All I Need is a Banana and a Dog to Walk

Lately at cross races I'll often see Lulu (the 8 year old) walking or running by with a dog on a leash. She seems to have taken on the responsibility of being the official cyclocross dog walker.

To be at the start your race on the start line, and see your kid running by with one dog and by the end of your race, look up to see her walking along with some other dog ...

This past weekend I raced both days. And watched half of the four soccer games in Sam's (the 10 year old) end of the soccer season, soccer tournament.

Luckily, Saturday's race was at night. So we traveled to both games on Saturday and then left after the second game to meet Morgan at the race Saturday afternoon. And left Sam with a friend for the night.

So, back to me.



I don't really get into the race report type descriptions. But, Saturday's course was fun - so maybe I'll try.

Let's see, we raced in the dark. The laps were short and fast and fun. I held back at the start - and cruised along, using the Jenny Feix strategy of slowly working my way past women as they blew their wads on the first few laps.



I ran past a few crashes on the little hills - as some tried to ride them, bunched up, and ended up on their backs. I think I even saw Jenny sliding down on top of Rita or something as I was running past and waving goodbye.



Are you ok ladies? I said as I skipped around them.

And then a few laps later, there was a dog in the middle of the course, at the start/finish, with a man trying to drag him off. And the dog wouldn't budge. And then he pulled himself out of his collar. And started coming towards me, as I was coming at him full bore on the asphalt. And the man was yelling at the dog and people were yelling at me and I thought, oh no, this might be the end of my race.

And then I slowed down and went around him. And no one passed me.

But then, as usual, I blew my wad a bit too much in the excitement and fizzled at the end. I even thought for a minute as I was finishing, hmm, maybe I SHOULD try training for cyclocross. But then the thought slipped my mind as someone complimented me on my socks.



We got home about midnight, with an extra kid, and as we were unpacking the truck - I, at the same time, repacked the audi for the morning.

And then bright and early Sunday, I headed off with two little girls and Mel down to Monterey.



And we raced. And godamn, it was hot as hell down there. Like 80 degree in the middle of November hot. Which is more like 95 degrees in June hot. Because in November you don't expect heat like that, so your body is really only primed for 60 degrees or something.

So the single parent, dual kid, race day was an experiment for me. I've watched others do it pretty well. So I figured, two little girls would be good practice. Practice for the two siblings who tend to tease and pick on each other - which I'll be attempting next weekend.

And I also knew, once I got to the race, Allie's mom would be there, maybe.

It went fine. Except for the constant, whining about the heat and how there was nothing to do and how this race course sucked and how the trees sucked and how they were bored because I wouldn't let them wander off into the hidden mine fields of the old army base and how there was nothing to do and how come I didn't bring better food and how come we didn't bring their bikes and sharkies taste like crap.



When we first got there, we walked for a while to get to the place where I was going to make them hang out and they asked me where the team tent was. And I said, no team tent today. And they said WHAT? NO TEAM TENT? What kind of race IS this anyway? Why didn't you bring the team tent? Where's the BBQ? Where's all the FOOD?

Oh, if life were that easy - where I COULD actually bring the 80lb gigantic black team tent and drag it the 1/2 mile from the parking area, with all my stuff and my spare wheels and water, to the hang out area. And then set up the bbq and the ice chest and then go race.

After I got them situated into climbing some trees and playing with my camera, I went to pre-ride the course. And when I got back Lulu had to go pee.

And the bathrooms were way the fuck on the other side of the mountain. So I told her to go in the bushes.



Nope, she said. There's a bug that's oozing stuff and some guy just told us that there's a mine field out there and not to play out there.

Yeah, said Allie. That bug is weird. It's oozing everywhere.

Ok, I said. Pee in your pants then. And I left to go pee in the bushes.

Later, I heard there was a mini meltdown and some crying from Allie. And after wards she told her mom that all she really needed was a banana and a dog to walk.

The Last Cookie

When we were kids, we had cookies and pretzels around the house a lot.

My mom had a thing for cookies, usually chocolate chip, the toll house kind. And my dad had a thing for pretzels, the skinny stick kind.



