The Birthday Gift

I kissed her cheeks and eyelids and tickled her out of her sleep.

She jumped out of bed and and into my arms.

We hopped/skipped into the kitchen as her long hair danced and tickled my nose.

We quietly took the ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator as to not awake Ty.

We carefully mixed the batter and baked the birthday cupcakes while she played with her new present and I cleaned.

We were having a spectacular birthday weekend and this was Day 2.

We had had a fantastic day before with Jessi at Boo at the Zoo and some yummy take out and movies...and swimming...but we were ready for more!

I had decided not to race my 'cross race since we did not squeeze everything that we wanted to do into Saturday.

We would finish today.

However, I was afforded an hour and a half to go ride.

(Hey, I did a lot of work at 5:15pm on October 25, 2002 and should be rewarded too!)

*giggle*

Steph was meeting me at my house and we were going on a lovely hill ride.

The Marquette Hammer-drop alternate route to be exact.

I frosted and sprinkled each cupcake as The Sass jumped up and down watching the sprinkles fall like snow on what would surely taste like a vanilla cloud on her tongue.

Steph arrived just in time.

I snatched a piece of sugary goodness and let the cake melt in my mouth and dashed out the door.

(Hey, I needed calories before my ride!)

As we rolled out of the driveway, I felt the smile creep across my face.

It had been a rough week, but thus far an awesome weekend.

My littlest was chirping about in the house as she and Ty played with her new treasures and tried to keep the puppy away from the cupcakes.

I had the taste of yummy vanilla cupcake still on my tongue as we made our way to Valley Road and took in the changing colors of the leaves.

Traffic was non-existent, so we were able to ride side by side and catch up.

I felt all my stress and sadness melt away as I breathed in the smell of Autumn and let the sun hit my face a little more than usual.

Riding with Steph is always like this.

We push each other, but feel somehow relaxed the entire time.

I felt like a little kid.

We climbed the hills and laughed at our skills.

We talked about the changes we've seen over the past year in each other's abilities and poked some fun at the newbs that we once were...especially regarding hills.

I worked on a new stroke for the flats and mentally recorded the results to report back.

We worked at a nice pace and kept the heat on.

I'm pretty sure I worked more on the ride than I did giving birth to The Sass (though not Ty) and I was once again excited to get home to carry on the birthday festivities.

As we approached the fast and fantastic descent on Strecker to Clayton (we modified the route a bit), I could feel my excitement grow.

Not only because we were close to home, but because for that descent and the following climb, I would be a little kid...

A little kid out playing with one of her favorite friends.

I needed more rides like this.

We climbed up Clayton and rolled back into my driveway.

We talked about upcoming events and the holidays and decide that we are giving each other the gift of time this year...and board game nights.

We discussed our teams for the next year (we are both staying with our current teams) and laughed.

"It doesn't matter what kit we wear, Cor. We both know we're on the same team."

Yeah. I do know that...and that makes my heart smile.

We walked in and the smell of fresh cupcakes was still in the air.

We played with the dog and made plans for lunch with The Sass and Jessi.

Later, as I sat on the patio with all of them eating our girly lunch, I felt peaceful and content...and a little excited about what was up ahead.

That was a pretty spectacular gift...at the absolute perfect time.

The Flowers Have Died

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Pull your head out of your ass,
and get a dogdammed clue.

You close your eyes.
You shake your head.
You walk the walk,
but inside, you're dead.

Everyday I search
for some sign of life;
your eyes reflect back
your internal strife.

When people are looking
you turn on your smile;
but your eyes have not danced
in the light for a while.

I simply cannot reach you.
No matter how I try.
You've gone far away
and I do not know why.

Somehow you've made
every moment about you.
You have no argument;
You know it's true.

There are beautiful things
going on in this world;
but I cannot save you.
I'm merely a girl.

I truly love you;
this you should know.
But I love me more,
so I really must go.

There once was a time
when you took my breath away.
That memory is not enough
to make me stay.

The tears have fallen
as you've turned your head.
The missing things
need not be said.

I love you now
as I loved you then.
I wish you well,
until we meet again.

Night of the Puking Bubba

The Bubba psychocross series started this past weekend.

(YES!)

Some kids wait all year for Santa...this kid waits all year for Bubba.

