Road Biking Woes

I have always been a reluctant exerciser.  But something about living through two pregnancies (and the aftermath) has nudged me into a new phase of gratefulness.  Nowadays, finding the time and having the ability to exercise is a privilege I am eternally thankful for.   It has yet to loose its appeal…

As such, when Mia was a year old, instead of going for a 3^rd child I took a different approach; I bought myself a road bike.

I can’t tell you how much I love the opportunity to go for a “bike around the block” after the kids go to bed.  When you live up in the sticks like us, “around the block” is a good 20km ride.  Biking past rolling farm fields and grazing cows with the never-ending sky above and the setting sun casting a romantic glow on the earth below, it is an idyllic way to get some exercise.

I was so rapt with my new bike that I even agreed to participate in the hospital fundraiser – the Wasaga Beach duathlon.   The first time I participated I was a novice.  I came some dreadful place that had 3 numbers in it and Toby had to cover his eyes when he saw my abysmal placing.  By the second year I had upgraded to toe clips and had started passing the grazing cows with much more oomph so I expected more from myself.

My-slightly-more-competitive-and-incredibly-athletic-but-completely-unhelpful-colleague kindly pointed out to me with much wonder and amazement that I had managed to finish the bike portion of the duathlon with the EXACT SAME TIME as the year before.  That is quite the feat.  And much as I tried to rationalize it in my head (must have been the shoe changing and the wind)… I was deflated.

THIS year, now that I am in my THIRD year of road biking, I decided that I was going to actually APPLY myself and try NOT to get the EXACT same time as last year.   I have purchased a “thing” that records my speed, time and distance.  I have a few set routes and I not only record my stats, I actually CHALLENGE myself to improve and go faster each time.  Somewhere in my brain I have the magic speed of “30km/hr” as a good target to strive for…

Today I set out on one of my more regular routes.  Right away I could feel something was different.  I felt invigorated.  I FLEW up the first few hills and careened down the slopes with more speed than I have ever felt on my bike.  When I reached the flat portion I had myself in highest gear and yet my legs were going hard – my speed was over 35km/hr and it was totally flat.  Even the cows, I kid you not, looked up with a sense of awe as I flew past them.

I’m going to be honest with you, now, and share with you the thoughts that ACTUALLY went through my head today as I whizzed down the abandoned back roads of Rob Roy today.

1.  I might ACTUALLY have a secret talent for biking.  All this time (36 years to be exact) I have been a mediocre athlete at EVERYTHING (except for basketball at which I am appalling).  But maybe just MAYBE I have found my calling.

2.  It must be my big thighs.  I’m like Clara Hughes.  If my parents had only monopolized on my big thighs and started me at road biking when I was younger maybe I COULD have made it to the Olympics…

3.  I have a cousin, Scott, who is a phenomenal biker.  (He even won the Centruion50 the other year.) I started rethinking my entire genetic gene pool.  Maybe we DO share some of the same athletic genes.  I should do the Centurion this year.

4.  I think I might need to get a faster bike.  I’m literally in my highest gear and this is easy.  If I had a really EXPENSIVE road bike (like the one the dude in the store tried to up sell me to) it would probably have higher resistance levels for athletes like me and then I’d be able to go faster.  Yup, the only thing holding me back right now is just the fact that I have but an entry-level bike…

It was at this time that I had to break from these delightful thoughts and stop as I had reached the turnaround part in my bike route.  I won’t lie to you - I really WANTED to keep going, but I had to stick to the prescribed route so that I could see by just how much I had obliterated my previous time.

And so I turned around.

There’s an Irish Proverb out there that goes something to the effect of “May the wind be always on your back”.

I get that now.

The wind, on the way home, was most definitely NOT always on my back.  In fact, it was blowing so hard in my face that the first thing I had to do was downshift.  Twice.  I then had to avert my eyes from the dust and debris that was being violently FLUNG into it. 

I huffed.

I puffed.

