First Spring Bike Ride - yeowza

Notice snowmobile parked behind me.

I just went for my first bike ride since Peak2Peak. Last fall, I finished the 22 miles of P2P, got off my bike and didn’t look at it again for THREE MONTHS. Very unlike me. I'm not sure what happened, but I think it was one of those “let’s end things on a high note since I didn't die in that hellacious race” kind of excuses. 

But today it was sunny, 36 degrees and for some reason, it was time. A thrill raced through me. I ran through the house, gathering loads of long underwear and bike helmets, trying to find my garb before I lost my nerve.

Then I hauled my bike up the stairs out of the basement, shifted it about 3 times accidentally in doing so, applied the brakes once as it almost backed over me and finally rolled it out into the fresh air. Welcome back to the light, my friend.

Bonus: I had to roll it past the snowmobile Nelson parked in the garage last night. The irony was not lost on moi, who did a little jig to defy mother nature and her snow today as I headed out.

Mile 1. Golden. MY god, I felt manic, pedaling like a fool, wind in my face, Under Armor top and bottom, little charcoal packets in my shoes and mittens, shaking away.

Mile 2. Shitola. Reality set in and I quietly, without debating it with anyone at all, shortened my route from a hilly 16-mile loop to an easygoing scenic 11-mile loop around Lake Ann.

Things that soon unfolded:

My fan base: In the course of 11 miles, I got a honk & appreciative wave, a “Woo Hoo!” hollered from a man in his driveway… and a fluffy white Shih Tsu that kept pace with me much longer than I’d like to admit.

My pants: I don’t remember my spandex bike shorts having a steel band in the waist last time I wore them. I also developed a weird side ache that wasn't in my side but more in the middle, where my belly was being sliced in two.

My tire pressure: I have these fancy bike valves that require me to learn how to use them, which I refuse to do as a boycott against why they have to make them so fancy anyway? So, I checked the pressure with the all-knowing thumb-press. And found it to be spot-on (as usual when using this method). This, of course, meant I proceeded to check my tires three different times on the road, as, despite the thumb press, my speed indicated I was traveling on a flat.

My foot warmers: Due to the weird purple marks on my toes, it appears I used the foot warmers incorrectly. Afterward, I read the directions - they are not for use in shoes with air circulation (you might consider the mesh in my bike shoe this very thing). Why would this matter? I scoffed. Because oxygen activates them to a temp of approx. 109 degrees. (Sidenote: The only thing worse than really hot feet is being in skin-tight, sweat-soaked Under Armor that you can't possibly peel off on the side of the road, or maybe ever.)

My doctors: About 30 minutes in, I started thinking a lot about my chiropractor, like what her hours are and if my back was going to need a brace. 45 minutes in and I was thinking pretty heavily about my ob/gyn too.

My speed: I was held hostage to guessing my speed for a full hour. I couldn't reach in my pocket and check my Garmin because I was wearing mittens the size of Michigan. At first, I was a galloping horse and I felt no need to know my speed, for it was amazing and I needed no proof of otherwise. Five minutes later, I was wondering about the pavement, was it slower when it was cold? Was my perception off because the trees were bare, no leaves to gauge the passing of a biker? Was that the wind at my face, the same wind that only moments ago that I swore was at my back? Later, when I checked my Garmin speed at home, it was shockingly accurate. I was going slow.

So this was my first ride back in the saddle. Oh how I've missed biking!!!!

Writer's Digest: 5-Minute Memoir

My "5-Minute Memoir"  is out in the March/April issue of Writer's Digest! Check out the issue at Horizon Books, Brilliant Books and BAM in Traverse City. Here's a PDF online for my essay "The Last Page."

I love this Writer's Digest. If you are a (real, imagined, wannabe, professional, pubbed or unpubbed) writer, you should be reading this publication!

The essay is about losing my mom and how it changed my writing. It was a hard essay for me to write. I wrote it in an afternoon, barely edited it and sent it off before I could change my mind. It was too personal!

I sent it to them in August. Months passed and I forgot about it, relieved, so far-fetched was the idea that it would be published. Then I got an email in November from a "Zac" at Writer's Digest. I deleted it on my iPhone. I thought it was spam.