Everything I did on the bike all year was just to stay/get in shape for Bubba.

Bubba is like my Buddha, so regardless of having the flu on top of my other crap (a few thousand adorable stitches and no effing core to speak of) for the past 2 weeks...and regardless of the fact that I have been mostly off the bike for 2 weeks...

I signed right the hell up for Bubba #1...a psychocross race at night.

I didn't even blink.

That being said, at the Start, I was sort of out of sorts.

I was cold.

I was coughing.

My nose was stuffed.

Still.

This would be "fun".

I raced a few laps.

There was a LOT of running in this race.

OK, just so you know, I am not a runner.

I'm pretty much against running unless I am being chased by a madman with a knife or Freddy Krueger...

As I have been chased by neither, I see no reason for me to run.

Ever.

This race had the most running I have done in a good 25+ years....combined.

It made my boobies hurt.

*NOTE: I do not have big or actual boobies so if they jiggle when I sneeze, it's generally considered a "good day".

This was painful.

So the third time up that hill after the run-up/descent, I damn near collapsed and started puking water/Hammer.

Jay appeared out of no where!

Kube sang, "Wind Beneath My Wings" at me while I cried and puked and Jay said really nice things to make me breathe...

Once I saw Kube, I knew that "That One Girl" was coming...

I got mad that "That One Girl" was about to pass me and once she did, I'm pretty sure I growled, though you'd have to ask Jay.

I know I cried harder and said, "She. Is. Not. Beating. Me."

...and then took off and attacked...

...and picked her off...

...and then some other girl...

...and then caught up to where I wanted to be...with Kube.

I raced another lap after that and it was almost "lights out" for ol' Cory.

The world spun.

I dropped to my knees and puked some more.

I scared the crap out of some dude with a cowbell and he tried to help as I grabbed the Earth and lost my water and Hammer gel while looking very specifically "not pretty".

I got a Kleenex hand-up from a sweet older lady and then Jay came and led me away.

I sobbed like a baby.

I knew that he wanted to take it away for me...and not just because boys hate seeing girls cry.

I'm so effing tired of being sick that I want to smack someone...and I'm not sure if it matters whom.

Someone paLEEEEEZE hand me a politician...or L.A....

I got up the next morning in the biggest funk I have seen in some time and wasn't sure if I was going to race or just lay in bed all day and cry.

(Holy shit!)

Thank dog Allison texted me that she was racing that day and asked if I had a spare GU.

I didn't, but told her I had some extra Hammer.

...and that is how I talked myself into at least going to the race.

I cried the whole way there.

Not sobs, but tears.

I took some baby steps.

Jay checked out registration and called me to tell me the line was short.

I got dressed.

I registered.

I pre-rode the course with Jay telling me my race strategy.

I started to relax.

I started the race.

I didn't go out as hot as usually do.

I was sort of in a Theraflu stupor and just grabbed a wheel.

It's all I had for a few moments until we went through what would eventually be the finish and I started to climb.

I started remembering my skills.

I got my head together on the pavement and remembered all that Jay had said when we pre-rode.

He didn't run the course this day, so I had to remember everything he said.

(Dude! That boy can talk! He says a LOT of stuff!)

Days like this made it difficult to ride AND remember...

Jeeeeeeeze.

I held it together.

I held my pace.

For whatever reason, on this day, I was brain dead at the barriers.

I even did something on one lap that cannot be easily described.

I almost slapped myself for doing it and I know I started chastising myself out loud...

(Are you fast-forwarding in your head to like 30 years from now when I am pushing a shopping cart and talking to my 27 imaginary cats too?)

With 3 laps to go, something snapped...in a good way.

I started picking up the pace a little bit and screwing with boys on the climbs.

(I don't know why this is fun to me, but one boy in particular did NOT like it one little bit.)

I mean, it's not like I would ride by and kick them or slap their asses...I would just climb past them.

The one boy made a point of immediately bombing down past me on a descent whilst making a snarky comment.

(Ya didn't really think the course through in your head before you did that, did ya, wise ass? I'd like to stay and chat, but we have this climb and this is where I have to drop ya. My baaaaaaaad...)

*rolling eyes*

It was only the second time in all my 'cross races that a guy has been a dick to me, but the first time was a body-check at Spanish Lake last year and that actually pissed me off...and hurt. This was just silly/funny.

