Thank God for Mothers!

I'm standing on top of the mountain wearing a helmet, shin and wrist pads, and a chest guard.

My heart is in my stomach trying to disappear down my intestines. I look my guide. He is ready to go.

I look at the trail head sign. It's an INTERMEDIATE BLUE SQUARE. I’m a beginner!

But there is no EASY GREEN CIRCLE at the top. Nope. You have to take the stupid INTERMEDIATE BLUE SQUARE to get there.

I look at the thin and bumpy trail covered with loose dirt and rock etched into the mountain. And I think, “Why am I doing this?” Because I can.

I hop on the bike, wobble my way to the trail and descend on my painful journey.

I "Yelp," quietly at every slope, bite my lip, grip the brakes and hope to make it down alive.

A turn is coming. I see it. It sees me. Together we do not make perfect harmony. I slam on the brakes. Bad idea!

My body slams forward. I tumble to the ground tangled in the bike.

First bruise. Right thigh.

Okay, so the brakes work. Check.

I stand up, grab the bike. He's stopped ahead. I give him the signal to go on. I don't want him to see me eat dirt and gravel. Which is exactly what I do!

I keep on no matter the fall, skid or slam because the faster I peddle the closer I am to the bottom of this Godforsaken mountain.

Turn! Crap. Slam brakes. Fling forward. Half flipping to side of the bike.

Second bruise. Left thigh. First scrapes into right knee.

I'm so annoyed. I want this to be done. I look over and my guide is watching, his mouth gaping in shock.

I give a wave, dust myself off and gingerly climb back on that stupid bike of pain.

By now I'm so close to finishing the BLUE SQUARE OF AWFULNESS that I have a strange smile on my face. It's a mixture of almost wetting self and life affirming relief.

I squeal to a halt almost flying off the bike again. REST STOP! I'm halfway down the treacherous mountain of death.

He's waiting for me. He's proud. Not of my biking skills for sure but of my ability to not whine when I'm hurt and get back on the bike.

By now my lower half is covered in dirt, dust, bruises and blood. Normally I'd be like AWESOME but NO! I am completely ill-equipped for this adventure.

I have not biked since I was a child and even then I was accident prone.

Once I misjudged where the push mower was and rode my bike into it, slamming my forehead smack into the handle, flipping me to the ground!

Another time I rode too close to another biker, swerved because I was looking at scenery, caught their tire, flipped my bike and slid face first on the gravel road. I STILL HAVE PIECES IN MY CHIN! Probably causing me chin hairs.

When I first learned to bike I would walk my bike up the hill, hop on, peddle as fast as I could and then jump off at the base instead of using brakes. BRAKES AND I ARE NOT FRIENDS! I'M GONNA DIE!

Oh, I got the signal from Him. He is ready to go. I look at that sweet EASY GREEN CIRCLE sign and think, the worst is over. You are going to be fine. Breathe little freak child. He's waiting. You don't want Him to think you are scared.

We bike to the trail head and He stops. Just a warning, this trail has a couple wooden biking features. They can be pretty fun. I think, "I can handle wood and stability over dirt and loose rock." Game on, get me to the base safe.

We are off. He's ahead as He should. I don't biff. I've got control. The trail is bigger with less slopes and there are trees! I love trees.

Wait, what's that? What the?!! No-No-No-No-No-No-No! OMG I MADE IT! Slam on brakes fall off bike. A TEN FOOT TALL CATERPILLER IS NOT A WOODEN FEATURE!

And there are more! And they move and curve and do things that I can’t bring myself to speak of. Honestly I closed my eyes each time and hoped for the best.

And there it is. A turn. Not a wide turn. A hairpin turn. And if you miss it you will fly off the side into no man’s land!

Slow down. I tap the brakes but it's not enough so I tap them again BUT I'm still going too fast! Here it comes! Tuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrn!

Holy, holy I made it!

Don't wobble. Get control. Tree! Brake! Squeal! Slam forward. Legs fly in air. Head towards ground. Tumble, tumble, slide, scrape face in dirt. Bike lying on top of me, leg caught in chain. There is blood. Blood on my face, on my knees, on my side.

Check teeth? Intact. Chin? Not so great. Hands and arms not broken. Legs? Ugh. Serious bruises and bleeding BUT nothing broken.

Me? Completely shaken. Now what?

He's gone. What could He do anyway? Nothing. There is nothing anyone can do to help me right now. Get on the bike and finish the trail. You made the very dumb decision to do this, you will finish it.

I fix the chain, check the brakes, wipe the blood and keep going.

I fall again. Damn brakes. More bruises. I get back on. Peddle, peddle. I'm beaten down. Exhausted. There is no fight anymore just raw determination to finish this awful journey.

