The Bittersweet Podium

At the last minute I had two race options for that Saturday.

Race in Columbia (MO) and see some friends, or race in IL and support a series I was super happy to have seen added to this year's 'cross schedule?

Circumstances had kept me from racing the previous 3 races in the latter series and this weekend would be the Finale.

I pondered and weighed my options for a while and finally decided that I really wanted to:

1. support all the hard work that Pride, Inc. had put into organizing this new series so that they did it again next year and maybe add even MORE races to the series; and


2. actually go for a podium instead of a mere finish.

(The latter was a fairly aggressive decision on my part and it might make you laugh when you find that I later actually stepped that goal up a bit as well...)

I had never entered any race aiming for the podium.

On that Friday, I joked with Tina and Judy that I was actually going to go for the win.

I could hear Jay blink over the phone when I told him.

I could feel him pat me on the head through the line like an adorable puppy.

I couldn't blame him really.

He hasn't exactly witnessed me being aggressive in a race but a handful of times.

Regardless, I had made up my mind.

(Wish I did this more often before races instead of the mind-fuckage I normally tango with...and I bet Dan will agree with this.)

Saturday dawned beautiful, sunny, and hot...for November.

The Sass and I drove out to the race singing loudly while lady bugs (or stink beetles) danced around the velowagon.

I can't lie, I don't know if they are lady bugs or stink beetles, but I detest those little fuckers. They bite and they were EVERYWHERE that week!

We pulled up to the park and the course was fantastically beautiful.

It was a magical place, this Glen Moore Park.

I threw on my skinsuit and registered.

I had a lady bug/stink beetle in my kit.

OUCH! WTF?!?!

We lined up to start and all was light and jovial.

The whistle blew and pretty much just like that, Stephanie dropped me like a bad habit.

Mentally I thought, "Dammit you *bleep bleepin' bleep bleep*!"

Outwardly, I groaned and had to hammer to chase...and make sure I held 2nd.

By the time we got to the steep hill, I was mentally ready to close the gap a bit, but when I dove into the descent and then started the climb, my IT band reached up and sucker-punched me right in the face and reminded me that I had run a few days earlier and how stupid that crazy-assed behavior is for a non-runner during cross season.

I could hear Jay screaming and my eyes got wide as saucers as I was suddenly unable to climb and had to run it.

FUTHER MUCKER!!!!!

This pissed me off.

Mentally, I had to battle my own stupidity and throw it away.

I came for a podium.

I am getting a dog damned podium.

Today.

This day.

And not just by a little.

I wanted a big fucking gap if I was going to take 2nd.

I did not want a close sprint with #3.

Screw that noise.

It was hot and it was a course that was tailored to a climber.

I was, for the most part, in my element.

With exception to what had become a run-up, I was pretty darn happy.

(Did I mention that there was a barrier at the top of that hill?)

Those are always super fun and not a place to bring small children whom you do not want to pick up $5.00 vocabulary words.

During one lap, I dropped my chain when I put down (read "dropped") my bike after a carry.

This wigged me because I knew that Nicole was now in 3rd and she is a runner.

Generally I will take her on the barriers, but not on this course.

All I had was my climbing and turning.

Gina calmed me down as I took off and hauled ass.

Matt D. told me which line to take in the back turn and I mentally got back on my game.

It was hot.

I was monitoring my water closely and without lap cards, I could not tell how far we had to go.

While racing, I yelled to Jay several times to see if he could find out so that I could pace correctly.

With 3 laps to go, I told Gina to tell Jay that I would need water as soon as finished the race.

I had 4 sips left and needed 6.

I had to quickly calculate my final recovery spots as I felt/watched the dehydration goosebumps cover my skin.

With 2 to go I got dizzy as I crossed the Finish and the course went blurry.

I had to shake it off and take the tiniest of sips.

Gina continued to cheer me on at the hell hill barrier.

(She rocks!)

...and had she been in this race, I would have taken 3rd...happily.

I was focused and could tell that I had widened the gap between Nicole and myself.

Something snapped in me.

The last lap was very different for me.

I could actually taste the competitiveness on my tongue.

It was a new taste.

It was not passive or bland.

It was sort of spicy and sweet all at once.