Anyhoo...

I sort of have to thank the tool.

I started to get that playful spirit back in me and actually began having fun.

I blew kisses to my "fans" and actually smiled the last 2 times through the barriers.

I finished between Gina and Kate and that's pretty much a perfect race day for me since they are both actually badass and kick my ass regularly on the road.

As we lay in bed last night, Jay told me how fun it was to watch me actually race again.

I knew what he meant.

...and he looked actually proud of and happy for me.

...and it was the latter that made me smile.

Magical Misplacement

I wish you heard me.

I wish I could tell you all the things that I want to tell you...

...but you don't hear me.

I'm not really here.

Sometimes I say them and then catch myself...

...catch you...

...not hearing me, but simply awaiting your turn to speak.

Even when you speak to me about me it's as if we've never met.

As if you've never heard me.

Ever.

You used to know things which you have now forgotten.

Somehow you've misplaced them.

Misplaced me.

I'm dusty now.

I creak when you move me.

I roll along next to you.

Allow you steer.

This seems important to you.

My sigh is lost as I turn my head to look behind for the me that was forgotten and feel a familiar tingling of excitement when I realize "that me" is still there.

I turn toward you and look at you with everything hovering on the tip of my tongue...

My eyes dancing with magic...willing you to see it...

I breathe it in deeply and close my eyes savoring the taste in my mouth before I share it with you...

I inhale...

Reentering the World

I got on my beautiful 'cross bike last night.

In the rain.

In the mud and wet grass.

Jay and I ran the barriers and up the hills as the slushy grass squished beneath our feet.

As I felt the cold muddy water dripping down my bumcrack, I was transported to a magical world where I could breathe like a normal human.

I worked my turns and off-cambers and ran the stairs.

I was soaked and cold and dirty.

You couldn't have wiped that smile off my face with a Mack truck.

Tomorrow...I will reenter my world...in the dark.

There will be cowbells and angels singing.

Feel the Load....CONTROL the Load!

"Yeah!

You feel that?

Feels good, doesn't it?

Yeah!

Just reach down and control it.

You control the load...

Yeah...

Ahhhh....

Own that load...

Not breathing hard enough...

Tweak that load...

Stand up and grind a little bit...

Yeah.

Mmmmmm....

That's right.

You control it...

*she slowly exhales*

Yeah. That's good.

Hold that.

Hold it a few more seconds...

Yeah...

Oooooooh....that was good...

Now ride it out!"

It being my first time, I look over at Allison to see how she feels about this...

Her face is calm and concentrating.

She's in the zone....

...Apparently, she is not mentally 12 years old like I have become as soon as our spin instructor started groaning and sighing about feeling and controlling "the load".

Clearly, I need more music and less talk in my spin class.

I found myself being distracted by how many times she said "load" and kept wondering what Jay would be doing if he was in the class to hear this too.

Once I had THAT image in my head, I started laughing when I was supposed to be serious and had to sort of bury my face in a TT position so that I didn't get busted...or kicked out.

...but I think she was on to me.

All in all, a really entertaining spin class.

...especially if you are prone toward semi-juvenile behavior, like myself.

How To Know If Group Rides Are Not For You (...or the Innocent People You Will Likely Harm/Kill/Piss Off)

I usually like to write a sugary sweet and funny blog between rant blogs, but I promised that I would write this one...with good reason.

A friend (a seasoned cyclist and badass racer, whom we will call "Zooey" because she is super fantastic like Zooey Deschanel) and I went on what used to be a standard group ride last Tuesday night.

We used to love this ride.

A pretty fantastic group of people also used to frequent this ride.

I'm not sure if those people stopped riding the ride because they too got pissed off by what Zooey and I found when we decided to ride the ride or if the new group simply ate or got the old group killed in traffic... Either way, this new group should:

• Never ride in a group...
• Never ride in traffic...
• Never ride a ride attached to a bike shop...
• Never wear gear associated with said bike shop because that will certainly piss off the bike shop when these jackasses get people killed and the shop name is associated... (Getting people killed or injured is generally considered negative marketing. OOOPS!)

OK, now the fact is that everyone thinks they are ready for a group ride, when the fact is that some people miss the chip that makes them group ride people.

