Standing on the edge...

I'm standing on the edge of a canyon, weighed down by a suitcase clutched in my right hand. In it are all of my experiences: keys to my past, things that make me who I am and a foundation for what I want to become. I brought the bare minimum, open to learning more, ready for the challenge and curious what I'll throw out along the way.

The panoramic view excites me. There's so much to explore, so many things to encounter, so many experiences to be had. I'm committed to this journey. I'm ready to dig deep, excavate and put my heart and soul into this work. 

I take a deep breath and start to make my way down to the bottom of the canyon via a faint switch back trail. It's dusty and hard to maneuver with my suitcase, but I'm determined I may need some of its contents later.

Taken from http://mpeesel.com/randomness-on-the-trail/

What's the canyon you're standing on? What's your journey?

I just committed to writing my memoir in six months. And by committed, I mean I'm taking an intensive course that's going to challenge me in ways I never imagined. My goals are to complete 60,000 words of my story, my perspective on how grief is a gift. I'm ready to let my voice be heard. 

I'll share my insights along the way - from shitty first drafts to polished prose; to challenges and triumphs and those well timed aha's! Sit down and buckle up, this is sure to be a wild ride.

The Academy's Apex

I struggled on the hill today up the Academy. Actually, I struggle every time I climb that hill. My legs felt like they were going to explode and the group just rode away like I was standing still. I contemplated turning around for a brief second and riding out the North Gate. No one would know except me.  I looked up the hill and saw other people struggling in the wind and thought this is making me stronger.

I may not be the fastest. I may not be the strongest. But today I brought my best. And that's all you can hope for.

I crested the hill happy I didn't quit, happy I struggled. If it were easy I wouldn't be doing it. I love the challenge. I love pushing myself to my physical and mental limits to learn how I can grow and go faster as a cyclist and as a person.

Plus, what goes up must come down. And I am addicted to speed. I love moving quickly through space and time, zooming downhill inches away from other riders and picking the right wheel and line to the sprint point. Balancing the fine line between risk and reward.

It's important to practice your strengths and your weaknesses. Lucky for me I got both on today's ride.

What moves you? What are your limits? When faced with struggles, do you embrace them or turn away? Where's your apex?

November Notes

This short interlude brought to you by writing a novel in the month of November…. done and done!

A quick recap of what happened in the month of November:

Karissa and I decided to pair up for ParaCycling Track Nationals about 2 weeks prior. It took us a week to get her bike up and running so we did a total of 2 track sessions before heading to LA and won 3 national titles. Boom!

Benjamin was there with his Team Pursuit squad and got to witness it all. He may or may not have said, "I'd be okay if you never did that again!" after the tandem match sprints.

I am now a Level 1 USA Cycling Coach! Completed the course a few weeks ago and am stoked for the personal and professional development it brings. I have spots available for those interested.

I wrote 41,000 words. My goal was 50,000 but I lost steam in LA. Now that I know what it takes, I'll attempt it again next year. I did develop some great new writing habits - like spending 2 hours a day in front of the computer without connectivity. I highly recommend it if you've ever toyed with the idea of writing a novel.

My dad came out for Thanksgiving. Unfortunately they didn't get to meet my world traveler fiancé but soon enough!

Been reading a ton again - now that I have my evenings back from writing (though not for long. I committed to finishing my memoir in 6 months)… "Mindset" by Carol Dweck is really good. My library queue has "Good to Great," "Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination and Invigorates the Soul," "Jab, Jab, Jab, Right Hook," and "How to Write Short: Word Craft for Fast Times."

Chasing Tandem Dreams

My palms are sweaty and I'm thankful for long fingered gloves. The aero bars on the tandem are slick and any added moisture could cause big problems. I don't want to risk it.

We take to the track, winding up our speed to gradually enter the banked track on the back straight. Although I've done countless revolutions on the LA Velodrome, being out on a tandem is new. And frightening. I'm not just responsible for my own well being, I now guide my stoker through space and time. She follows my movements and cues, pedaling through the turns and holding on for dear life.

I relax. The bike tracks smoothly through the turns.