Like a cayenne infused dark chocolate truffle.

It was yummy and rich and I wanted to lick every last bit off my fingers slowly and chase it with a robust red wine...

Gina knew it was different when I made that last climb.

She could see it.

I was home.

I crossed the Finish and just to make sure, I actually made them say I was done before I would stop pedaling.

My head dropped and a small smile slowly crept across my quivering lips.

I rode over to my car and grabbed water immediately while The Sass jumped up and down about the magical stick bug she had found on the tree.

My body was not ready for the cold water and reacted less than gracefully.

I kept from puking and passing out.

(DOUBLE SCORE!!!)

I was high and sick and excited and sweaty (and I'm pretty sure stinky)...

...and I wanted to scream and dance and scream some more.

I mentally jumped up and down like an ADHD kid who just slammed a crack and Mountain Dew ice cream float...

(Red Bull ain't got shit on my energy at that exact moment!)

I hugged The Sass and Jay and grabbed my phone to text a few choice supporters (and/or anyone who might be shocked by the news) and was flying high...

Then it was time to focus on Jay's race.

It was a blast.

He got 2nd too and it was a pretty good day for Fulcrum Coaching.

As Jay was cooling off after his race, The Sass and I loaded the velowagon and waited to leave.

Just then, Tina (whom I had texted to tell her that I did in fact get the podium I had promised her the day before) called me.

I assumed she was calling to give me some playful ribbing about not winning.

I answered in my "I'm-so-happy-you-called-can-you-believe-this-shit?!?!" voice and she did not sound good at all.

"What's wrong, Sweetie? You don't sound well," I said to her.

"Cor, it's Kyle..."

I held my breath.

I felt my throat tighten and my eyes began to burn.

Her throat was raw with pain and devastation.

I could feel her green eyes burning red and swollen through the phone.

She didn't have the words out of her mouth before I knew.

I knew the sentence that was coming.

I tried to shut it out.

I tried to shut down time.

I tried to disappear inside of myself.

I looked in the rear view mirror at The Sass with her headphones on and knew I had to stay.

I had to hear it.

I looked past The Sass as Pride, Inc. tore down the recently beautiful 'cross course.

I watched the day vanish.

"...He didn't make it, Cor..."

I heard myself scream inwardly.

I felt the hot mess of salty pain running fast down my once happy face.

The day rolled backwards fast in my mind and I was standing on my desk and goofing off with her the day before.

Both of us happy and excited about the weekend ahead.

I knew I had to hold onto that image.

It will be a while before I will see my friend's eyes dance again...

I looked at my beautiful trophy and suddenly it all seemed so silly.

The next day, I raced Bubba for Kyle.

My only intent was to finish.

As I started day 2 of the November heat-wave cross weekend, I was emotionally drained.

I had cried all the tears I could.

I had relived all the pain tucked away long ago.

With 6 laps to go, I was done.

I was hot. I was tired. I wanted out.

Dammit.

I had said that I was racing for Kyle this day.

Kyle didn't get to finish.

He didn't choose.

If given the choice again, I'd put money on the fact that he would not DNF on his life.

What a slap it would be to quit right now.

Tears.

Tight throat.

Heat.

Panic.

I pulled it together.

I shut my mind down.

I somehow pulled it off and held my pace...and finished that race...

It hurt.

I was emotionally dead.

When it was over, I tucked it away.

Safe, where it could not hurt me for a few hours so that I could breathe.

I cannot bring myself to take his name off my bar tape.

I guess I will have to finish every race now.

It seems rather stupid and lame not to.

Thank you, Kyle. I am happy to share my first 'cross podium and every 'cross race with you, sweet boy.

In this small way, you will live.

You will finish.

Where Are You...?!?!?

You have no right to fucking check out on me right now, bitch!

There are explanations and love owed to me for the many "Mommy IOUs" I have received from you in my life time.

I do not care that we have mended our fences.

I do not care that I forgave you.

I am starting to be angry that I give a shit at all.

Throughout my childhood and adolescence you teased me with your haunted death dance.

Always falling one bullet, one pill, one drop of blood short of leaving the hell you created.

Everything for which you had been forgiven gets dug up and thrown in my face every time you pull one of your stunts.

