Candy, Cyclocross, Soda, Beer, Cyclocross, Costumes, Hot Dogs and Cyclocross

My kids are at the age where I don't necessarily have to know where they are at all times during a cyclocross race.

I can warm-up or something while Morgan's racing and not necessarily worry about what they're getting themselves into.

And that's pretty cool. Because this is first year it's been like that. Things are much less stressful. And I can eat and drink before racing and pre-ride the course. And so on.

So Sunday, I let them roam around with their friends and I sat in the camp chair for a while. I was feeling sleepy. I even dozed a bit. Which is a bit silly - the fact that I COULD do that, with all the mayhem going on around.



But that's what a 5am to SF on BART train, everyday will do to you. It teaches you how to sleep standing up.

Not that I let my kids go crazy or anything.

I always keep a tab on them. Like on Sunday - I could feel that they were towards the front of the school, near the bathrooms somewhere. So I went out there and told them all to come back towards the grass area, where I could at least see them.



Don't hang around bathrooms I said. That's where the unsavory characters hang out I said. That's the kind of stuff you're supposed to say to kids when you're in that mom mode.

Hang around the grass, where I can see you please. Follow me please. I said. It's safer there.



What's unsavory mean? Lulu's friend Lauren asked. It means like our brothers Lulu said. When they chase us and try and take our sodas and stuff she said.

And as they followed me back, I could see the boys making their way towards the girls in that terrorizing fashion.



by blake

And then I walked them back to the grass and went back to my camp chair to snooze.



And then after a while, I didn't see them.

So I got up to look around and do some mom duty and I saw the boys at the chocolate chip cookie tent and found the girls over at the Sheila Moon tent lounging on the grass in front of the keg, drinking out of red beer cups with some other 30 and 40 something year olds - laughing at the adult jokes and talking and petting a tiny dog called Taco.



And I went over to make sure they weren't drinking too much soda. But it was only apple juice.

Later as I was finishing up my race and trying not to throw up, I saw the girls again, running along the grass holding onto Hairy dog's leash and holding soda cans and candy.



Where'd you get that? I yelled over to them between try heaves.

Aunt Cathy they yelled back.

Aunt Cathy? I said.

Yeah, Aunt Cathy, they yelled back as they ran by laughing with green lips while pulling the dog along.

Don't run with lollipops in your mouths I yelled out.

Later, on the way home, Lulu proclaimed that adults at cyclocross races act like there aren't any kids around.

In fact, they act crazy and stuff she said.



What do you mean I said?

Like there's lots of F words.
And even S words, she said.



Yeah, Morgan said, people say those words sometimes.

But you shouldn't he said. Getting all dad like. And stuff.

Yesterday's Internal Dialog

My Sycip frame arrived the other night. The one that I won at the golden gate park cyclocross race last November.

The one that I won, just a few days after being laid off from my "then job". The job that sent me overseas for a week, on a flight that took 19 hours because of a layover in Guam when someone had a panic attack. The job that then laid me off the day I got back, which was a day before Thanksgiving.

It arrived the other night, the frame, after Morgan had made some horrendous drive to some credit union banking institution for some specific matter, of which, when he arrived - the process he needed to partake in, couldn't be done because something was broken. So he left, unresolved and having to drive in commute traffic for another hour.

On the way home, he stopped over at the local Sycip household to pick up the sparkly orange frame for me. It's very pretty. I was just staring at it.

I love it. I want to marry it.

When he pulled up into the driveway at 8pm, I was in the garage, rooting around for what I thought was a burning electrical smell. And just as he was opening the car door, I'd discovered the water heater spewing water all over the place in the back corner.

And it smelled like ass. Which I still really don't understand. There was no sewer or toilet involved.

Anyway, it's never a good scene when the first thing out of your mouth to your husband after he's been sitting in traffic for 2 hours for an unresolved bank process, in addition to going out of his way to pick up YOUR custom built cx bike frame, is the water heater just blew up. And then you turn and walk back upstairs into the house.

And then he's out there for a while, on the phone with various people and trying to do stuff to get it to stop. And he hasn't eaten dinner yet.

And the part that is broken is the part that actually turns the water on and off in the water heater. So you let it spew for a while, because you just can't turn it off.

And then after arguing and getting everyone to pee and brush teeth, you do some of the dishes, take some showers. And then, to stop the spewing he turns off the water to the entire house - until the new water heater can be delivered sometime the next day.

And earler while opening the mail, you decide that you ARE going to open up that 401k statement. The one you've been dreading opening all day. But you might as well get it over with. It's the one from your earnings from the past 8 years. The one that you had invested in, yes, the stock market. The one from the company that laid you off last November a day before Thanksgiving.

And you take a deep breath and you open it and you peak in. And then you start crying. And you think that it's just like the water heater - spewing out from the top all over the place, down the driveway into the drain. Gone. And when the 8 year old asks Morgan why you're crying, he says, because we're going to have to sell you to the gypsies Lulu.