I've got this, I tell myself. I know she'll feel my hesitation, my twitches, my fears. When I relax the bike goes in the straight line. We wind up our speed at the top of the track, and I push back the reality of how far we would fall if something went wrong. Down we dive, taking a straight line from corner 4 into corner 1. Our speed increases like a mac truck, legs pumping like pistons as we tick off laps. I dial us onto the sprinters line, not moving outside even as the turns pull the bike up track. The black line is the shortest distance around the track and I am determined to stick to it and not stray.

I smile the more we practice. Moments come more and more frequently where I feel like I'm on the bike by myself. Our movements are synched up. We are strongly pushing 300 pounds through the air, chasing lap times and dreams.

I love chasing dreams.

How did you spend your weekend?

Spent the day with Benjamin up at Buffalo Creek, CO on our 29" mountain bikes. It was one of those perfect late fall days, where you could get away with no knee warmers and slip down arm warmers. The trails cross three wild fire scars from 1996, 2000 and 2001. The area is slowly and I mean slowly, renewing itself.

We stopped at the top of one of the first climbs and he looked at me, one leg unclipped as he balanced on his bike. "I love being able to share this with you."

My heart soared. "And I with you."

I am so thankful for the moments we spend together.

While waiting for some uphill traffic I snapped this photo. I love me some Colorado blue sky!

The single track is fantastic. Nothing crazy technical, except for the one downhill run we took were we had to hike a bike more than we rode it. Thankfully we intercepted some downhillers that were finishing the section we had just hiked up and told us to turn around.

You could easily spend a weekend up here, playing on single track and exploring the area, figuring out which trails link up the best with others. Summed up in one word? Gratitude.

All roads lead to Chinatown.

You wouldn't guess by looking at me, but Chinese/Hawaiian ancestry runs through my blood. It's on my mother's father's side of the family. Immigrants to Hawaii long ago and a blend with the locals, the family made its way by owning a full service laundry mat (well before washer and driers were invented) and some real estate. My two front teeth are scooped - a little trickle down affect of my asian blood. But then again, you couldn't tell by looking at me.

I joined my mom in Honolulu this week to clean out my grandmother's house. Gam, my grandmother, passed this last March at the ripe age of 96. She lived in Nu'uanu Pali, up the mountain from downtown Honolulu, the last stop before crossing over to Kailua side. Gam and my grandfather bought this brand new house in 1955. The covered car porch and gate has four Chinese emblems built in. I only just found out on this trip they mean happiness.

Happiness, indeed.

The house sold after 22 offers in a week. It is a gem. A nice big lot in the rain forest, just a few miles from downtown.

We've been cleaning out decades of treasures: wooden bowls, bone china from the kitchen cupboards, the occasional cockroach stuck to the cabinet floor, books filled with notes, old slides, ice picks, you name it. It's like living someone's life in reverse. You can tell a lot about someone by what they keep and what they don't have around. Old sewing machines from a time when if you wanted new clothes, you had to make them. Gam had every kind of twine you can imagine - old fishing line on a spool bigger than your thigh and small hemp that bound her boxes of Christmas ornaments. Dowels in every width and length, ready for any project she might think up.

We also had to sell her car: a 1996 Acura with less than 40,000 miles on it. We listed it on Craigslist and had a dozen responses in an hour. The couple that came up to Nu'uanu met us that afternoon. We could barely understand one another - their English was choppy and our Mandarin nonexistent. We managed to make plans to meet the following day at the DMV to transfer the title and then deliver the car to Milikini street. Mom had to get one of her trustee documents notarized and the wife drove her into Chinatown into some back street and had her climb four flights of stairs into some dark office. The notary didn't speak a lick of English and the entire transaction was completed in Chinese.

Business transaction complete, I followed my mom who followed the wife back through China Town. We drove past where my grandmother's funeral was, past the noodle shops, past the mauna pua factories. We could've taken a quicker, more direct route. But for this lady, all roads lead to Chinatown.

GET A BIKE FIT.

We spent close to five hours working on my position on the bike. No leaf unturned, Colby methodically inspected every aspect of how I rode my bike. Cleat position in relation to how my feet function, handle bar position, hood position, saddle height, saddle position, the saddle itself, and attention toward my flexibility and mobility as an athlete. No leaf unturned.

The biggest transformation? Pelvic tilt. I had been sitting back in my saddle to protect my soft tissue. Now I'm sitting forward, and lengthening my spine which flattens my back out. I increased my stem length from a baby 80 mm to 110mm. HUGE DIFFERENCE.