While there was many a time in my angry and injured youth that I boldly believed that I wanted your strange and selfish obsession with death to be realized, I am not that little girl any more.

I am a woman who learned to forgive you and accept you into my life.

You have no fucking right to cash out now.

You better have simply forgotten to call after your spectacular trip to the ER.

This better have been a misguided attempt at courtesy for my rest and well being.

If you left this mess unexplained, I will kick your sorry box from the mortuary to the grave.

Do you hear me, woman??? Do you???

OK then...

Love ya. Mean it. Call me.

*kisses*

"I Like Pain", He Said

I had planned to ride the Dirty Girls mountain bike series on Saturday morning...until I got the text at 7am that the ride was canceled due to weather.

As I lay there sleepy-headed, having fallen back asleep after Jay left for work, I tried to think of rides I could jump on at this late start.

In my sleepy-headed delirium, my road bike was on the back of my car as it usually is when I head over to Jay's.

As it was, I had taken it off the night before when I took Ty's bike over to get him re-fit.

This didn't dawn on me as I thought about the group that might be riding over in IL (a short 15 minute drive from Jay's).

I contacted Patrick to see if they're riding there.

Nope.

He tells me they are riding out in Ballwin.

*thinks quickly in head*

Hey! I live there!

(Some days, things make sense to me.)

They are rolling out at 8am.

DOHHHH!

I tell Patrick I'm south ask him if it's going to be a hammer-fest and he assures me that it won't be.

He says he's not sure which route they're taking, but that they'll wait for me.

saWEEEET!

Sooooo...I spring out of bed and fly out the door to the garage.

Double DOHHHH!

No bike on the back of the velo wagon.

I haul ass to Ballwin and charge through the house grabbing things I will need.

I make my PowerBar water and grab an extra water bottle and my Hammer gel.

I am fairly confident that there will be no girls on this ride and that makes me nervous.

I run out the door forgetting my gear bag and my morning kyo-green smoothie.

(This cute little fact will later smack the F*CK out of me!)

I roll up to Aaron's house and the Big Shark posse is there awaiting my late and frenzied arrival.

Holy hell!

I realize I am about to be tortured by Hawley, Klages, Hinni and Gray.

*gulp*

I am happy to see Klages, since he is already familiar with my special brew of "issues" and although Patrick is somewhat aware, poor Hinni and Gray are clueless to all of this.

We head out from Aaron's and I feel OK.

We head toward Castlewood and I am aware that I am about to (for the very first time) ride up "that hill".

*thinks in head..."WOW! I really wish I was getting a massage right now instead of attacking this hill on a wet road with a bunch of boys!!"*

I'm the last one up.

(This shocks you, yes?)

Patrick prepares me for the fast and furious (and friggin' WET!) descent to Kiefer Creek.

I don't wreck.

(This shocks you too, yes?)

We head uphill again and I am behind, but within view.

At some point they wait for me and by the time we reach Old State Road, I tell them to go on and that I am just going to ride loops so I don't hold them up.

I get a bunch of "PSHAWS!" and they tell me to stay on with them.

David tells me to tuck in and how they will protect me as we ride.

Needless to say, we are no longer in Ballwin...

We soon find ourselves in Wildwood...

...and Eureka...

...and while somewhere along the way I managed to not die on those effing hills, when I realized that we were in Eureka, I almost cried.

My body was screaming, but no one other than Jim would know this...and he would only get it if I told him, which I didn't.

I know he knew.

He waited for me on one huge ass hill that went on for days (in Wildwood...I think), until I told him to go on.

I assumed that he knew I wanted them to roll on and leave me, but those guys waited for me at the top.

I would have said, "Dammit!" but it was so friggin' nice that it just made me push myself harder.

I shut up and tried to hold on.

There was a sprint for an imaginary City Limit sign in Eureka, but that city is pretty much a blur to me.

I let Patrick know that I didn't have it and wondered how long my walk home would be.

I hung on (barely, because they were being nice to me) as we made a left turn and headed up the grandest road this ol' girl has ever been on.

Wow! What a monster!

That bitch just sprawled up, up, up...and around...

I see the guys glide up this beast as if they are pulled by some invisible force that thinks girls have cooties.

I think I am about an eighth up it before my body bails on me.