So then you take a hot shower and you drink a cold beer in the hot shower and you think about what you're going to be for Halloween and if the wig is really going to work on top of the bike helmet.

And what it'll be like as an old person, without any retirement money, when you're living off canned beans and sipping sunny delight. And how you still have to finish up the school auction data entry and how it'll be fun to bar tend at the event again, because it's all you can drink free beer to all bartenders.

And how much the subway sucks because they won't let you take bikes on during commute hours and that the dog still needs its last set of shots. And maybe you'll just wear that old Jane Jetson outfit from a few years ago, if you can find it. And you try and get your eye to stop twitching.

And then you sort through your internal list of fun stuff to do, to get you through the week, and you remember there's more cyclocross and bike riding to be done this weekend. Wig or no wig. With lots of little kids running around and lots of laughing. Where everything is put back into the right perspective.

And you remember, we're just a blip in time, in this giant universe. But it's still not a good idea to waste so much hot water in the shower while drinking a beer. So you chug it and shut off the water.

Super Duper CX Prestige in SF

The good thing about racing so late in the day is that most people are done, eating their bbq'd weanies and drinking their beer and they're happy and there are lots of cheers.

I like that part.

The bad thing about racing so late in the day is the warming up on the trainer part while they all drink their beers and the smell of bbq'd meat is wafting towards you and they're running around with meat on sticks, sticking it in your face saying, do you want meat on a stick?

Uh, no thanks.

And sometimes your husband gets cranky because he's getting ready for his second race before your first race and he wants you to take his bike to the pit way up on the hill and then feed him, but you just want to get a pre-lap ride in, in between races because you can't be on the course while others are racing so there's a very small window to ride the course. And then maybe a little warm up in.



But you have to take the 8 year old to the portapotty. And she's complaining because none of her friends are there and she wants hot chocolate.



I don't think warm ups on trainers help me anyway and I don't like cyclocross courses that pretend to be cyclocross courses but are really mountain bike courses.

And while we're on the subject, in fact, I hate McClaren park. But at least this year I finished the race. Last year I hated it so much that I stopped half way through and slid out from the course tape while mumbling fuck you mcClaren all the while i was walking back to the tent.



This year I told myself I'd at least finish it. And besides, it wasn't as bad as last year.

On the first lap, I heard someone say she looks so serious. This was after someone had elbowed and sorta pushed me into a pole. And I couldn't get off it. Again, with the poles. And I realized that I WAS too serious. Warming up on a trainer? Not smiling? Wanting to elbow that person back because she knocked me down and I couldn't stay upright? I'd seen her skills in action before, so I knew what might happen if I was close to her.

Yes, too serious.



So I took a deep breath and just did it. And smiled. And turned that frown upside down. And I felt better. And finished.

Blow Up Monkeys

We're going into the weekend of the yearly fall carnival at kid number two's school.

Normally this would be a fun filled weekend of cotton candy and bouncy tents and soccer games and spin art and bbq and ring toss and beer.

And cyclocross.

But because Morgan is the "chair" of the fall carnival each year, it's become this albatross for us. Something to get through and get over and be done with and recover from.

Ah. Well a-day what evil looks. Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross. About my neck was hung.

I could discuss the details in great length and it would be comical, because as a family we sort of fly by the seat of our pants. And "chair" ing a school carnival is no different for us.

It's got stuff like, me picking up the cotton candy machine in between picking up kids after school today in the landcruiser - which had it's battery stolen out of it the other day and doesn't have a hood that stays down now because to steal the battery they cut the hood thing, so we can't take it on the freeway until we have time to get it to the place to get fixed.

And kids asking us to set up the cotton candy machine in our living room tonight, just for a little bit.

And me ordering the prizes on Tuesday for Thursday delivery, but the oriental trading place doubling our order somehow and then not being able to ship it, but us then needing it over nighted and finally getting it resolved after Morgan on the phone for a long time.

And only half of the order arriving so far.

And me being the prize lady. Yeah, I'm the prize lady. And if I can toot my own horn here, I'm an expert at ordering prizes. Over the last 3 years, I've heard rumors from parents that the kids say prizes have "hecka" improved thank you very much. And the prizes now actually make some decent money for the school.

That gigantic blow up monkey that only costs $3.99? Well, a kid has to bring in 20 prize tickets to the prize booth to get it. One prize ticket usually takes a kid 4 or 5 tries to get. And with each try costing .50, well there you go. It keeps them occupied for the afternoon.

It's all about the big ticket items. The perceived value. Let me tell you, the blowup monkeys are big.

And then of course, you've got your spider rings and tattoos and bloody plastic fingers and stretchy skeletons and fuzzy lamps. All of which I spend hours on calculating how many prize tickets should be exchanged for them.

And then about half way through the calculation process, after a couple of beers in a stuffy school cafeteria, in the prize booth, the night before the carnival - by 10pm, I start letting the 5th graders tell me how many prize tickets they think something should be. And then I go sit in the corner chair and make them write the pricing out. Because by then, well, you know.

I'm tired.

