Tour de Pink 2012

It can be a little overwhelming when you first show up. There are usually at least 20-50 people chatting vivaciously, reconnecting, laughing, speaking intently with one another. You can certainly feel like an outsider at first. But gradually, someone makes eye contact and you being to feel okay. And then, someone shares their story, and you begin to connect. Everyone here has a story.

Funny. In all of my lessons over the last year, and from what I’ve read over and over again, the path to freedom from suffering is to “let go of your story“. And yet, here, a story, sometimes, is all that connects you.

Why are you here? Are you a survivor? Where are you from? Do you know someone battling cancer? How many times have you done the Ride? Are you an avid cyclist? These are the questions that begin to make the ties that will soon bind us all together into one story by the end of three days.

I am, as I’ve said before, a survivor of a different kind. I have not had to battle cancer but I survived something different. For me, it was pretty darn traumatic in its own right. I am a survivor of domestic violence. And my scars are the days I am without my son. The memories burn my heart. The fear is what wakes me up at night in a cold sweat with my heart-pounding relentlessly. The deep, sorrowful pain that lingers has become my story.

I have been struggling with memories of someone telling me I was worthless, selfish, sick, fat, ugly, disgusting, ….. You name it. I’ve been struggling with the story of what was in a time when all I wanted was to be free from the story that had me so engulfed I was being swallowed alive.

For me, this ride has become a meditative healing process in which to bind the pain and learn to drop my story on the road and ride away from it, far, far away, fast as I can, leaving it atop some mountain to fly away, dropping it off the cliff into the sea, but never to carry it again with me when I return home. Prophetic, no?

Okay, enough with the sappy stuff. Check this out! The Tour de Pink ride is more than stories. It’s about cycling. Hot, fast, intense cycling!

Day One - Thousand Oaks, CA to Manhattan Beach, CA. Start at Giant Headquarters and ride down this amazing decent into the Oxnard plain towards Pacific Coast Hwy along the scenic California coastline. I got to the front quickly and rode the downhill all alone. At one point I was talking to myself aloud and the photographer yelled out that he could hear me. I was going deep, deep into the psyche of me and the pain of the memories. I was trying to figure out where the intense anger comes from. There was a smart, meandering section after Venice Beach leading into Manhattan Beach, and then, SMACK! A terse, 20% grade uphill into town, then back down again to the hotel. I was certainly angry with that surprise, but it didn’t envelop me as past events had. Why did the bike bring a certain patience to my demeanor, where, in every day life, anger seems to spill out of me like a leaking hose? That night held drinks with new friends. Stories melt into laughter and memories fade into the night. All you find at this point is the present moment. Pure. Sweet and Real.

Day Two - Manhattan Beach, CA to Dana Point, CA. The ride started out innocent enough, however, there is one slight detour: a 13% grade within a 4 mile climb. The total ride was about 80 miles with a total elevation gain of over 5,000 feet. Fair enough, but upon summiting that climb, I find a very deceptive and disingenuous downhill end to the turn around spot!!! WTF????…. And then, the story becomes, what do I have yet to give, not what has been taken from me….

Needless to say, I was worked at the end of this ride. Had it not been for the Oakley Women or my newest dear friend, James Gunn Wilkinson from Team MRI Masi, I would not have made it to the hotel. Glad I did, because I had a very fun-filled evening with a glamorous cast of characters. More stories spilled out on to the table, free for the taking, unloading and releasing. Stories have a way of unraveling the best in us.

And that night in particular, one survivor said that she too learned to focus on what life gives versus on what it had taken away. This statement alone would bring me back to my purpose, my very remembrance for what made me sign up for the TdP back in February of 2011. My story needed a new direction then. TdP helped me find it.