I for one am shorthanded on patience, so I know that I must limit the group rides I attend to riding with a certain likelihood of rider which is best for me. I know to stay clear of certain rides because they are super fast and/or mini-races and others which are slow enough for a bike with a basket and puppy combo on the front. That's why this ride was a safety. A sure thing.

Familiar. Challenging. Always a fast and steady pace. People who know that those pretty little lines on the road are there for a reason.

That was not the case last Tuesday.

Here are a few tips:

1. If you are unfamiliar with what this...

...or this are...

...You are not ready for a group ride.

*Note: If you answered, "OOOOOH! Pretty Chritsmas lights!" I hope someone shoves a jolly old elf up your arse.

Additionally, if you choose to run the latter, you should not yell, "CLEAR!" and encourage other people to run the light. If people on the GROUP ride get stuck at the light which you ran, it's sort of proper etiquette to wait for them. Derrrr.

2. If you think that you will win a battle against one of these when you run the above...


...then you are not ready for a group ride.

3. If you think that the cyclist in this photo is on a group ride...

...then you are not ready for a group ride.

Additionally, you probably aren't as badass as this guy, so leave your mad TT'ng skills at home. No one is impressed. We all have a super cool Italian helmet too. No one is chasing you because you look stupid...and you have a "Cat 5 tat" on your calf. *yawn*

4. If you are incapable of being generally personable or mildly courteous to other cyclists on the ride...even when they get a flat...then you are not ready for a group ride.

Simply saying, "Hey, it looks like you have a flat" and riding off is sort of a dickhead move...especially in the dark. (Good thing her husband and 2 friends were there too or that could have sucked considering no one knew she had a husband and 2 friends there because they had been unfriendly to her when she first arrived...as a newcomer.)

Don't get me wrong, no one should need babysitting when they go on a group ride, but early on we found ourselves hanging back from the ride as we were wearing our team kits and did not want to be associated with the rolling liabilities.

The final straw was when the group ran a stop sign on Russell and nearly got hammered by a pickup truck. That poor man nearly had a heart attack and kept apologizing.

It wasn't his fault. He had been stopped. The group of asses didn't even slow down. Not even a rolling stop. Nothing. Then they took off up Broadway without a care of the other cyclists at the stop.

Guess what, assholes? We've been riding that ride a lot longer than you have. Do us and the bike shop a favor...leave from Steak and Shake...or leave from the corner of Big Bend at 6:55pm.

You can call it the Big Bend Big Loser Non-Group, Ticket-Drop-and-Die Ride.

PS: Time Trial girl, you can't just ride in the left lane because you want to or because you are not yet comfortable being that close to another bike. Cars have rights to the road too.

Cancer's Supermodel

*Disclaimer: You may not like this blog. If you already dislike me, you probably shouldn't read this blog as it wouldn't be fair to either of us. You won't be objective. If you have a yellow wristband on, there is a 52.6% chance (I totally made that number up) that reading this blog will make you feel dirty...and not in a cyclocross sort of way. You will feel your teeth grit. You may want to slap me. You may ring my doorbell with a yellow bracelet in a bag and a picture of a relative in your hand. It will not change my opinion....and likely I will not change yours. However, this is my blog and I get to write my opinions, thoughts, feeling here. Blogging is free. You too can get your own and do the same and I may or may not read it. That being said, do not say you have not been forewarned. (Plus you had to click a cute little button acknowledging you were aware that there might be "objectionable" content here, so the gloves are off.) I cannot believe that we live in times when you have to warn people that your opinion may offend them, but everyone reading clicked, so....Game on!

I don't like him.

I don't.

Lance Armstrong.

Guess what?

I'm allowed to not like him.

I have that right.

(And because I got this comment once before, I will head you off: Yes, actually I was riding bikes before anyone other than his family knew who he was. He is 11 months older than me but he didn't shoot me a memo when I was 4 and he was 5 with a photo of him riding his bike, so there's no telling who actually got in the saddle first. I simply got on my ugly yellow bike with the obnoxiously flowered banana seat and rode it.)

He's significantly better at riding a bike than I am. Hands down. There is no comparison on or off the bike being attempted to be made to Lance Armstrong.

I am simply stating that I do not like him, and I have made my peace with that fact.

Just because we both got cancer and ride bikes doesn't make us instant blood buddies.

