different body build, a different demeanor, a different personality, and different interests. Seriously, sometimes people don’t believe they all came from the same gene pool (they did!). Three of them have followed their parents lead, willingly participating in sports, studies, chores, routines…etc. They listen without talking back (too much), and tell us EVERYTHING happening in their lives. One of them doesn’t tick that way. One of them pushes a little more, challenges a little more, asks more questions and wants more answers. One of them takes a stand that’s different from the rest. That one is a little more work, a little less “easy”, but very passionate. I like the fight that kiddo has. I know that one will be successful; and I also know that that success might be measured by a completely different stick than the one I would use.

And, isn’t that wonderful?

We each view the world through our own set of eyes. Some of us see fun, adventure, challenge, success, all things good. Other’s see fear, judgment, insecurity, failure, all things unsure. And, as parents, we have to nurture each of our children in a way that will help them view the world more comfortably for them…even if they never see things the way we see them.

Margaret

Sum-Sum-Summertime?

Ahhh, summertime! Those special days that begin as soon as school ends and lasts until it begins again. Days made for sleeping in, chilling out, and hanging at the pool. Perfect for jamming to music, watching movies, and soaking up the sun. Relaxation! Summer was my break from the world, a few great weeks when I didn’t have to stress about homework, clicks, or deadlines. It was great!

Well my friends, summertime has changed. The whole first week of summer this year, my 11 year old, Max, was in the gym earlier than he had been for school the previous year. And while Max dribbled and passed the basketball at basektball camp, my 15 year old, Jack, passed and kicked the football at football camp. My 13 year old, Madeline, started a half hour before her brothers with MAYB basketball practice at 7:30am, and then headed to her school team’s camp at 9:00am…seriously! And we’re just getting started! We have weights and conditioning at 7:00am four days a week starting this week and lasting through the middle of July, and volleyball camp and dance camp and...etc.

And I understand it. I know that Coaches are trying to build programs, trying to see what kids are interested and who will put forth the extra effort to attend. It’s important to build team unity and to begin to teach team concepts and plays as early as possible. And those coaches want to keep up with each other, each wanting high attendance and commitment to “their” sport. I also know that some kids are trying out new sports and activities and parents are looking for ways to keep their kids busy…yada yada yada…it’s just gotten to be too much!

Between camps and practices and games and jobs, kids don’t get to enjoy summers like they used to. And I think kids, especially these days, need time away from sports and activities for a few weeks to rest and recharge their bodies. It would be perfect if coaches all agreed to schedule NOTHING for at least three weeks after school ends to give all of us a break and a chance to actually enjoy a little bit of summer.

Margaret

On Mothering...

In my earliest days of motherhood, I remember thinking “my mom once did ALL of this for me”. In those early moments, I learned that I was completely misguided about being a mother. I mean, I knew a lot, I read the books, I researched, I talked to other moms, but no one told me REAL things. No one shared that I would hurt for weeks “down there”, or bleed forever. No one shared that my baby would cry for absolutely no reason and that I would cry too. No one let-it-slip that it was so.much.work. Again, I knew it, but I didn’t KNOW it. I was not prepared for the sleeplessness, the messiness, and the schedules. I was not ready for all the crying, all the puking, and all the poop! I worked continuously and my house was still dirty, my dishes were piled, and my laundry was out of control. I think, eventually, I managed well, and figured out some great systems, but it was rough at first. So, I was kind of surprised when I thought about my mom doing ALL THAT STUFF for me.

Of course she did it, happily, she’s a wonderful woman. I think it was such a profound thought to me because that wasn’t the mom I remembered. I have no recollection of the woman who snuggled with me in the middle of the night, warmed my bottle at 3am, and placed her hand on my back to make sure I was still breathing. I don’t remember the mom who sat in a rocking chair singing and soothing her newest little baby. I don’t remember the mom who walked miles around the house with a frustrated infant, who changed my clothes ”just-in-case” I was uncomfortable, or who worried about colic, nursing, or SIDS. I know her now, but I don’t remember that part of her mothering. And, it makes me a little sad that my children won’t remember that part of my mothering either. It’s such a sweet time! They’ll have no idea how much I did for them, how much I loved them, how much I cherished them, and was in awe of them…until they bring home their first little fresh baby bundle!

I have great memories of my mom, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that the mom I remember helped me with my science project, ironed my uniform, and packed my lunch every morning. She took me to Blue Bird meetings, signed me up for camp, and made me practice piano. The mom I remember drove me to movies and friend’s houses. She baked cookies late at night because I forgot to tell her I needed them, she bought me the dress I wanted, instead of the one she could afford. She questioned me, grounded me, and listened to me complain. She said “no”, a lot! She worked hard for me, but it was the tough part that I remember most; instead of that cuddly part when I was innocent and sickeningly sweet.

It’s too bad that babies don’t remember all that is done for them in their earliest years, because if they really understood all it takes to be their mothers, they would be THE BEST TEENAGERS EVER! So, with that in mind, I’m starting now to tell my kids every story I can remember about them as babies. I might even make some stuff up, to really make me out to be special. Hey, whatever it takes!

Margaret