I pedaled as hard and as fast as my Clara Hughes thighs would take me, but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, break 20km/hr.

At one point I actually had to WALK up a hill.  In my fancy clip-in-I'm-a-real-road-biker-I-know-what-I'm-doing-shoes.

OH, my poor ego.  

I arrived home deflated and dejected and about 10 minutes longer than it had taken me to do the exact same route two weeks prior.  All super-biking-power-abilities had fast been obliterated from my brain.   As I walked in the door to an absolutely quiet house (all 2 kids and 1 husband were fast asleep) I soaked up the blissfully tranquility.  I still had a few minutes to myself before putting my mommy hat back on…I guess in the end it’s OK not to be a fantastic athlete.  I may never improve on my time at the Wasaga Beach Duathlon.  My thighs may never be as powerful as Clara Hughes and Scott and I may never bond over our first place finish at the Centurion, but I can tell you one thing…I definitely think my decision to buy a road bike was a good one…

A Special Friendship

There are lots of things to feel guilty for when you’re a mother: not spending enough time with your kids, not doing as thorough a job at work as you’d like, not taking time to nurture your friendships, not devoting enough undivided attention to your spouse…such is life when you’re a mom I guess.

A constant source of guilt for me these past few years is that of Toby’s long bus ride.  Because we live “in the red zone” Toby has a 1 hour bus ride to and from school.  (Sometimes longer in the winter!) When I first heard this I decided on the spot that I would drive him in to school every day.  He has never once had to take the bus twice in one day.   After a few weeks of JK, hearing his sad lamentations about his long bus ride, and often having to carry my sleeping boy off the bus some evenings, I made it my mission to also try to pick him up on Tuesdays and Fridays.  It mitigated the problem somewhat but greatly complicated my own life and provided the potential for extreme guilt when I was unexpectedly delayed at work on a precious Tuesday or a Friday.

This year, mature enough not to sleep on the bus anymore, yet having developed the logistical skills to compound my guilt, he found other problems with the bus ride – too hot, too cold, too boring, too long.  Our only attempt at an after school playdate this year failed miserably after his BFF announced that he bus ride was TOO LONG and he was never coming over again.

But we must weather the storm if we want to see the rainbows.

As a guilt-ridden mother I heard only the pathetic lamentations.  It took me a while to pick up on the hints that Toby was also giving me about something good that was emerging from his arduous bus rides. 

My first hint came at Christmas time when Toby looked disgustedly at all the Christmas gift cards I had purchased  – nanny, teacher, day care worker, doctor etc.

“Um…Mommy…AREN’T you FORGETTING someone???”

Oh, shit, please, NO…There was NO WAY I was forgetting someone; I had wrecked my brains making sure I had everyone covered.

“What about PAUL…” he left the sentence hanging awaiting that joyful moment when I realized how right he was to have pointed out my gross misjudgement in overlooking…PAUL…the mysterious man I had never even heard of.

Every bad thought in the world went through my head as I tentatively asked who in the world this PAUL was…??

“Um…my BUS DRIVER, obviously!!”

(Yes, go ahead and read it that way - when correcting his mother, my 6 year old speaks like a teenager)

I was more prepared  the second time around when this exact same conversation happened just before Valentines day and I had mistakenly put aside the biggest Valentine for Mrs Shields and ONCE AGAIN overlooked poor Paul.

 Paul – the 65 year old (at least) dude who drives Toby home every day and gruffly waves to me from beneath his ball cap when I wait to greet Toby from the bus – was the (joyful?) recipient of the lone SPECIAL valentine that comes in the Walmart 28 pack of Valentines.  It was also the only card that Toby wrote a special message on.

“Thank you, Paul

Love,

Toby”

Coming from him, it was indeed special.  And so I questioned him a bit about it.  I told him that it was a very nice card he had made for Paul and asked him what he was thinking him for.

“For talking to me.”  was his quiet answer.

