DNF...Been There Done That!

Last weekend we mountain bike raced at a very challenging course, Afton Alps.  The course had crazy up hills and tons of technical, steep, rocky down hills.  I was really nervous for it.  Although I practiced the course twice before the race, I actually never practiced a full lap.  I mentally prepared myself though and imagined riding all the obstacles and making it down all the narly hills.

Race day came and I thought it would be best to leave my tutu at home - this is a serious course and it would require all of my concentration. I was very nervous, but I knew I would try hard and do my best.  My best included walking my bike up several hills and down just a couple of them.  I wasn't alone.  Lots of people in my class were walking up and down those same hills.  There was a tough battle going on between me and about three other riders for 'not-last-place'.

Towards the end of my first lap the leaders of the race had caught up to me.  I was being lapped.  The first rider was completely nice about it and waited for me to get down a long, steep hill before he announced his pass, then passed me.  The second rider passed me shortly after the first.  He announced his pass and took me on the left.  Just as he passed me, my bike slipped out from under me and I fell to the ground.  I let out a small screech and he looked back at me, told me he was sorry, and asked if I was okay.  I told him I was fine and it wasn't his fault, it was mine.  I got back on my bike and was just starting to take off when the third rider came up behind me and said, "Get off the trail, please!"

This is when I lost it.  I screamed back, "I just wiped out!!!"  He passed me and I continued on my journey.  I made it down the long fast hill at the end and then took a berm a little too high and a little too slow.  I did a slow motion wipe out in front of *everyone*.  I picked my bike up, determined and strong?  No, I gave up.  I walked off the trail, with a broken heart and hurt pride.  I felt I didn't belong.  I wasn't good enough.  I was too fat and out of shape.  I was a silly girl to think I could race...

Although I tried to be kind and gentle with myself for walking off the course that day, I carried these feelings of 'not good enough' with me all last week.  I debated on whether or not I would race again on Sunday.  A day before the race I finally committed.

The race started and again I battled for 'not-last-place'.  Again I walked my bike up and down the same hills as everyone else.  Again I got lapped by the leaders of the race.  But this time it was different.  This time I would not give up.  I would hold my head high and smile at those who passed me, wishing them a good ride.  This time I would finish the race and it would take everything inside of me to do so.  This time me and my tutu would get our much deserved medal...

From now on, if this Mother Freakin' Princess lines up at the starting line, you can bet your ass she's going finish the race!

Meal Planning

We have an out of town mountain bike race this weekend, so we'll be enjoying one of our families all time greatest pastimes: camping! 

Being the Domestic MFPrincess I am, I have been doing the clothes packing, errand running, and meal planning for the trip.  We've been camping for years and years, so I kinda got it all down.  I have an excel check list of all the things we will need to pack.  I've been running around picking up things (like a bike trailer for the dog), and I outlined meals for breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner, snacks, and dessert. 

This trip I planned on fresh strawberries, grapes, cherries, some fresh veggies with homemade spinach dip, burgers (turkey or beef *and* with or without mushrooms, bacon, or cheese - jalapeno cheddar or colby jack), brats (chicken/feta/spinach, chicken andouille, chicken apple gouda, or old fashioned wieners), turkey/bacon/avocado sandwiches, a quinoa salad, breakfast pudgy pies (scrambled eggs, onions, peppers, and sausage enclosed in two slices of bread and cooked over the open fire), mini cinnamon rolls, lemon brunch cake, pita chips, some sort of sprouted veggie chips, cookies, and a cold chicken pesto pasta salad...

Sometimes when we go camping I bring too much food.

I thought about this today as I started making the pasta and quinoa salads.

And then I put the six chicken breasts I planned on putting in the cold chicken pesto pasta salad in the microwave to get them out of my way.

And I left them there.

For a long time.

Too long.

We'll need to throw them out.

I stopped at Cub Foods and grabbed ONE rotisserie chicken to replace those SIX chicken breasts.

We might run out of food while camping.  I'll let you know.

Totally High School

My twentieth high school reunion is this summer.  I've been putting off my RSVP...until tonight.  While my high school years were 'fine', I don't remember them as the be-all-end-all of life.  I wasn't the smartest, dumbest, cutest, ugliest, sassiest (okay, I *might* have been the sassiest), weirdest (and I was pretty weird) person in my graduating class.  I have no huge desire to go back and prove to people that I am now super smart and pretty.  Because unlike Mary Poppins, who is practically perfect in every way, I'm...me, not even close to perfection, but pretty freaking fantastic.

And there are definitely people I would want to see....but they aren't the people who teased me because of my generous amount of arm hair in Mr. Johnson's social studies class (I shaved my arms when I got home that afternoon.), or the boys who teased me in the common area about being a Carpenter's Dream - flat as a board and never been screwed.  The people I would like to see are the girls who stuck with me through the whole weird journey called high school.  I want to meet their husbands and see pictures of their kids.  Then I get crazy sad because I wish I would have put more effort into my relationships with them when I was younger...but I didn't.  I made other choices.  These 'other choices' are the reason my RSVP says, "No."

To the class of 1990:  I wish for all of you the very best....except for one of you, who I don't.