Confessions of a Startled Woman

[Note: I had said I would talk about the "how" to play with numbers in Part Two of Playing the Numbers, but alas, this is a work in progress. I'm going to play around with several ways and then let you know. If you'd like to offer some suggestions, by all means do.  Today, instead, I offer an illustration of what we discussed yesterday: The Future Perfect & the Messy Present.]

In which we blithely depart

Confession

My rich  thought life for the Goldilocks ride in Herrimann and Riverton, Utah this past Saturday was that it would be a bust-out spring group ride which would be much fun with my friends. I would meet new people, share the joy of pedaling, and nosh on some great food at the finish line.

(Some of you are already ahead of me and saying, “And then what happened?”)

The messy present intervened

• It was cold. In the 40s. I dressed for it. It was supposed to warm up. I’m not usually cold. In fact, it’s often the opposite. My friends are pulling on their jackets and I’m reminding myself that public indecency is a misdemeanor. It got colder about half way through.

• It was stinking WINDY. The kind that howls past your ears when you’re riding. Again, I had anticipated that with my ear covers. It. Never. Stopped. Howling. And cold sweating in ear covers is not fun.

• Each ride I end up faster than the very slowest group and lag quite a bit behind the middle of the pack. Result: solo ride. And I abhor pity partners. Don’t ride with me because you feel sorry for me because I’m slow. I don’t mind being slow. Like I said, I have a rich thought life. But I probably wouldn’t have gotten lost.

• I got lost and missed a crucial left turn. I wasn’t the only one but it didn’t help my mood. By the time I got back on the route and hit the second rest stop, I was approaching grumpy. I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t sore. Simply grumpy.
  

  This road is similar to the one we did.

• The course was mostly inclines. You know what that means. What comes down must go up. In this course, up was the start and up continued, including an UP hill that I walked because I was out of leg power from the previous leg-burning incline.

• Another rider didn’t clip out of her pedals as she neared a stoplight and tipped over on my friend, sending her and her bike crashing to the ground. “Oh, sorry,” she said.

The messy present.

Startled by making lemonade

But here’s how we made the lemonade:

• Because I said, “I proved myself in 2008 on 37 miles in the rain, sleet, and hail of the Little Red Ride, I don’t
  

  Me after 36 miles in 2008

  have to be miserable to be a stud,” I quit after 17 miles and a friend’s husband picked me up at a corner.

• Because he picked me up, that put us at the accident scene in about seven minutes. He was able to tote us all the very close-by ¾ miles to the Riverton Emergency Room for x-rays. Eve is a nurse and played point person with Louise. Liz and I and Tony the Husband headed back to the park and loaded the bikes.

• Good report: Bruised rib, not broken

• Good report: No head injury

Jo, the hostess with the mostest, pillaged the ride’s celebratory buffet and carted over a spread fit for winners of the Le Tour: fruit, sandwiches, chips, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, condiments, heaping plate of cookies, abundant number of sandwiches. Lemonade stand: We had a party in the waiting room of the ER waiting for the final paperwork, offering our loot to the staff.

Us in the ER prior to the waiting room buffet party

And we took pictures.

The whole day could have been a mess. It surely was for Louise with the bruised ribs, but game girl that she is, she was determined to redeem the day. So we spent a few hours (now in the warmer, sunny weather, how funny–NOT!) sitting outside Starbuck’s. One by one our husbands showed up and we had a great time.

My take away from this is that I’m thinking messy might just be okay. Jumping into messy. Reminding myself to admire perfect perhaps, but embrace messy. Peggy of Rooster Hill Inn B&B, who often comments on this blog, lives in the messy present when she doesn’t give up with an ankle issue. When she makes up a dinner with what’s in the fridge instead of hitting a restaurant to eat too much and maybe not so well. Another reader of this blog, Katie, plowed into the messy work of ridding herself of “mommy arms” and will continue moving forward with everything else that hits her. Shar and her pedometer step through every day instead of the potentially future perfect of a 5-mile walk three times a week. Bekah who makes better-than-before choices. None of them perfect.

You go, girls. I’m with ya. Me and my messy self.