When I (finally) realized that Zac was real and in fact the Senior Managing Editor, I flipped out. I wanted to be in my favorite magazine so, so much. I was excited and flattered and shocked... and terrified.

This essay was too sad and too personal. I didn't want my sisters to read it. I didn't want my dad to read it. I didn't want anyone to read it. I couldn't even re-read it when they sent me a galley proof. I asked for a couple extra days to get back to them on any changes just so I could prepare myself to face the loss again.

But when I finally brought myself to read it, I felt the sadness (shitloads, as my dad would say) but I saw, too, that it was a tribute to my mother, her laughter and her love, her pancakes and her venison stew. I was glad I'd written it, every word of it true.

For now I am settling for this PDF, but I am stalking the mail lady every day, waiting for my hard copy of the magazine to arrive. I hope you'll read it. And I hope my mom is reading, too.

A new beginning: The spark!

For those of you who are embarking on a new, healthy beginning, be it getting (or finally using) a gym membership, starting to run or eating better, consider this...

All new beginnings start with a spark. For example, polishing off a bag of mini Milky Ways always generates a decent spark. With the pile of shiny wrappers on your couch all around you, you think, OMG (pronounced in full), I must change my ways!

That? That’s a tiny spark. It will happen every time you eat a bag. But this spark is too tiny by itself to ever make you quit.

Get out the flint
Still these little sparks are useful. Pay attention to them each time they come. Seething over an empty, crumb-rattling box of cookies left in the cupboard as a decoy? Spark. Buying a new pair of jeans because the elasticity has clearly gone out of the denim? Spark. Bending over to put on your (new) jeans and glancing in the bedroom mirror just as your belly folds in half. And then in half again? Spark (explosion).

These sparks are part of the process: Once you start sparking like this, you are just a few hundred Oreos away from changing. The slow burn is underway!
The flint will finally come with an ordinary little spark, like when your thighs chafe on the treadmill and catch fire.

Blowtorch time
About this time, you get a little sparky yourself. You feel a steely (flint-like) resolve. For starters, you buy a workout getup. A glorious byproduct of change is the new outfit you need. Relish it. Buy a tank top that shows the roll now but will show the biceps later. Buy the neon pink shoes that will blind the cashier. Buy a new pair of shorts and plan to donate them to Goodwill 10 lbs. from now. Feel benevolent. Spark, spark, spark.

Next, re-appear at the gym, sweaty off the treadmill and carrying a water bottle in the locker room. A long-forgotten gym friend (still toned) will do a double take. You manage a small wave, your arm limp from 10 pushups (8 of which you barely bent your elbows at all). Your hand almost clears your shoulder, but you’re happy. You’re feeling skinny as a rail after one workout. Spark, spark, spark.

Fan the flames
Best to call in reinforcement at this point. An accomplice beside you is the best spark in the world. 

Kandy’s long-time secret flint is her private blog with a friend. Completely private and brutally honest. They post daily in times of need. (For example, when entire bags of Reese’s Pieces are being consumed in a single sitting. No, no. The big bags. The ones that stand up by themselves. Seven servings? We don’t think so.) They log in and list their meals and exercise for the day. It’s a wonderful shaming process made bearable by a lot of bravado, venting and careful crafting of one-liners.

But they both live in mind-numbing fear of the day they accidentally click some button where they make their blog public and the entire world reads their true weight or, worse, their number of threats leveled at Pizza Hut.

Kerry’s secret: Her number one reason for getting a new puppy was to get back to running. She spent years chasing her other dog, Jack; time to re-up! Nothing distracts you more from being a sweaty mess than a cute sidekick named Bobby to steal the show. And, well, if the puppy MUST take a break along the route to investigate a squirrel up a tree, that tree is pretty good for leaning against too. Spark, spark, bark.

As the New Year begins, we wish you all a new beginning with plenty of spark! And, don’t forget, we are launching the Jane 2014 program this issue. If you are ready to apply and put on your “awesome pants,” see page 24 of our Jan.Feb issue or our website at www.grandtraversewoman.com. (There. Was that a spark you felt? Do it!)