Not long ago--really, like a few days ago--I dipped my quill into ink made from crushed winterberries hand-gathered into a basket woven from locally-sourced swamp ash collected with my obedient children in tow. I penned all my cyclocross wonderings onto parchment and sent it out into the universe by way of electronic journaling. Hi. I have three kids. I work a full-time night job. I'm tired. It's quick or it does not happen!
To recap: adventurous spirit meets motherhood x3 and menial household tasks and physically-taxing job and inertia. Adventurous spirit, undeterred, splashes some cold water on my face and reminds me that 1. I'm not dead and 2. I'm still alive. Let's make something happen, shall we?
The spouse is a rabid cyclist, a roadie, who loves big hills and long rides. I'm not sure he's sane. I wasn't sure I wanted to tag along for 100 milers so I pretty much let him do his own thing. Does that mean I am NOT a real cyclist? Not a REAL cyclist? Not a REEL cyclist (see below)? Am I meant to drive the SAG wagon only, or is there more for me?
Deep questions.
Enter Jen Murphy, Master Enabler. While shoveling piles of mislaid toys back into the toy box, I noticed a cyclocross photo she posted. And another. And then I was on local race pages noting registration deadlines and searching for sale bikes (thrifty=me, see previous two blog postings). Hmm...cyclocross...I was feeling...excitement? She seemed hooked on this crazy sport.
But, first, I had a few questions. How do I know I've got the right stuff?
Friend Jen is a good sport. She baited her hook and promptly posted this response. Will she lure me in? Is there something fishy about someone who overdoes metaphors?
Stay tuned.
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