I rode four hours the next day and felt amazing. No pain. No tightness. No foot pain or strain. Just put my head down and pounded out the miles. The sun definitely helped - and the fact we didn't have to wear arm warmers. It's so nice not having to think about what hurts or what you tolerate on the bike when you ride.

If you haven't had a proper bike fit - what are you waiting for? If you knew you could increase your comfort and power on the bike ten fold by spending some dollars on improving your position - then why haven't you? And if you want the best - Colby is fantastic.

After moving things around, I may or may not have said "Oh sheeeeiiiitttt. Those bizzos are in trouble."

One Word at a Time

Long tights, wool under layers, sunny skies, fallen leaves, miles of roads and lots of training... my morning ground ride leaves in an hour. Baby's in the Netherlands and I'm getting a laundry list of writing done. So far this morning: 1,000 words, and yes, I keep track. Each morning I wake up before it's light out, turn on my reading light and dive into a novel for an hour or so. Once my grumbling tummy can no longer be ignored, I head downstairs with a whining Makiah in tow. A scoop of kibble in her dog dish, a scoop of oatmeal and water in a pot and I sit down, scribbling down morning thoughts in my green journal. I read more while eating, filling my mind with words, noticing what works for some writers and what doesn't. (New pet peeve: when someone says something is indescribable. All I read is cop out! Come on, you have to have felt something. Tell us about it. Or at least try. That's your duty as a writer. Also note to self: never use that saying, even though I have. :))

After breakfast, I head upstairs and sit down, turn on some music and begin my morning writing. I tease and pull out prose. I don't judge it, I just get it out. Letting the muse inside transform the laptop before me. I watch as the word count creep up, pleased with my progress. If focused, I can squeeze out those 1,000 words in about an hour. Some of it's good, some of it mediocre. Regardless of its quality, it's a first draft and it's more important to get things out on paper than it is to critique. At least not right now.

Sometimes I sit, mind blank as I stare out the window watching the world spin by. Sometimes I type, unable to keep up with the thoughts in my head and transferring them to paper. Sometimes I weep, caught up in the memory of Ryan as memoirs require you to access your past, to drudge up long forgotten memories that were left quiet in the recess of your mind. It's hard work putting your memories down on paper and accurately describing what you know is true. But it is beyond rewarding.

Goal for next week: Chapter 8. Getting it done, one word at a time. Travel to Hawaii to pack up my grandmother's house. Spend quality time with my mom.

Reading: Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes; The Writer Who Stayed by William Zinsser.
Just finished reading: On Writing by Stephen King; The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Change

8:00am Saturday

8:22 am Saturday

I moved my writing desk. It used to face a periwinkle blue wall, devoid of distractions. But with November Novel Writing Month coming up, I thought it was time for change. Apparently the tree in our backyard thought so too. I watched the majority of these leaves fall in the span of twenty minutes. They fell to the ground like dandruff on a black sweater. 

And yesterday, as I sat at the kitchen table, I noticed a big fat squirrel perched on the wooden fence. Its cheeks were full and an extra layer of fat covered its body. It's going to be a crazy winter.

Musings

Thoughts from my journal:

Froze toes, ice cube legs, snow dusting the ground.
Cranked heater, warming soup, boiling water for tea.
Multiple layers: wools, down vest, leggings, wool socks - negated by wet hair.
Snow slowly floating down in large flakes - reaching the ground and dissolving.
Raspy cough: hard efforts with cold air created wheezes.
Upstairs shower dripping warm water, as Ben warms up.


Today: round two of let's get used to winter in October. On tap - a 3.5 hour ride.

Tales from the Tandem

I rode the scooter to the Olympic Training Center, excited to meet some new para-cycling faces and see some familiar ones. I walked into the Gold room and was welcomed by a lot of smiling happy campers, ready to tackle a week of track racing. Behind me sat Jason, who after a few minutes of chatting told me I would be piloting him this week. Jason had lost his vision about 10 years before while serving in the Marine Corp overseas. Cycling gave him an outlet to feel the wind in his face, the burn in his lungs and legs and helped him lose weight. We agreed to meet the following morning and ride over to the track together.

