Empty Hallways

I rode outside yesterday for the first time since our freak 70 degree day on December 27th. I was really, really excited to ride outside. The goal was 2 hours--hopefully beating the storm--and then maybe a little runoff.

But it was not to be.

Because, I sucked.

There's really no other way to put it except that I. SUCKED. Now, I know the wind was blowing and it was raining a bit and blah blah blah. But I just could barely push any watts and felt like I was on empty pretty much the whole time. I still made it about 1:40, but I came home and crumpled up in a ball on the kitchen floor to attempt to stretch while being accosted by a pug and tackled by a 1 year old.

It was very much a disappointment. Not in the ride, but in me. In fact, it really freaked the crap out of me. I have been having such good workouts lately that I guess I just expected to ride like the wind, and when I didn't, I was a little worried.

What if this is how I ride on April 5?

Now, the more pragmatic side of me has kicked in and reminded me of no taper, high volume, a busy week at school, and all that stuff. But what really reminded me was watching Bug last night at a benefit dinner.

My friend's husband was killed in an accident in October. It was awful. He was a wonderful person and left behind a son and a daughter as well as an amazing wife. He was a scout leader for his son's Boy Scout troop, and they had a benefit dinner last night in his memory, so we went with many of my work friends to show our support for her and to honor his memory.

There was this really long hallway when you got there, and to Bug it was the greatest thing ever. I wish I would have had a camera to capture the look on his face when he saw nothing but a long, empty hallway in front of him. To Bug that means, "RUN RUN RUNRUNRUUUUUUNNNNN!!!" and it was pretty exhausting chasing after him. And every once in a while he'd fall--I mean WIPE OUT fall--and each time he'd just get back up and run again, full speed ahead, not caring about the bump on his lip or scratch on his pants.

To him, a fall is just part of the run. It's just a little time away from the joy that is forward motion.

I was reminded of many things last night--one being how when you say goodbye to your loved ones in the morning with a quick kiss and maybe a hug, that that is sometimes it, and there's no good reason for it. And another being that all of us, at one time or another, were in rooms with big long hallways. And we smiled and ran ran ran as fast as we could. And usually fell. And got up and kept running.

I've got a few more weeks of my long empty hallway ahead of me. I hope I can capture even just a tiny bit of his joy when he is running down it.

And as our hallways go on for years and years, and some are cut short for inexplicable reasons, may we all be smiling, dusty-knees and all.