Day Three - Dana Point, CA to Foothill Ranch, CA. An unassuming climb into the canyon towards Oakley Headquarters. I had an early lead-out with Eric from Giant. We rode fast and strong to the turnoff at Newport Center Drive. But at this point, the climbs were wearing down on me. I had had too much to drink the night before and now, facing the hot, dry, lonely canyon all alone, I was, frankly, sad and discouraged. But I persevered. I have overcome worse scenarios in my own life. Riders came and went along the climb, asking me to grab a wheel. I tried, but could not. In the end, I knew the ride was my own to finish alone. The trauma for climbing this unrelenting hill of hell seemed a drop in the bucket compared to the pain and suffering I survived in the last year. The tears that fell seemed only to fall out of freedom from being released, not from the need to escape something angry within.

Finally, upon arriving, I celebrated the end, the “arrivée au sommet” I was finally able to let down the story of who I had been to become the woman I am: strong, sweaty, present and happy. And so it is.

Authentically ME!!

I nervously rose towards the front of the sanctuary to give my class performance tonight. I was dead last. I purposely put myself last on the list, hoping that I wouldn’t have to present at all. And normally, I don’t have fears associated with public speaking. But, tonight, in particular, the students’ performances were stunning and vibrant and they pulled at my heart strings and I cried, a lot. I didn’t want to follow any of them. Charlee with her brilliant 3 minute standup on pirates or Marian’s heartfelt piece on NIA. There was Martha, with the gut-wrenching performance of that song and then, of course Liana’s amazing solo. And Deana’s touching and vulnerable moment, which lead to Vicki’s beautiful rendition of the reluctant teacher. I hadn’t prepared. I hadn’t put the “effort in” and I was afraid of how I’d appear to the rest of the class.

Appearance for me is a huge issue. If you haven’t noticed, please read my blog and you will soon discover, that how I am perceived by the world and how I see myself in the world is a huge and misleading source of discomfort and consternation for me.

Who am I to show up and feel it’s ok to take stage without a scripted piece? Who am I to think that what I have to say will matter? Have substance? Make meaning for others?

Well, who am I not to be? I am, after all, me. And that is probably all that I need to be. Spiritually speaking.

One of my last blog entries, Sweaty Bicycle Mama, ended with a bit about being pretty and put together and how that is an aspect of beauty. How, being pure of heart and authentic is certainly another equally important aspect of beauty. And how, if you manage both, I find that to be unattainably, miraculously, competently wonderful.. Sure, beauty is a wondrous thing.

But, in the end, the thing that I am striving for is acceptance. And, as I looked out on the audience of my peers, I knew instinctively, that I was unconditionally accepted and loved for who I am, just as I am. Sweaty, bunched up panties, unprepared speech and all, they love me. I think the instructor said that I was adorable or charming or something like that….and it’s funny, because, this is exactly what I strive to be: adorable.

It’s something I’ve longed for since I was a little girl. I don’t know if is something I didn’t get enough of as a child or something that is inherent within me from a past life, but the thought of being adored and loved, just as I am is something that makes me well up with tears and seriously fall to pieces over.

And the instructor asked me what was my purpose with my piece. What goal did I have in mind. And honestly, I stared down at my feet and sort of dragged my shoe across the ground like a timid teenager. I had not plan. I had no idea of what I wanted to accomplish, other than acceptance by my peers. Wasn’t that enough, I thought to myself. After everything I’ve been through, can’t simply being accepted be an adequate goal? I think he has higher expectations of me than I have of myself. And that is unique.

I friend recently told me that they feel “lost”. And, after trying to surmise a valid response worthy of this person’s caliber and character, I reverted to a quote from Thoreau: When we find we are totally lost, it is then when we truly discover and understand who we are. Telling him this was an act of healing for myself. I hadn’t considered how utterly lost I can become in the self-deprecating, self-censoring, apologetic-manner-for-my-very-presence mode of behavior in which I live.

Tonight, these people, my peers, truly accepted me for who I was, without script or special flair. The truth is, that I showed up, raw, authentic and unapologetically as myself and that, in it’s own way is the performance of a lifetime.