New to tandem track riding, the rear drop outs and timing chain setup baffled me. Due to the chain length and the laborious process it took to change gears, we were restricted to our gear selection. Our choices for warmup were either really small, or really, really big. Thankfully Jason's coach Glen was available to help us with the gearing change outs.

Check out the picture to the left. Notice anything different? Yep, there's a second track chain running on the drive side. Due to the crazy amount of torque and force two people generate, the bike has rear drop out guides to prevent the rear wheel from slipping, especially during standing starts. The wheel never budged however, changing the gears meant adjusting 6 points of contact - two drop out screws, two set bolts, rear cog (with a lock ring - trust me, you need it) and of course the front chain ring. Add two people totaling around 350 pounds, and well, you've got a lot of faith in your equipment that things will go according to plan.

Day one we made sure the bike was functioning and that we could ride the track together with no issues. Andy had us do a flying 2k pursuit and flying kilo. It sure is nice having a strong engine behind you to get that puppy up to speed! We suffered in the last couple of laps during the pursuit, but definitely set our mark.

Day two we got the bike ready to go for the group warm up. We did 20 minutes at the stayers line and then dropped down into the sprinters lane to do the final 10 laps of warmup. We had just accelerated and got to the front of the group when BAM! Our rear tire blew off the rim. We were coming out of corner 2, thankfully down near the apron.

"Oh shit, oh shit," was all I could say.

Jason started fishtailing behind me and all I could think was, I don't want him to land on top of me. Hold it upright!

"Oh shit," he said in response.

Some how, some way we were able to hold it upright and came to a perfect 10 dismount exiting corner four, landing on our feet and not on the pavement. PHEW!

Jason called my piloting baptism by fire.

Day three we completed a warmup behind a motorcycle and things went smoothly. Andy had us practice standing starts to work on technique and get coached on areas where we can improve. Jason had practiced them with his other track pilot so he was familiar with the movement and how to get out of the saddle. I have done several hundred starts on my single track bike, but experiencing them on the track tandem was a first.

"5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1!" Andy shouted as he released us from the sprinters lane.

The bike lumbered forward and I looked down to what was right in front of me. We wiggled onto the apron as I struggled to keep us on the track and moving forward. I giggled uncontrollably as Jason's movements felt like a monkey humping me from behind. I couldn't get out of the saddle, unsure of this new position and feeling his hot breath on my back.

"Why are you laughing?" Jason asked.

"It's not you, it's me! It just felt really, really weird," I said unable to quiet my giggles.

I couldn't tell him what it really felt like, at least not yet. Sure we had gone through a rear tire blow out and we quickly getting to know one another, but I didn't feel comfortable telling him that I was laughing because I pictured in my head that this is how monkey's do it. Because my saddle height was lower than his other pilot, it caused his bars to be further down and therefore threw his weight further forward. It really wasn't his fault - he was just doing what he had to do to get us moving. Later that day, I admitted that it felt like a monkey hump and we laughed for a good 5 minutes straight.

"If you can pilot me, you can pilot anyone," Jason said.

Our technique improved substantially and by the last day of camp, we laid down a 2:25 pursuit, besting our time by 8 seconds. Our kilo time also improved to a 1:07, three seconds better than just a few days prior. One thing is for sure, I love piloting a tandem. It is awesome to help someone else feel the joy of riding when they otherwise couldn't. Even if that means experiencing the occasional monkey hump.

Clear as mud.

How much are you willing to compromise to make something work? 

A recent honest question caused somewhat of a shit storm. I asked it out of genuine curiosity. And it triggered the person whose ears it fell on. The response came in spurts: how could you even ask? Crying, blaming, screaming and then eventually silence.

How much are you willing to compromise to make something work?

Once the silence was broken, a slur of accusations erupted out. In order to make this work I was being demanded to compromise my integrity, my honesty and who I am. Veiled in threats, shame, tears and emotions it came out in a circular and incoherent pattern. This is after I had apologized for asking the question in which I did. But I would not apologize for asking it. It still hadn't been answered. It was an honest, simple question.

How much are you willing to compromise to make something work?

It happened so fast and quickly, that I thank my lucky stars and intuition that I kept my wits about me and didn't agree to anything I would regret. Fifty-five minutes passed in a blink of an eye.