No amount of Hammer gel is going to save me.

We have been riding a couple hours and I have taken in under a hundred calories.

(By the way, that is NOT wise, nor was it my plan.)

Food doesn't work out for me these days and I didn't even have the previous night's dinner in me anymore.

I was screwed.

I try all the yoga breathing in my vault and still, I am trembling and feeling the stabbing pains of a thousand daggers in my kidneys and chest.

It's then that I realize that Mr. Hawley has waited for me.

I reward him with a giant set of dry heaves and snot drainage in the foliage as I grasp the side of the rock wall and hope that I don't die or worse...pass out.

I ask him where we are so that I can figure out a plan of escape/rescue.

He and Klages agree that the best thing is to get me to St. Albans.

(Heck, even I can find my way home from THERE!)

I watch David and Aaron fly down the hill like two little kids with roman candles strapped to their asses and it makes me laugh...but I am a bit jealous too.

At the bottom of St. Albans, we make a plan.

We are all going to ride out.

We are all going to follow the same route.

Patrick is going to take my key and the boys are going to hammer back to Aaron's to get my car and I will be picked up.

*Hello, Loser!*

We head out of St. Albans and up Hwy T.

David checks with me before they take off to make sure I'm OK.

I tell him that I am and I watch them haul ass up that hill as if it was a descent.

I look at my power tap and it is blanked out.

*Dammit!*

I screw with it and call Ty and Jay to let them know where I am and what the plan is.

I get back on and start up that awful hill. (Which will now be my nemesis and I will absolutely get the hell up that hill without stopping/dying one day VERY soon!)

Once I cross Hwy 100, I feel fine.

I pick up the pace and continue my workout while keeping an eye out for my car.

I turn onto Hutchinson and wonder if I missed the guys and if possibly I was supposed to stay on Hwy 100 instead of Manchester...

I figure I'll just call them when I get to Lone Wolf.

As I turn onto Clayton Rd from Hutchinson, I see Patrick and Aaron in my car.

Holy hell!

I made it way far and didn't miss them!

I look down at my power tap and although my average for that last 8.83 miles was a sucky 111 watts, at some point it shows that I put out a max of 577 watts...which is more than I put out in my crit last week...and that makes me smile.

I was never so happy to see the velo wagon and was happy to let Patrick drive while my legs spazzed out and Aaron fondled the cx saddle he found in the back of my car.

I feel like I have been stabbed in the kidneys and wonder if I should skip brunch and simply have them cut out to ease the pain, but the whole "down time" off the bike discourages me...

Later that night while Jay and I are discussing the next day's MTB race at Lost Valley, he decides that he will do the marathon race. (3 hours of hell and pain that I wouldn't even wish on my ex!)

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I really like pain."

I look at this strange man whom I love and am suddenly fully aware of the yin and yang that is us.

I spend my days (and LOTS of dollars) trying to get out of pain.

He spends his days trying to find new and interesting ways to be in more pain.

At that moment...

(...and only for that moment...)

...I think that the next time he takes me out on a hill ride, I'm just gonna kick him in the ding-ding with my cleat while he's making a wee-wee and see if he feels the same way about pain.

Knowing him, he will.

And I sort of have to admire that.

Deserving

"I don't deserve this!"

How many times have I listened quietly as someone expressed that thought?

I listened to my mother ask that question regarding her own life when she called me after finding out that I had been diagnosed with cancer in 1999. I hung up on her.

I have listened to countless female friends ask the same question after some ridiculous and unimportant romance has hit the skids and they have been left alone after breaking every covenant that makes a relationship real.

I have listened to people vent about the unfairness of a spouse or significant other who has cheated, or become an addict, or turned out to be a sizable professional failure.

I have listened to people vent about the unfairness of all they have given being taken for granted.

I have listened a lot over the past 8 plus years to others venting and ranting and raving about "deserving" and "unfairness".

I always laugh.

I am a snarky bitch.

This I know.

Why?

Because the people bitching are not usually people who have been through serious shit, they just think that they have.

They are victims of their own circumstance and at least partly responsible for the shit that has befallen them.