There are plenty of people with (and without) cancer whom I like and others I do not like.

It's not a fucking club.

We don't have a secret handshake.

I suppose we could flash our super cool scars like the Bloods and the Crips, but considering where our scars are located, I think I'll pass.

Cancer doesn't give someone a soul.

If you were an asshole pre-cancer (he openly admits that he was, as do I...take that how you like) then likely you will be an asshole during cancer and after cancer is gone.

(We can always hope that isn't true, but people are tricky.)

Look, the dude had a pretty shitty childhood...regardless of how cool his mom was.

He was an angry kid.

Then he lost a nut.

I'd be pissed off too.

That being said, Lance never asked anyone to like him.

Ever.

I've read his books.

I've read his interviews.

He's a prick...and he makes no apology for this.

Nor should he.

Lance is being true to Lance.

It is the general sheep-herded, need-a-salvation, Lance-is-cooler-than-Jesus population that has made it required that you, me, your sister, your kids, their kids, and the family dog like, respect, and worship Lance.

Sorry. I attended 9 years of Catholic school. I'm all tapped out on cuckoo.

I bow before no man. (My ex-husband will support this statement.)

Lance is like an evangelist.

He doesn't give a crap about anyone but Lance...so long as you send the LAF your money and wear his pretty yellow bracelet (Which are interestingly enough, not bpa-free...).

He loves what you have made of his image.

Image.

Not a person.

Lance is a person.

Lancefanatics have been sold on the image.

Don't misunderstand, I support the work that the intelligent and dedicated people who run the LAF do to raise funds and awareness for the fight against cancer.

There are a LOT of people doing a LOT of really spectacular things in that organization.

A LOT of people. Not one man.

Lance is cancer's supermodel.

A face. A nut, if you will. (I "may" have been speaking about his testicle there...but I reread the statement and feel I should leave it open for interpretation.)

*snicker*

Honestly, I don't give a crap if you love Lance.

I care about as much as I care if people love Jesus or the GOP.

(Not a bit.)

I may not understand you, but I really don't care who/what you like.

What I care about is that I have my freedom to not like/worship Lance.

People who judge me for disliking him are assholes and hypocrites.

If someone could articulate to me in an educated and informed manner as to why I am required to like/respect Lance Armstrong, I will listen...openly.

The fact is, you cannot force someone to like someone else.

Having a different opinion on whether someone is fantastic is normal and OK.

If it was an important matter and not merely opinion and yawn-inducing, I could understand.

No one is liked by all.

I am regularly loved and loathed.

I assure you that like me, Lance does not go home and tuck himself into a fetal position because there are people who do not like him.

Frankly, when he leaves the US, it's pretty much a coin toss as to how he will be treated.

He knows this and deals with it...pretty well.

Lance handles not being liked...why can't his fans?

He is just a dude on a bike.

He shits, showers, and shaves just like the rest of us.

...he just shits yellow cupcakes.

The Rising Sun

"I love you", he said.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Wonderful", she thought to herself with a deep and saddened sigh. Just the words she was hoping to never hear from him...again.

Why could he not get this through his head?

Though he often dumped his emotions on her guarded and unwelcoming lap, she was finally at a snapping point.

She was in love with someone else.

Had been for some time.

He had never understood this.

He had never cared that she was not interested in him. He simply wanted her.

She was an object.

Something he needed to possess.

He is a man who gets what he wants and his inability to have her was driving him mad...and driving him to drink.

The latter was a sore point with her as well...which only made him do it more.

It drove him mad to imagine her laying next to another man at night.

He obsessed over the things that they did and the life that she lead with this other man.

Every day he would make feeble attempts at tearing the other man down.

It pleased him somewhat if she seemed sad or contemplative on any given day.

This encouraged him.

He wanted to believe he was the fixer of all things, as most issues could be bought away...at least in his mind.

He had met his match.

Every attempt to buy her happiness was met with anger and frustration.

Every display of misguided affection was slapped away.

She was not a thing.

She would not be had.

He was losing her.

He was losing the little bit of her that he had.

This awareness was the small bit of happiness that she experienced in his presence anymore.

The awareness grew day by day and crept across her face in a slow and amused smile as subtle as the rising sun.

She was winning.

She would soon be free.