This is a presentation I prepared for one of my classes at the VCSL.
I’ve only been coming to
VCSL since roughly March of this year. I remember the first time I went into the social hall. I had come maybe three or four times prior and bawled every sermon. I braved entry into the vast Stanley’s Hall and was immediately overcome by the energy of love, community and acceptance. Needless to say, I panicked. I began to cry. I ran into Elisa and Ian’s momma, Claudia. She caught my eye and grabbed me. She confided in me immediately. “it would get better…this place changes lives” she said. She was soon caught up in a conversation with someone else and then I was enveloped in the sea of chattering people again.
I was drawn to Bonnie’s loving eyes. But I knew that to ‘bother her’ would be remiss. So I approached, a tall, wonderfully jubilant man who stood to her side; Bill Seale. I asked if he provided some kind of assistance to folks seeking guidance. With my eyes welling up with tears, he grabbed my hand and gently guided through the crowd to a private room and there, calmed me, transformed my fear to hope and doubts to acceptance in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t more than a few weeks that I started to feel “accepted”, “loved” and “genuinely home” for the first time in my 38 years of life. Not ironically, one of my memorable services here was Testimonial Sunday and Greg Luce gave his talk about how being a bad guy didn’t keep him from finding peace in his life. I vowed right then to become friends with this man.
But yet it‘s not all been a Fairy Tale. I’ve been though both hard and good times. Nothing different from you all really but it was, of course, my own journey, and so it was unique in its own way.
I brought my bike here tonight because it symbolizes so much for me in terms of identity, self reliance, and strength. Many of you know that I recently completed about 170 miles in 3 days in a Tour de Pink, to raise money for young fighters of breast cancer, but you may not know that bicycling has been a HUGE part of life since as far back as I can remember.
I’ve ridden more miles at the seat of a bike than I can remember inside of a car. I began riding when I was a young girl of a single father in Pennsylvania. He worked long hours and of course I was too young to drive. So, during the summer months, when he was at work, I’d ride my baby blue Sear’s and Roebuck ten-speed, 9 miles to town to meet up with friends, play tennis, practice basketball, go to the movies, and swim until my father would come through town with his work truck. He worked for the electric company. So, he’d lift my bike up onto the huge orange bucket truck and we’d ride off and unload the work truck, grab some pizza and ice cream and return home. Sadly enough, after HS graduation, I didn’t really ride much until later in my life.
It wasn’t until 2000 when I went to Europe with my ex-ex-ex to do a self-supported ride through Europe. We rode over 700 miles in 20 days through France, Germany, Italy. It was, of course amazing. We did 3 such tours through Eurpoe. One year, we rode the Le alp duez and followed the 2003 Tour de France. We were labeled as the crazy American cyclists by the crazy Belgium cyclist fanatics.
I’ve done century rides, long rides with girlfriends all through Tahoe and the upper Sierra. It wasn’t uncommon to ride 50 mile mountain bikes and then hang out all night and play music. It was awesome. I never considered how the bike defined “me” but as I look back, I didn’t have a friend in Tahoe who didn’t bike. So, in a way, it did define me. I had 7 different types of bikes at the time.
After I left my ex-ex-ex in 2004 I decided to leave the US and travel solo to Argentina. I took my bike. I did two small self-supported trips before giving up due to the awful condition of the roads. I ended up trading my rode bike in for a city cruiser and joined the thousands of cyclists that braved the 19-lane Avenidia de Nuevo de Julio in central Buenos Aires. So many amazing stories I don’t have time to share. But the point being, that I was again defined by my local group of friends as the ‘chick with the bike’. It became my identity, yet again.
When I came back from Argentina I had a lot of angst that needed flushing out. Riding in upstate NY where I lived with my big brother allowed me time, space and freedom to work out all my issues. I rode and rode. When I moved back to Tahoe, again in 2005, it was the bicycle that defined me. My Dad was unrelentingly pragmatic in his pursuit of relinquishing at least one of the four bikes as we loaded them atop my Toyota Corolla for the third cross-country trip in four years. I kept the bikes and got rid of some clothes.
I mean I was commuting to the VISTA bus stop up until I was 6 mths pregnant and put on disability for a ‘high-risk pregnancy’. My first great memory was riding my bike with trailer and 4 mth old son to Earth Day in 2009. I never really lost a second worrying about how I looked or how I appeared when on the bike. I just rode and loved it.
I left my ex-husband after he threw a bike at me and, yes, I left him via bicycle.
Throughout all of this, I have, unabashedly had a sort of unrepentant self loathing and total lack of self confidence. Of course, everyone who knows me would be surprised at that statement. But the truth is that I have always wanted to be prettier, thinner, with darker skin and olive shaped eyes and sexier hair and slenderer fingers.... I have always hated my body and tore myself down because of it.