Guess what, Pumpkin. He/She didn't commit to your whiny, needy ass because:

a)you fucked him/her within the first 5 hours of meeting him/her in person.

b) you got stupid drunk and showed your "10 cat crazy" side.

c) after fucking him/her on the first meeting you laid in his/her bed describing the breakfast you were going to cook him/her and babbled on about the fun that you were going to have in the future.

d) you bought him/her a watch, iPod, dog within the first month of knowing him/her. (Hint: 10 dates and 20 fucks does not equal an iPod, watch, or a dog...even at Christmas.)

I hate to quote John Mayer because although he is super physically hot, he is such a fucking poser that he makes me vomit. That being said, he is snappy with the phrase or two and one stands out:

" ...Take all of your so called problems, Better put 'em in quotations..."

Right the fuck on!

I know women who were getting fucked by family members when they were 4 years old.

I know women who have been beaten within an inch of their lives.

I know men who have lost their wives to a disease that would not be beaten.

I know men who have had their brains cut into to save their lives.

I know women who were abandoned by their parents when they were young children.

I know a woman who fought everyday to hold on and to breathe and to not feel pain and in the end she lost.

Not one of those people have I ever heard say, "I don't deserve this!"

They didn't.

Who does?

What is this "deserving" that I hear so much about?

Everyone (yes everyone) deserves to be happy and un-tortured.

Everyone (yes everyone) deserves to be healthy and without pain.

Deserve?

You don't deserve to be dumped?

You don't deserve to be cheated on?

You don't deserve to have to raise your children alone?

I assure you, you do.

You deserve it.

If I can see my life as an adventure and be grateful for the things I have learned along the way, so can you.

I can tell you why you should kiss the person and thank them for cheating on you or leaving you. I surely can. Likely, it is the extreme they went to to make you see how wrong they were/are for you.

Likely they wanted you to see it more than you wanted to. If you were to take a step back and look, would you see all the signs that were left along the way?

I don't mean to be an ass, but it suits me. I will say that I will gladly take your cheater, your addict, your finances, your spouse that won't fuck you, your spouse that will fuck everyone but you and trade you....for just a moment. I know at least 30 other people that would offer the same...for just a moment. Because I, like them, have learned that it could always be worse. And we are all happy to afford you that cute little lesson.

I was 7 years old the first time some asshole would try to stick his dick in me.

Deserve?

I was a brat for sure. I constantly left my toys all over the floor of my bedroom and threw away my dinner. Deserve?

My mom left when I was 10.

Deserve?

Dead dad, dead dog, dead grandpa, dead husband. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Deserve?

Single parent at 20.

Deserve?

Cancer as a birthday gift on my 27th.

Deserve?

Chemo. Radiation. Surgery.

Deserve?

I may not be there when my daughter loses her first tooth.

I may not see my son graduate high school.

What is this deserve that you speak of?

Is there something that I did in my mother's uterus that made her hate me upon sight? Made her want a sunny life in a tropical climate instead of taking care of her children?

Were we too loud? Too quiet? Too ugly? Was the constant need for groceries more than she could handle?

Was I too sexy at 7 with my Dorothy Hamill haircut and ripped Gloria Vanderbilt's that a high school aged boy could not resist my gap toothed charms of tripping over sidewalk cracks on my duct taped roller skates?

Was I too successful at 26 and taking care of my young son that some powerful being had to put my shopping in check with an adorable touch of cancer?

Did a company car equal 4,000+ stitches, chemicals pumped into my body to destroy me further, radiation to fry me from the inside, and an eternity of disfigurement? Was it my karma?

Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! What is this goddammed "deserving" that people rant about while decrying the life that they have been dealt?

I am exhausted by it.

I have lost everything. EVERYFUCKINGTHING!

And I have gotten it back and lost it again. *Repeat as needed*

So fucking what!!!!

Yes, I'm sorry sugars, but you do deserve to have your eyes opened. Your life freed. The hassle lifted.

And Never Was

I am angry with you. I cannot explain it. I have been angry with you for a very long time. You did this. You did this to me. I forgave you though you were not sorry. I did not, however, forget...and it seems as though I will not...no matter how I have tried.