How much are you willing to compromise to make something work?

At this point, I was willing to let the answer to the question slide. Even though it would be nice to know the answer. But I was paying a tall price in order to find out. And the answer really didn't matter. We all own our truths.

How much are you willing to compromise to make something work?

Unwilling to move forward, she stayed in her perspective and I stayed in mine. She wanted me to step into hers, absorb it, own it, live it breath it. And I refused. That's not my job, nor my burden. I am willing to move on, to recognize each of our positions and come to some sort of reconciliation. But when it became obvious she only saw it one way, I called it.

Do you want to work it out or dissolve it?

Her answer was clear as mud when she hung up on me.

Rest in Peace, Amy Dombroski

I was sitting down on a curb, looking up at Pikes Peak with the sun on my face while waiting for Durner to show up to pack up the tandem. I sat stunned as Twitter had just announced the loss of Amy Dombroski.

I first encountered Amy when she showed up in Colorado Springs for a cross race last fall. It was hard to miss her - she had a Subaru wrapped with her name on it and looked like the real deal. When I saw her in person, I was shocked with how little she was. (I'm somewhat Amazon, okay?)

Earlier this summer, I raced in Laramie, Wyoming along side Amy. We started chatting during the 10 mile roll out to the infamous hill and quickly swapped cycling stories. She was just starting her season and getting some intensity in for a nice cross season overseas. Dressed in her Belgium team clothing, cycling visor, and shiny Oakley glasses, I remember looking over and seeing a big smile stretched across her face. I told her about my piloting experiences and she laughed along. I wished her the best of luck in the coming season knowing the looming hill would shoot me out of the back like a canon.

A few months later, I was racing in Canada at the ParaCycling World championships. The hotel we stayed at also housed the Belgium, Swedish and British Cycling teams. During one of our team training rides, a Belgium coach came up to me and we started talking. He asked where I was from and I proudly responded Colorado.

"Do you know Amy Dombroski?"

"Yes! I met her this summer. She's great!"

"She stays with my family when she's training in Belgium," he said. I could tell by his smile Amy held a special place in his heart. It was nice knowing that thousands of miles away, Amy linked two strangers by way of her infectious smile.

And now the news of Amy's death hits hard. She was doing what she loved, living the dream and making it count. I feel so fortunate for having known her, even though our encounters were brief. My heart goes out to those who are now mourning her loss. Thank you, Amy, for being you.

(Photo from CyclingNews.com)

Counting for distraction

The seasons are shifting in Colorado. The days are warm, kissing my exposed skin as I ride, and drying out the saturated landscape. And the nights are getting cooler, requiring another blanket on the bed or Benjamin to stay super close, or even better - both.

Today was one of those long rides that seemed to never end. Into a strong headwind we pedaled, heading west on Squirrel Creek Road. You could see Pikes Peak and no matter how many rollers we summited, it still seemed so very far away. We had long since stopped talking. Or maybe someone was talking - but I couldn't hear them over the wind.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

I started counting to distract myself from thinking how bad this hurts, how good it would feel to pull over, how far we had yet to ride, what was I thinking coming out here to Hanover in Kansas land? The mind likes to play tricks on you when you're doing some difficult.


1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

The counting helped. It kept those demons at bay. It kept that little devil of self-doubt that creeps up on your shoulder from taking over.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 

Will this ever stop? I know, wind - shift! 

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 

Pikes Peak is getting closer... so is the mini-mart with Mexican Coco Cola's and Snicker bars. Just make it that far, body, and I promise you I will stop. And I promise I will buy all of the girls sugar to get us home.. it's the least I could do after bringing them out here.

 

Remembering Ryan

**The following events happened exactly 5 years ago. Tip back an IPA tonight in memory of a man who is gone but will never be forgotten. What you are about to read is an excerpt from my book, "Leaping into Lovers Lane."

The hike up to the base of Goat Wall left him wiping his brow. The load in his backpack was much lighter this time since he wasn't burdened with the weight of climbing hardware. He had only brought his climbing harness, shoes, rope and a few karabiners for the rappel descent. Still, the twenty-minute steep approach was not for the faint of heart, nor the out of shape.