As it turns out there’s a rule on Toby’s bus that you can’t talk to the bus driver.  But every day after the last kid is dropped off and it’s just Toby and Paul left on the bus Paul will say to Toby, “Ok, Toby, come on down and talk to me” and the two of them will “chat” for the rest of the ride home.  Toby informed me that his talks with Paul on the bus are sometimes his favourite times of the day.

I asked him what they talked about.

“Oh you know, Mom…the usual stuff.”

I most certainly do NOT know what the usual conversation topics are when an elderly bus driver to talks to a young chatterbox kindergarten student. 

“Well…usually Paul will tell me about the weather.  And I tell him just little stuff.  Like how our house is laid out and how far my bedroom is from you guys.  And how I have to walk down the hall and up the stairs to get to you.  Or about the score in the hockey game last night.”

I was starting to get the gist of it…what Toby had found on his long bus rides home was the simplicity of an easy friendship.  In the past 2 years I had done nothing more that wave from our porch to the old man in the driver’s seat, not realizing the special place he has in Toby’s heart or the important role he has had in easing one of my major mommy anxieties.

And so it came as no surprise to me (but the irony was not lost on me either) that Toby’s immediate reaction to the news of our impending move into town was that of sadness, “Aw, REALLY?  Mom…you know what I’m going to miss the MOST?  My bus ride…”

As the end of Toby’s final year in kindergarten comes to a close I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot of presents to buy.  But this time I am well prepared and will definitely NOT be leaving Paul out.  In fact, I know he’ll be getting an extra special Thank you card…from both of us, this time.

An Unreliable Service Report

A TERRIBLE thing happened in our house last night.

...Wait for it…the tooth fairy forgot to come.

I know, I know…you’re probably thinking the same thing I was thinking when I found out; it’s because we live on the mountain.  Cell service is sketchy, internet service is slow, and apparently all correspondence between the Tooth Fairy and 6 year olds who lose their teeth at school is also imprecise.

I have to just clarify one very important point, though, before you jump to conclusions - this was NOT Toby’s first lost tooth.  The tooth fairy DOES, in fact, know where we live, and she DID come through TRIUMPHANTLY with the first tooth, offering a congratulatory note AND a whole TWONIE to the monetary-naïve child.  I was expecting nothing more than a loonie or a quarter on this second time around, but NONE of us were anticipating a blank slate…

I am partially relieved and partially saddened to report that the other parents at soccer have informed us this morning that this is NOT the first time the tooth fairy has overlooked a newly-toothless child.  Whereas Santa NEVER leaves a child unnoticed on Christmas Eve, according to the parents of the Skye Blue 5/6 Collingwood Soccer Club team, this has happened before and quite possibly MAY happen again.  Interestingly, there is also apparently an exponential increase in the tooth fairy’s forgetfulness that is proportionate to the number of children in the family.  With this being only the 2^nd tooth of our first child it means only one thing; Mia is screwed.

There are lots of hypotheses as to the whereabouts of said Tooth Fairy last night.  I, personally, am blaming it on the 2014 FIFA World Cup of Soccer.  I, being the good little mother that I am, went to bed on time whereas my husband stayed up WAY past his bedtime to catch up on all of the PVR’d games of the day.   I DO remember saying to him, SOMETHING to the effect of, “DON’T stay up too late or you MAY have to contend with the Tooth Fairy in the middle of the night.”

My advice was not heeded.

I was, quite smugly, glad that it was to Rob’s side of the bed that our tragically tearful 6 year old lamented his miserly-woes at the early hour of 6:45 this morning.  Toby usually sleeps in until 8am but had awoken EARLY this Saturday morning to see what the Tooth fairy had left him.

The mystery may never be completely solved but one thing is certain : no matter HOW exciting the PVR’d soccer games are tonight, the tooth fairy WILL appear to collect tooth #2.  And, as Toby has been reassured by ALL of the Collingwood soccer moms AND both sets of grandmothers, he is SURE to receive a HIGHER sum of money as a result of her forgetfulness….so much for it only being a loonie this time…