And so, then, there's the weekend of cyclocross racing stuff and so forth that we must fit in between the carnival stuff as well.

I'm going to try racing both days. While Morgan chair's the carnival on Saturday, I'll go race and then come back and take kids to soccer and then bring them back and then I'm scheduled in the face painting booth for a shift. I'll paint some flowers and monkeys on faces and some bugs too.

And Morgan's going to try and ride in the dark a.m. on Saturday morning, before the carnival. You gotta get in your pre-day race ride you know.

And then on Sunday, we'll all head off to race some more cyclocross. And I think I'll try and win one of them blowup monkey's at the carnival to bring to the race and hang on the team tent

And then my head will explode.

One CX Race At A Time

I'm just like an alcoholic in a 12 step program.


photo by hans kellner

I have to tell myself every few minutes to keep going, to just do it to that hill one more time, and then you can quit if you want, but just one more time. Come on. Hup, hup!

Fool myself into continuing to race. Because it's not going to get any better the next time around, in fact, it'll probably be worse and hurt more and I may even throw up this time, or fall over going up it.

Just one more time, I have to keep telling myself.

I think most courses around here in Northern California tend not to be very hilly. So even though I'm not one of the fastest middle aged moms out there, I can usually stay in the mix with my dance moves around the barriers and tight turns and technical sections. I can usually pass people there. I like technical courses with no long straight aways, and no hills.

But add in a - super steep, gut busting, you're going so slow that you might fall over, you may want to run this but it's a pretty long gut busting hill and it's on pavement and right at the top of the super steep gut buster there's a tight turn and two barriers - and it's all over.

And I'm not detail oriented when it comes to racing bikes or training or tire pressure or post race analyzing, but I do remember a few details about yesterda. Like the first time up the climb, I was ok and was with everyone. And then the second, third and 4th times around, I tried again to stay in the mix, but slowly they'd pedal away.


photo by steve anderson

Half way up it the second time, I started dry heaving. And I thought I need to get off and walk. But I didn't. Just a little bit more I told myself. And a racer passed me and as I was heaving and I said "uh oh" and she said, don't barf on me. And once I stopped heaving, I was just about at the barriers and forgot where I was and came to almost a full stop, forgetting proper lady dismount etiquette and just fell over.

And either the voices in my head were silenced or the spectators got quiet, because all I could hear were the birds chirping and the angels coming. And then someone said, get up Lauren, hup hup!

And then the beer handoff and french fry handoff perked me up a little bit. Hup, hup!


photo by hans kellner

Come on, just a few more times, I told myself. And I managed to gain my composure and make some time and catch the group again.

But then once around the course, there was that hill. And my field slowly rode away.

Later on that night, sitting around the table with the kids and Morgan, eating our chinese take out - the 11 year old commented on all the sand on the course and how he'd had some trouble with it in his little race and that the hill hadn't seemed as bad as he thought it would be, it was the sand for him.

And I said, what sand? And Morgan said, what do you mean what sand. There was sand everywhere. And I said, "I guess I didn't really notice it".

It was that damned hill.

Besides Bikes

We celebrated my mom's 70th birthday this past weekend.

And took all the kids to santa cruz and stayed in a house near the beach. We played at the beach, walked the dog, went to the boardwalk, drank big beers, made fish tacos, ate bacon and eggs, watched surfers, hit each other, walked in the rain, went to the arcade, ate pancakes, talked about things we wanted to buy but can't afford, drank wine, ate salsa and chips and watched starwars thumbwars.

And then it was over.




When I was little, my mom always threatened us with the phrase that we were driving her to the "looney bin".

I'm this close, she'd yell at us. You'll be sorry when I'm gone. Who will you ask to do all these things you constantly ask me to do for you all the time she'd say.




And I remember thinking that she was talking about something like looney tunes. That she was going to live in the cartoon world. And I always thought it would be super cool.

Lately, I feel like that a lot. That I live in a cartoon world AND that I might go live in the loony bin.

I don't know if it's a mom thing, or a busy thing, or a sleep deprivation thing, or a trying to race bikes and work thing. But every day, around 4 or 5 pm, I start to crack a little.

I've been up since 5am, having only gotten 6 or 7 hours of intermittent sleep the night before because the dog was crying and the cat was sleeping on my head and I can't get anyone to do their homework before soccer practice or the pta board meeting or the auction meeting or wherever else i have to go or get them to go and the dog just got out of the yard again and I know I still have HOURS to go before I can get into bed.




And there's nothing to eat for dinner, because i forgot to take the fish out of the freezer and we haven't gone food shopping in a week. And I need to get something done for some statistic or agenda that's due at 7pm.

No one has soccer shoes on or girl scout outfits on and we're already late and they're tackling each other on the couch and she's screaming at the top of her lungs.

And I look in the mirror and I have that frizzy hair thing going on.

And then I yell it at the top of my lungs. That's it! They're coming to get me in an hour. It's the loony bin! And you'll be sorry when I'm gone.

And they both look up and they start putting their socks on. And then he says, that sounds hecka cool! You should go!