After removing his backpack, a gentle September breeze swept up from the Methow Valley and flapped his sweat-drenched T-shirt away from his skin. Lost River flowed three hundred feet below on the valley floor, twisting and turning its way through sparsely populated Mazama, Washington, located on the North Eastern flanks of the Cascade Mountains, emptying into the Columbia River and hundreds of miles away into the Pacific Ocean. The sights and sounds of the Methow Valley filled his senses as the sun kissed him.

Makiah, our twenty-five-pound miniature Australian Shepherd, was panting too.  The big steps he had to take during the scramble up in the talus field were enormous leaps for her. Yet he didn’t need to assist her, she had made it up on her own. He’d contemplating shaving her fur - especially since she was miserable in the late season summer heat. But fall was just around the corner and she'd be more than a little humiliated without her signature shaggy coat.

Squinting up at the rock, he quickly found his rock-climbing route, Prime Rib on Goat Wall. Rated a moderate sport climb, where metal bolts are drilled into the rock face, the climb gains a total of 650 feet. He knew exactly where it started since he had researched the climb quite a bit. That morning he had spoken with Brian Burdo, who had developed a lot of the sport climbs in the Mazama and surrounding area, including Prime Rib, and received a first hand account of what to expect on each portion of the climb. He was so confident in his choice of climb that day that he left the climbing guidebook back at his one room rustic cabin about a mile up Lost River road. He was, after all, an expert and experienced climber, rope or no rope.

Climbing suited his athletic and compact frame. His strong, muscular hands could cling onto the smallest rock features while his body contorted sideways. He could flex his core so tightly it would momentarily suspend him, weightless on the rock. Not only was he built for rock climbing, but also his pain threshold and ability to transcend through discomfort allowed him to push the limits.

Pushing his limit happened every time he encountered rock. Each and every time he approached rock he would show up ready to improve his climbing through sheer grit, determination and hard work. It provided a portal to his nirvana: improving himself through climbing.

His confidence had grown as he gained experience climbing in countless regions around the world. Over ten years of practice, rocks had become extensions of his body. Everything in his life revolved around climbing. All vacations were at climbing destinations; he frequented climbing forums and all of his friends were climbers. He lived, breathed, and slept climbing.  He would climb with such passion and become so obsessed with what he was doing, that in those moments, nothing else mattered.

Armed with information on what to expect on the Prime Rib route, and knowledge that the climb was rated well within his ability, he decided to climb without a partner and the added protection of using a rope to ascend.

He set his backpack down, pulled out his climbing harness, shoes, rope, and chalk bag, and took a big swig of water. Sitting down on a flat rock, he took off his approach shoes and carefully slipped on his tight climbing shoes.

"You stay here, Makiah."

He didn't even bother to tie her up. He didn't need to. Makiah was well trained and did as she was told. Plus she rarely wandered and always stayed within earshot. He stashed his backpack near the base of the climb and left Makiah with some water. He slung a seventy-meter rope over his shoulder, crisscrossing it around his chest, and secured it with a series of climber knots so it wouldn't impede his ascent. He planned on using the rope to descend. He chalked up his hands and with that he started to climb up the loose adventure route. This was it, one last climb before heading home to Seattle after spending a week in Mazama. One final climb to top a fun filled week full of recreation in the Pacific Northwest.

Makiah watched as her owner started the ascent up Goat Wall, and once he was out of sight she dug herself a comfortable spot to wait and keep careful guard over her owner’s backpack.

She was the last being to see him alive.

All you have to do is pick the day

A friends profound six year old painted a 3' canvass with the words, "All you have to do is pick the day." It hangs boldly in their living room as a reminder that if there's a life out there you long for, then pick the day.

Really. It is that simple.

As it would turn out, both parents had lifelong dreams of taking their kids abroad. They wanted to provide them with a South American experience and get off the grid. They wanted to leave behind the stress of the city, the constant whirl of texts, emails and play dates so they could show their kids they live what they teach them.

This past spring they picked the day. They are going to Argentina. They let their employers know, arranged for house renters, took care of the necessary details and are living the life of their dreams. They picked the day and stuck to it.

If there are things you long for in life: painting, writing, moving to a sunny spot with mountains, reaching for the stars, starting a business, moving to Argentina, getting married, etc. All you have to do is pick the day.

The choice is yours. So what are you waiting for?

Daring Greatly

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly..."