It wasn’t until Bonnie asked me to do a Testimonial Sunday in February that I really began thinking about biking and me and spiritually. When she asked me, at first, I was very much willing to speak. I, in fact, jokingly said to Bonnie when she asked me, “you want the truth, right?” and she, of course laughed and I think she understood my sarcasm…but I was kind of serious. I mean, sure I can stand up in front of 100 people and speak about pretty much anything. I do that for a living. But to be honest, real, and whole, that was a different thing. I could be a politician if you wanted it…but if you want me to be authentic, well, that takes a bit more energy and work. You know?
So, I thought about it some more. And I got really nervous. I thought, well shit, I’ve not become “Enlightened!?” yet. I can’t speak in front of the congregation if I’ve not ‘discovered’ something insightful to share with them. “I better get cracking” was my next thought. I need to ’achieve’ something and fast. I needed to climb that hill and see the view that inspires. I needed to push through the difficult technical section for the glory ride back to the trailhead. I needed to freaking put it in gear, NOW!!! And that brings be back to the bike.
Many of you know Greg Luce, no? Well, he was my partner in the Tour de Pink. He is amazing and he’s a pain in the ass. But, he just recently gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve received in a long time. He said, that despite the fact that I have a shitty bike, that I didn’t train, and that I am out of shape, I kicked ass on the hills and was generally well ahead of him in terms of physical strength and he was rather jealous. I was stunned by his compliment and didn't know how to respond. It meant a lot to me to hear him say that. I climbed pretty well despite not training and was ahead of him by at least 30 minutes on average and just a few minutes behind the “elite cyclists”. Yet, that certainly didn't translate into “me being whole” in my own opinion. During the ride I ended up splitting up blood and had to forgo riding ten final miles the second day.
Yet, to be honest, it’s just kind of how I roll. I've always been that way. I push through the shit in life.
So, it brings me to two major points in the SOM philosophy.
First, it is, like Dennis Merit Jones said last week. Our bodies are nothing more than biodegradable, disposable vessels for our souls to live out our experience here on Earth. And it’s funny b/c as often as I criticize my own body, or hair, or clothing, or job, or house or whatever for “not being enough”, yet, I rarely criticize my bike. Although the bike has always been seen as separate from ME I never equate it's deficiencies with my own personal strength. It’s old, crappie and very much the laughing stock of the elite cyclist circles. I freaking love that bike and can kick most anyone’s ass; given time to train. I never doubt the bike.
But…. I always equate my body as if it is ME. But, I think, like the bike, it’s what’s inside of me, not outside of me, that carries love, inspiration and strength. And like Lance said, “it’s not about the bike, it’s about the rider.”
And yet, I don’t train for life; just as I don't train for rides. Instead, I barrel ahead, drudge forward; stick it out and I wonder why sometimes I flounder. I wonder why I am coughing up blood.
I mean, I climb mountains, I rush through rest stops in pursuit of “the leaders of the pack/pelaton”. I work days and nights on end in pursuit of the pleasure of my bosses. I gave up my own identity for un-attained acceptance of my ex- Mother-in-Law; and sadly I’ve done the same for with the same result with my own mother. And I never cut myself from feakin' slack.
It's like I should be saying to myself, as I do about the bike, hey, Jill, it's your body, not you that isn't perfect. And you can still kick some ass without the "perfect body"; it's not about the body, but the person inside.
A second SOM philosophy I see with me and the bike is this:
I often comment to my friends and others how I feel as if I am a hamster in a wheel constantly running and running without a real end in sight. I always feel like I am late. Arriving at the rest stop after everyone else important has moved on. I am always out on the road alone, fighting the wind alone. Even when I fled the abusive relationship with ex all I had was my bicycle, my trailer, my son and some extra clothes. And then everything was stolen and then my grandmother died. I felt like God had turned on me. I was so sad and lonely. Without the bike, who was I?
I kept saying, when am I going to come into a group of others and draft in the warmth and love of community?
All my life, it was always the bike, the accessories, the trips, the experiences, the friends, the family, the body, the eyes…that which defined me. But, now, I see that it never was all those things. I was always ME. And I never had to have any of that stuff to “be some part of a community”.
When I walked into VCSL, I showed up with nothing, alone and vulnerable and yet I was loved, accepted and supported. So, like the bike has given me an identity, VCSL has given me a place to call home, perhaps to stop running and riding in pursuit of that which is always going to leave just another valley apart from the pelaton.
I forgive the woman who drove on Ocean today as if she owned the road
