The genuine article

Serious Mother F*ckers. 

When we see them, we know it. They don’t come around often. They are like the wild second cousins that my mother would not allow in the house because she was afraid of them and their effect on me while all I could do was stare in slack-jawed admiration. I think she knew the battle was already lost. If you are very lucky, you might have one who exists on the periphery.

I’m not too proud to say that I still aspire to this level of badassery in my own life. Every day.

Writing myself alive: The year I said "F*ck it."

 

This is what I have been doing, since August 1, 2014. Daily. Without fail. Even if it is just a sentence or two. 

 

I gave myself the permission to let it come. Sometimes tightly edited. Sometimes in messy little uncensored piles that weren’t much to look at and made me wonder just what the hell I was thinking.
I’d look, close the door on it and move to the next day, and the next one after that, until I had a pretty big pile of thoughts, poems, story’s and mixed up balls of words that I didn’t know what to do with.

But there it was. My year.

I was able to go back through all of it, pick up the thread and see where it was leading to. The struggle, all the sentences, words and ideas were leading me back... to a version of me that I wasn’t quite sure of yet.

Stronger, more sure, able to be still and listen.
Iron, reshaped and fresh out of the forge.
Smoke, still rolling off of my shoulders.

Sometimes you have to travel to places that are unfamiliar and far away in order to do the work that has got to be done. Nobody needs to understand or approve. It’s just you, giving yourself time and attention.

I’m not finished with this chapter yet, but I am coming to the end and knocking the final edges off.

Why do you ride?

I am putting in crazy, long bike miles this week as I head into the final two days of the Mariposa Challenge, a 31 day, online women's cycling event put on by Sram. I have 250 miles in for the week, going for another 75-100 miles today and more tomorrow. Currently for Kansas, I'm tied for third place. This is just the background noise though. The river that runs through my life necessitates it. My pound of flesh.

Been doing a lot of thinking on these rides... about the nature of competition. And beyond that, why I push so hard, when is enough, enough... what that means and why I do it.  I'll be sharing those thoughts at a future date.
 
It's always about feeding the right wolf, isn't it?


https://www.sram.com/stories/mariposa-challenge

Top O' the Mornin' to ya

 

Everybody's got to start the day with a ritual and this is mine. Not even sure the stuff works on this old bod anymore but sure do love it. The velo boys, (Max and Dustin) at City Market Coffee Roasters take care of me and know to call when they roast this "micro lot". It's so much like real Kona that the only difference is the price. Bike people stick together and they spoil me rotten

I freaking love my life down here by the river. The West and East Bottoms have a soul. Started to realize I was home a few weeks back. It's a good feeling, to belong somewhere. People look at my rides on Strava and wonder how I come out of them alive. I don't know if it's the Boulevard kit, my skin color or the fact that I can look as mean as a bag of hornets, but I have come to relish my inner city explorations. I think it is as simple as treating people right. Always tip your hat and have respect for the turf that you are on... and also, deep in my bones, I know I am on ancestral land and that makes it my territory too.

The rain is starting to come down in the old KCMO... I believe I just may go out and ride in it.

The past does not equal the future.

Don't ask me how I know this. Maybe it is from being around for a long while. When I decide to let the things I don't need (anger, aggression or old pain in any form that makes me do shit that sets me back.) to burn away - I move forward with this new feeling where I know in my gut that what happened to me, no longer defines tomorrow.

We all get the short end of the stick. We all do. That's just life.
Understand it. Honor it. Then let it go.
Let. It. Go.  

This morning was all about things not going as planned.

Never smart to count chickens before they hatch. Expectations are like wayward bullets… and pointing the gun at your foot. You can work your ever-living ass off into the ground and it is still no guarantee that you will get the job, the relationship will be saved, the brass ring snatched off of the pole.
One thing I can do is approach all things with the common sense I have been given and see that i am entitled to absolutely nothing. Zip. Nada.
The chicken count is low but it’s ok.

Realizing this is an opportunity to see how good I actually do have it… and that I am the original comeback kid.

"White line's in the middle of the road,

... that's the worst place to drive."