Last Saturday I rode 100 miles for the “I have know idea how many-eth” time? One hundred is a nice round number; hefty, but not overwhelming. I rode with my friend and teammate, Jess, and two of her friends on the forty-four mile San Gabriel River path that spans from Azusa down to Seal Beach. The last time I rode on the path was my first twelve-hour/180-mile excursion with my friend, teammate, and cycling powerhouse, Heidi, in June of 2020. Both rides were great, the path is free of cars, but full of other like minded cyclists pursuing long rides of their own. However, on this second ride on the path, something felt off. It wasn’t my legs or my lungs, but rather my heart that ached more than usual. Or, more accurately, it was my head that hurt.
We didn't even plan this coordinating Smashfest Queen outfit. Amazing.
The first twenty-thirty miles of the bike path that runs parallel along the 605 freeway was the exact stretch I drove thousands of times during my childhood from my Mom's house in Claremont, to my Dad’s house in Palos Verdes, serving as the bleak and hopeful space in between one parent and the other.
I know, heavy.
What I found most fascinating about my experience on Saturday, was how far away I am now as a nearly forty-two year old adult from that kid sitting in the backseat of her older brother’s 1984 Honda Accord decades ago, staring up at the San Gabriel Dam, excited to see her Dad, but sad to leave her Mom (vice versa on the way home), and yet how raw and real those emotions felt once I was dropped back into that place in present day. Isn’t it interesting how our subconscious minds are glorious, mysterious, and brutal?
I have put in a lot of work over the years through traditional therapy, and “life” therapy, working through my feelings about being a child of divorce, and I am confident I am in a healthy place with all of it; I love ALL of my parents dearly, and believe everything worked out as it was meant to be. Nevertheless, I believe what happened on Saturday is a good reminder that we can move on with our lives, but still remember and feel pain from long ago, accept that it will always be a part of us, but it doesn’t have to be all of us.
When I arrived home I went on a rant to Marion about the ride, and felt sad and ashamed that I could still feel upset about million year old memories. Thankfully, after a good night's sleep (we have been sleeping like champs these days!!) I woke up feeling resolved that, yes, I spent hundreds of hours of my life being pulled between two parents, and driving through the not-so gorgeous parts of Los Angeles in the process, but I was always thrilled when I reached the other side, and although our lives (my siblings) were not perfect, or molded in any make-believe world, I wouldn’t want my life to be shaped any other way.
Running in front of my Dad's childhood home in Santa Monica last Sunday morning.
It is certainly true that cycling is the most expensive discipline of triathlon, but that Century ride last Saturday must’ve been worth at least a $1,000 in therapy, quite the bang for the buck, in my opinion, so ride on my friends, ride on.
The song and video choice this week is a tune I listened to a gazillion times in the back of Tim's Honda, Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes.