Today I ride…

So this day has finally arrived.  It has been five months coming, a couple of thousand miles in training rides, thousands and thousands and thousands of feet of climbing, jugs of electrolytes, cases of Gu shots, bunches and bunches of bananas, lots of sweat, and lots of soreness.  Today I ride the Death Ride: Tour of the California Alps with Team-in-Training.  I ride, but together we raised $5,250 dollars for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.  Together we rock!!!

By the time this gets posted and it is read, I should be ascending Monitor Pass to a breathtaking sunrise.  I’m a huge fan of sunsets but on this day I’ll pretend this sunrise is a sunset and that I’m sitting on the porch swing at camp with my mom.  I’ll pretend that she is right there with me and that the pain of missing her is really just the pain from a 12%+ grade.  I’m not usually the talkative type, but I’ll fill her in on everything; it will be easy. 

I’ll remember my godmother, my Aunt Mary, whom I wish I had gotten the chance to say good bye.

I’ll remember my Aunt Kathy, whom embodied everything that a person should be. 

I’ll remember my Uncle Dick, whom I never knew that well but did know he shared the same familial ‘dread’ about our genes that I do…tick tock, tick tock. 

I’ll remember my Memere, whom I remember only speaking French, yet for some reason I understood exactly what she was saying.  Yet today mon francais est tres bad. 

Over this long day, I’ll pretend to get the chance to talk with her about how her death impacted career choices I’ve made.  I’ll take some comfort that I’m in the lab daily trying to make my small impact on finding a cure.  I’ll share with her my life with Trevor and would she believe that we’ve been together nearly twenty years.  I’ll thank her being such a good role model that it helped me get through those tough times.  I’ll share with her my opinion that those idyllic happy times in a relationship are great, but those hellish trenches are what make the foundation one of granite.  I’ll talk about my Dad, and how now that I’m grown, I have a much better appreciation for what he’s gone through.  I’ll share that Beverley has been a great companion for him and that I love her dearly too.  I’ll share with her that her impact on my life has been huge, and that is an understatement. 

By mile sixty or seventy, I’m sure I’ll be cursing her because she’s the one making me do this ride.  I won’t curse too loudly, because her Rosary will be in my jersey pocket.

I’ll share that I’m incredibly blown away by the support and well wishes I have received since starting this journey five or so months ago.  I’ll share stories of the training rides and of all the great people I’ve shared them with.

As my legs start to cramp on Ebbetts Pass, I’ll remember that even though cancer is devastating, and that it has decimated this family, I’ll remind myself, that not only am I riding for those that have already passed I’m riding for the survivors too.  I’ll remind myself that the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society had a small part in developing the treatment that has helped my cousin Connie fight and survive her B-cell Lymphoma. 

I’ll remind myself that I could be back in Maine celebrating my cousin Jackie’s wedding, sharing one of the more momentous occasions in life.  I’ll hope that my small part in this ride may help her overcome her cancer.  I will celebrate with lactic acid buildup and from afar. 

If I am so lucky that I have survived the front and back climbs of both Monitor and Ebbetts, I’ll turn my thoughts to the real reason I’m doing this ride with TNT.  I’ll allow myself to start thinking about that last pass, Carson, and the future.  I’ll think about my nieces, Samantha and Juniper.  I’ll concentrate on the fact that my mother dreamed about the day when she would have grandchildren.   I’ll concentrate on the fact that my pedal strokes may allow my mom’s dream to become their dream. 

Today I ride...because I can.

Love eternally,

Larry