My balance is off. I fall again. And again. And again. There is a split in the trail. I yell for Him. "Which way?" But no one is there. I'm at a standstill.

Suddenly I hear "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!" I turn to see bikers cruising towards me. I quickly move to the side with a "Sorry!"

I realize they are my guides now. I need them to show me the way. I quickly hop on and follow.

Crap they are fast! I lose sight of them but I know, in my overwhelmed gut, that the end is near. It's gotta be!

I keep peddling. I'm calm. Collected. Potentially lost but it's all okay because...well, it has to be.

A clearing? Is that a clearing? IT'S A CLEARING!!!!!

And He's there waiting patiently and slightly concerned. He checks my chin and laughs at the dust that I'm covered head to toe in. He's proud. Good. I smile like I'm having a blast but inside I'm thinking, I never, EVER, want to do this again.

He gives me the option to either bike down the service road we are currently braked on or start a new trail. I pretend to mull it over BUT we all know the answer. I raced down that gravel service road like I was about to hit the finish line of the Tour De France.

Later that night I called my mother and told her I went downhill mountain biking. She forbade me to do it again until after "Bye, Bye Birdie" because I would be a worthless choreographer if my legs were broken.

I didn't even pretend to be upset.

He asked me to do it again. I told him no per mother's orders. He didn't argue and I saved face.

And all I can say is thank God for mothers!

Beer in the Bedroom with Grandma?!

It's midnight in Niagara Falls.

Mom and I share a queen sized bed. Sexy Grandma (Ruthie) is next to us in her own bed. Emily, my cousin, is around the corner with a loud fan on her head. The lights are out. We lay there quietly.

And she sings "99 bottles of beer on the wall" insert giggle at herself, "99 bottles of beer."

I join in and together Grandma and I sing, "Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall."

Emily exclaims, "What are you doing?!"

Sexy Grandma is undaunted and retorts, "98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer!"

Mom pulls out her earplugs, "Ruthie! Go to bed!"

And Sexy Grandma, Emily and I retort, "Take one down, pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall!"

Giggle, giggle, giggle!

Mom shoves a pillow over her head.

We made it to the early 90's until Emily and I dropped out and dozed. But that Ruthie, oh no, I woke up later to her going strong in the 80's.

And though I wanted to smack her in the head with a pillow there was a big part of me that was dang proud that she had the tenacity, spirit and drive to finish those beer bottles on the wall.

Sexy Grandma started the song and she wanted to finish it!

So to those who believe me stubborn and unwilling...blame genetics or better yet, join in! "96 bottles of beer on the wall! 96 bottles of beer! Take one down. Pass it around. 95 bottles of beer on the wall."

Bonjour!

Someday I will go to France. And wear pants. Where I will dance. That is my stance.

"Death Becomes Her?"

As I'm reading the book "Savage Mountain" about climbing K2 and other treacherous mountains the author describes being trapped in a crevasse. It's at this moment, when death is eminent, that she realizes that this is NOT the way she wants to die.

And all I could think was, shit I would.

Now this question of how I want to die is fairly new. But it suddenly puts into perspective the question that has daunted me for years. How do I want to live?

Because if I don't think of my death as growing old or the "Golden Years" then why am I forcing myself to stay within the lines. Afraid to take certain chances for fear of death, broken bones, loss of fingers/toes or nose, drained savings, fractured family and disappearing friends.

But I realize now that those fears were and are just bits of fluff--smoke and mirrors--to keep myself from trying. I’ve been afraid to try because I'm so afraid to fail.

I want to climb Devil's Tower and Mt. Kilimanjaro, jump off buildings and eat whatever strange food falls on to my plate. I want to whitewater raft the Nile and downhill ski Whistler and the Alps. And travel everywhere, learn everything and write novels about it all. I want to love. And I want a damn boat.

Okay that sounds stronger than I may feel today but each day it builds to push a little harder out of the box that I’ve carefully drawn around myself to protect what may be needed for a potentially long future. And it still could be long no matter how times I jump from planes, trains or moving automobiles. I do not know.

What I do know is that if I don’t start living life with the zest that I so feel deep in soul, I will regret it for the rest of my potentially long life. And in those “Golden Years” I will feel sorrow for not trying when I had the chance.

So, when I think of my death, I think YES, let me fall off Everest or suffocate in an avalanche. Let me drown while whitewater rafting or get in a skiing accident. I wouldn't mind being shot or stabbed. Anything is welcome that forces me to feel death. Because if this is my only death, I want to know it's happening.

Because no matter how much we ignore or hide from death, it is inevitable. So I'm going to embrace it.

And hope that my life insurance policy holder doesn't read my blog.