- Theodore Roosevelt's "Citizenship in a Republic."

I could taste it.

The one water bottle rule didn't work today. You know, the one I told you about before. Some coach told my friend Tela Crane that she could be pissed/upset/sad/mad/frustrated about the outcome of a race for one water bottle's worth. After sucking down its contents, you chalk up those feelings to experience. You sit back, and say to yourself, hot damn. I got to do what I love today. And sure it didn't pan out as hoped. But it paned out.

A champion is not someone who wins all the time. Sure, that helps. But a true champion is someone who learns from their mistakes and sees them as opportunities to improve.

Tandem racing is a trip. It's all about tactics, and figuring out the momentum game. Picking the right line, the right wheel and staying out of harms way. Just like racing the single bike. But the speeds are higher on the descents, the cornering that much more exaggerated and the accelerations slow. It's also way more fun because it's a new challenge. And I get to share it with a blind athlete, Shawn.

We came in 6th today. I was racing aggressively for 3rd place since the break up the road had the first two podium spots. We were chasing hard to bridge and overcome the Polish. Going into the steep descent and right hand turn, I told Shawn to hold on. We FLEW through the last corner, easily hitting 40 mph. Then came the curb. Up we went, through a family on the sidewalk and almost t-boning a 4 year old on a bike. We lost our momentum. The Polish were gone and the Great Britain Team and other USA team came by. We pushed, we pulled, we put everything we had into it, but our chance was gone. DAMN!

To be so close to a podium. To taste it, smell it, feel it. To be SO CLOSE!!! I would be lying if I didn't say I wasn't disappointed. That I'm going to just chalk this one up to experience.

Next week we have another opportunity. The stakes are higher - a world championship title is on the line. More opportunity to live and grow. And bottom line: more bike racing!!!

9 Tips to Going Pro

Tip #1 - Stop dabbling as an amateur. If you really want to be pro you've got to look it, think it, feel it and act it.

Tip #2 - Don't accept excuses from yourself. Get up everyday and do exactly what will make you a professional. Forget that weekend warrior stuff - a pro is someone who takes themselves seriously.

Tip #3 - Change your perspective! The biggest difference between being a pro and an amateur lies within your mind. Commit to yourself and take it seriously.

Tip #4 - Get the right gear and a great coach. Whether that be a business coach, writing coach, cycling coach or underwater basket weaver. You deserve the best! Look right and feel right.

Tip #5 - Take ownership of your gifts and believe in yourself. You can do it! You are on this planet for a reason and make a difference for other people. Express yourself!

Tip #6 - Commit to what you want to be, even when the going gets tough. Breakthroughs will happen but you must first persevere through adversity.

Tip #7 - Create a practice and dedicate yourself. Practice makes perfect. So perfect practicing.

Tip #8 - Watch out for saboteurs! Those people or little voices of self doubt can creep up on you. Stay strong and align yourself with supporters.

Tip #9 - Be your own creator. Ah, there grasshopper, lies the key.

Making Gains

I sometimes wonder if I was in Shawn's shoes and couldn't see what terrain was ahead, if that would help. Think about it - you would never know how big a hill or an obstacle was unless you had experienced it before and you wouldn't psyche yourself out as a result. I'm sure my eyes have conditioned my mind, especially when it comes to long, steep hills. You see them coming, you know it's going to hurt and if your legs are tired or your mind is ready to play tricks on you, well then - you suffer before the climb even begins.

But if you couldn't see - all you could do is feel...

Talk about living in the moment. All you know is what you're experiencing right then and there. You couldn't see to judge something, you could only live it.

We suffered on some hills today. And then we suffered some more. I tell Shawn we're approaching a hill and then try to estimate how many seconds or minutes to the top so she knows how long to push. It's her way of seeing what's coming. I don't tell her how much it's going to hurt or if my legs are screaming - no way. Instead I tell her how well we are doing, how much we're fighting and to stand and eventually sit. Focusing on the positive and keeping a good attitude does wonders for getting up hills as quickly as possible, even if you feel slow as dirt.

We put a big deposit in the bank for the upcoming World Championships held at the end of this month. And although the altitude was a little bit of a culprit today, we still made some excellent progress.

And then we got to test and see what our maximum power is on the bike. Ouchie!