I can laugh. I can sing. I can dance. I can love. With all of that, it still holds true that at the end of the day, when I close my eyes... when I am alone in the comfort of my fear... there you are. Stabbing me with your knowledge. Ripping me to shreds with what you have done. Mocking my scars and making me bleed while you dance your soulless dance of pain and glory.

I do not want you...though that has never made you leave.

I cannot make what you have done go away.

You should have murdered my body. You took my soul. Stole my youth. You torment my eternal present.

You have made me the worst kind of weak...the kind that the naked eye will mistake as strong.

I was just a child...and never was.

Where were you?

Where is your shame?

Has it died with my cries...?

Now it is my fault. My fault for not allowing you to die. I am left fighting the same thing day in and day out and I am tired.

Why did you not teach me to fight it?

Why did you leave me alone?

I was just a child...and never was.

Now I am one with my pain. I hold it close, as it is safe and does not abandon me. Pain kept me safe, while you were busy. When it dies, I will mourn it. Like I have mourned you since the day you looked away. The day you were too busy to love me. The day you forgot.

...happy birthday.

I love you.

The Balance That Isn't

"What did you want to be when you grew up when you were 5," he asked.

I responded with:

"When I was 5, I wanted to be a ballerina and an attorney.

When I was 10, I wanted to be a cartoonist and an attorney.

When I was 13, I wanted to be a fashion designer and an attorney...and a nun.

When I was 16, I wanted to be a U.S. Senator and an attorney.

When I was 20, I wanted to be an attorney.

When I was 28, I wanted to be a writer and an attorney.

When I was 32, I wanted to be an attorney.

When I was 34, I wanted to be a cyclist and attorney.

At 35, I want to win the lottery so that I can ride my bike, paint pictures, save the world and write about it all."

I didn't offer up an explanation. I felt that I had already over-answered.

Between 5 and 10, life had changed enough that I wanted to make it funny and color it to be things it was not. I was no longer secure in simply losing myself to the dance...

Between 10 and 13, my friends hit puberty (and I did not) and Madonna hit the scene and I wanted to design clothes that either made my breasts look existent or hide the fact they weren't. Let me say that this came after the very tragic Water-Balloon-Bra-Stuffing Incident of 1984.

eh-hem...

Connie may also remember a hideous skirt I made in our clothing textile class and understand why I did not pursue fashion design...

When I was 16 I was the vice president of our chapter of The Future Republicans of America. Then Bush 41 ran for President. Do I really need to say more about this?

Between 16 and 20, I learned about survival. About the law. About human nature and the power of greed. About losing. About bleeding, and breaking, and life...loss and creation. Aside from Kindergarten, I learned the most during this cute little era....

Between 20 and 28, I hardened and softened. I cut throats and ripped jugulars in the corporate world. I clawed, kicked and trampled the meek. I had a phat convertible and badass company car. My son thought I was God. He knew I was Santa. My karma bitchslap was an eye-opening, soul shattering, mind blowing diagnosis of cancer. I learned that there are people who enjoy watching other people be sick. I learned that there are people who will ask out of curiosity more than caring. I learned that regardless of chemo, radiation, loss of self-esteem and/or hair, numbers are numbers in certain companies and if you are too weak to fly to Dallas to take a client to dinner and a titty bar, you may get your ass reamed.

Between 28 and 32, I felt invincible and got married and then left. Nothing was funny anymore. I wanted nothing recorded. The writing, the painting, the dancing...all stopped. I forfeited my identity to another because it was easier than fighting for myself day in and day out with someone who did not care who I was and only desired a trophy to show to his friends. My employer was wildly excited about the time I was willing to dedicate to my job rather than deal with the impending doom of my marriage. I sold out....for a minute or two.

Between 32 and 34 I rediscovered who I was and what I love. It involved my kiddos, my bicycles, all dogs, gear, and shoes. It did not involve my former spouse, so that was the end of that.

Between 34 and 35 I took time off to get healthy and regroup. It became easier to not play the game. I stopped caring what people think and started caring more about how people feel. I stopped giving a crap as to whether my view was the popular one. I stopped caring that my nipples are crooked and my car is a greedy gas guzzling whore. I let go of people who hung on and people who drained me. I got the reputation of being sweet and awful, kind and cruel, altruistic and cold, fun and boring, wild and a prude.

If that's not balance, I don't know what is.