Why I Ride ...
I've been riding the PMC for over 20 years now, and every year it's a new challenge.
When I first started, the challenges were simple, but big. My boyfriend Dan (now my husband) had ridden the PMC in 1990, and our first date was an early morning bike ride not too long after the event. Dan was overwhelmingly enthusiastic about the PMC, and suggested I ride with him the following year. I laughed. My athleticism didn't extend much farther than aerobics a few times a week, and bike rides around the neighborhood that couldn't have been more than 15 miles. In addition, the idea of asking people for the $900 I would need to raise to ride made me want to hide. Over the next few months, these began to seem like to very good reasons to accept the challenge. That first year, I raised $2,000 and managed to survive the 192 miles, albeit with shaky legs the next day. I was also bowled over by the event itself. I hadn't expected the number of volunteers and spectators that were there to cheer us on and smooth the way for us. I had found a true community.
I had already decided to ride for a second year when I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Cervical cancer is a stealth cancer; it creeps up on you and you never know you have it. I was fortunate to have my cancer detected early, before it became invasive, and was able to be treated with a simple surgery. Physically, I was fine. Emotionally and spiritually, I was battered. That year, the PMC was a means of taking back some of the control I felt I had lost. Once again, the community came through and I felt embraced, supported, and fulfilled as I took part in the event.
The next year, Dan and I had the good fortune to meet a PMC veteran at a fall ride up in Vermont. Todd changed our whole experience of riding. While Dan and I had always stuck to the main roads in order to make finding our way easy, Todd knew all the back roads in eastern Massachusetts. For the next few years, we did most of our training rides with Todd, and he showed us the joys of discovering the hidden roads and of riding for hours without seeing a single car. He taught us a great deal about the mechanics of cycling, but also what you might call the zen of cycling. Some of the lessons he taught us were:
* Cycling is not about where you're going, it's about how you get there. Every ride you're on, you're pretty much going home. So find the most scenic, or the most challenging, or the most interesting ride you can.
* Get lost. You never know what you might discover.
* The challenges make you stronger. Head for the hills, don't avoid them.
* Cycling takes place as much in your head as it does in your body. If you think you can ride those last ten miles to complete your first century (100 mile ride) of the season, you can. If you don't think you can, you will give up before you're done.
In 1998, our dear friend Todd passed away. Todd survived Hodgkins lymphoma as a teenager and young adult as a result of treatment at the Dana Farber, only to succumb 20 years later to cancer stemming from his earlier radiation treatments. Our 1998 ride was a memorial to Todd, and we still feel that he's with us when we ride.
Over the years, my training for the PMC has not really been about how many miles you need to ride and when in order to be able to ride 192 miles in two days. Rather, it has been about finding the enjoyment and wonder in all of the little things in life. It's the childlike joy of eating as many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as you want without worrying about the consequences. It's seeing the trees and flowers change from spring bulbs and lilacs to a profusion of summer blooms and then to the crisp smell of apples in the fall. It's the things we notice: a wild turkey hen, a startled deer in the early morning, a foal on shaky legs slowly growing up as we pass him by each week. It's about remembering friends like Todd that we've lost, and honoring other friends who have survived. Finally, it's about a wonderful community of people getting together to support a cause that''s important to them.
This August, I'll be riding my bike from Sturbridge to Provincetown with more than 3,000 other people. Dan and I will raise more than $9,000 for cancer research. And I will be glad to be alive.
