Thanks for going for a ride with me today. I know it’s been really hard for you to find the time to train for the Rally, and I know that these distances are still really hard. (I know that, because after our 80km today, everything on my whole body hurts, and I can’t imagine your body feels any different. I don’t even want to talk about the place on my hind parts where I connect to the bike. Holy. Cow. I didn’t know my sit bones knew language like they’re throwing at me now.)
Thanks too, for being so good about being out with your mum. I know you’re young and beautiful and hip, and I’m… your mother – and I know that there have to be some feelings about that related to the fact that I’m wearing spandex, and thanks for not saying anything at all about that.
Thanks too, for the complaining. I know you feel bad about saying that you’re hurting, and that it’s hard, but I don’t care how much you complain, as long as you keep moving – and by goodness my girl, you do. Know that I’m complaining too. I’m just 46, and I keep it inside – but if I were one minute younger (and not your mum) I think there are moments where I would cry on the bike. Thanks for not taking it that far.
One last thing – thanks for putting up with me. It turns out that even though you are twenty years old and so capable, when we are together, I can’t forget you’re my baby. I appreciate that as I caution you over and over (and over) again about being careful and not getting hit by a car and watching out for that hole and call out to you about the gravel ahead… I appreciate that you take it all in stride, and know that there’s just something wrong with mothers. It’s not that I think you can’t see these things, and I know you live in the world without me all the time, and that you’re fine. Just fine… it’s simply that I don’t know how to disengage the part of me that sees you, and sees possible danger, and just keeps connecting those things in a way that I feel compelled to warn you about.
You’re a good rider. Sorry about the gasping. Thanks for going on a ride with me.
You’re a crusher.
(PS. See you in a week after the retreat. Be a good girl.)
(PPS. I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’re the kind of young lady who would do this for a charity. You have no idea how many people your age wouldn’t spend their holidays this way. You’re awesome.)