August 1st. Two months since I mailed out my fundraising letters and I have received $2120 in contributions to Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. WOW.
Thank you.
If you would still like to contribute, there is plenty of time. I would like to have the money raised by September 15th so I can focus in on training. That is 2 days before my "recommitment" date (as if I were wavering at this point!)
I took my bike in for a maintenance check this morning. Thought a once over after the wreck would be a good idea. And a clean chain and drive train would be a nice way to start the official training process.
Coach Travis sent out the first training schedule last Wednesday so here is when it gets serious. Up until this point I have been riding as I want, when I want. Now I have a piece of paper with goals for the day and the week.
A schedule. A plan. A process.
Some might chafe under such restrictions. But not me. I thrive. I love the organization, the structure, the satisfaction of watching the days tick by, the progress made, the strength gained. I love that the 100 mile week scheduled for 9/1 looks daunting to me now and by the end of this process it will seem laughably easy. Oheee. I am excited!
Our first group ride is this Saturday. Stay tuned for a report. Travis put as a header on his e-mail "Why does cycling matter...because when you are riding, nothing else does."
Is that true? I think I want to rephrase it because rather than forget about the rest of my life when I bike I enjoy having space to think and reflect and gain perspective on work or relationships or whatever. I don't' have the right re-wording yet. Perhaps it will come to me on tonight's ride.
9 comments:
because nothing else does? yeah, that sounds like a 'coachy' thing to say. Come up with somethin' better, OK?
I saw a bunch of Team In Training riders the other day on my way home from work. It was a group of maybe 10 and they got split up during a red light and were riding along like they were some school of fish in the street where cars want to be. Normally, I would be annoyed at their unsafeness. Not just that they're in my way, but that they're bikes and I'm a car. And it's where cars go. But instead I thought of you and let them go around me and waited until they all caught up with each other.
OK, I was annoyed for about 10 seconds.
Just be safe, OK?
As long as I don't turn 'coachy' into 'preachy.' Always a danger, you know.
Thank you for not hitting the cyclists. And letting them get back together.
My team will be doing the same "vehicular" style of riding, taking up that car space, getting cursed at from behind.
Would you not also be annoyed if you were walking on the sidewalk and saw a huge line of cyclists? You would be saying, here are bikes where people go!
Safety First. Fun Second.
I'd rather they ride single-file on the side of the road. Or meet up and ride on a bike path, to be honest. I know, I still live by Safety First, Fun Second!
Safety does not come first! Truth and Beauty and Goodness come first (if you read your Miss Brodie).
moment of ignorance: Who's Miss Brodie?
And how could she possibly out rank Rev Rapp? (the font of wisdom who first impressed, s"aftey first, fun second" on young Amy-squared)
From "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie." My all-time favorite novel. Duh.
Miss Brodie doesn't care for the notion that safety comes first; nor does she approve of intimidation through the use of quarter-hours (e.g., meet me in my office at 9:15). Nor young ladies who raise the window more than 6 inches or roll their sleeves above their elbows.
But Miss Brodie rode a school marm bicycle over the cobblestones of Edinburgh, not a multigeared racing contraption in rush-hour Atlanta.
Thank you, kc, I shall read it.
Once I finish this turkish novel "Snow" that I am slogging through.
I would like to ride over the cobblestone streets of Enidburgh. Rushie and I were there in 2002, sans bikes.
OOOO! Yeah!
Cobblestone streets of Enidburgh - let's go back!
Or somewhere else.
I think I might be in love with Miss Brodie.
You're reading "Snow"?! I know someone else who's reading that, and that's exactly how she described it: slogging. (My theory is that if your writing doesn't require slogging you can't win the Nobel in literature.)
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