Sometimes after I was supposed to be in bed, I'd come out to the living room after a bad dream or something and there they'd be. Sitting on the couch, watching Barney Miller. Him with his beer and his bowl of pretzels and her with her cookies, slowly munching around the chocolate chips.

And Ralph, our dog, laying in wait.

But us three kids, we could have cared less about the pretzels back then.



Although, sometimes, I'd hang out with my dad while he was working on one of the cars and eat his pretzels with him, while he explained how the carburetor worked. I'd suck all the salt off each one and place them - wet, de-salted and soggy back into the bowl and wait for him to reach in and grab one and get pissed.

But really, I would have rather eaten the cookies.

The cookies had their own place on the counter in a cookie jar. It lived on the counter in clear view. It wasn't hidden in the food cupboard or on top of the refrigerator or up near the cereal boxes. It was near the sink, right there, near the bread dough mixer thing for all of us to see.

A pottery jar labeled "cookies". With cookies in it. And a lid.

And knowing that the cookies were in high demand, my mom really only had one rule. No one was allowed to eat the last cookie, ever.

Never, ever, ever.



And while we were little, it worked. It was the law of the land. We would sneak a few here and there. Quietly climb onto the counter and very carefully take the lid off and put the hand in and grab a few.

If you got there and there was only one left, you knew not to take it. It was your mom's cookie.

And you'd curse to yourself and put the lid back on, and quietly move on. You'd try the larger cupboard and find the unsweetened chocolate used for baking and take a bite of it, hoping that it really was a dream come true and that there really was a giant bar of chocolate sitting in plain view in the cupboard just for you. But then you'd bite into it and it would be bitter.

And so you'd leave the kitchen frustrated and mumbling to yourself about how there was never anything good to eat in the house.

But as you got bigger, once in a while you'd get desperate enough to make the decision to eat the last cookie. Because, sometimes it would take days for your mom to get to eating it. And you could never understand how she could let one cookie sit for so many days at a time without it getting eaten.

So you'd say fuck the goddamn cookie and you'd eat it. And it was usually while you were still sitting on the counter, with the lid in your hand.

And then, sure enough, you'd be up in your room dressing Ralph up in shorts and a tank top and trying to get your mickey mouse ears to stay on with the rubber band and you'd hear your mom yelling...



...at your little sister.

And you'd hear your little sister crying. And she'd be whining about how she didn't do it.

And you'd just turn your music up louder and pretend not to hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, knowing. All because of that dumb cookie.

And she'd throw open the door and look around and say Oh, for christ's sakes! When was the last time you cleaned this room! And then Ralph would run out.

Which leads me to earlier tonight at Lulu's end of the season soccer dinner party. There was cake and brownies after dinner and after a little while there were some brownies left. And so I had a few. And then I came back to the food table later on after a conversation and saw that there was one brownie left. And I just couldn't get myself to take it, even though I wanted it.

And I looked at it for a few minutes too long and thought to myself never, ever take the last brownie.

Pinned

Now's about the time in the season where I start to feel a little pinned up against the wall.

It's not really a momentum anyone can keep going and still feel sane.



Any good and selfless mom would maybe feel sad that the soccer season is almost over and start to think about the next kid sport they may want to get the youngins' involved in during the lull of winter and keep them appropriately focused on growing as individuals in a sporting environment.

But for christ sake, soccer has a long season and secretly I'm glad there's only a few more weeks of it left and there are no plans for lacrosse - because now weekends will only be about cyclocross.

Don't get me wrong.

We will encourage our young ones to stay active and participate in a winter sport, but it will be cyclocross racing - which is a well respected sport, much like polo or tennis or baseball or lacrosse or soccer or golf.

And also maybe some snail farming.



And saturdays will be for catching up on laundry and maybe some leisurely muddy mountain bike rides and sleeping in and not driving all over the place for soccer.

And Sundays will be for cyclocross.



But right now, I feel pinned. And a bit crazed. Like I might do something like not go after the dog if it gets out from the yard. I will not go chase it. She'll be free to go. I may even strap a backpack on her with her food in it and accidentally leave the gate open. Or I might do something like let my kids eat some of their halloween candy before dinner.



Or maybe I'll have yogurt parfait for dinner and make them all eat leftovers that they warm up themselves.



I just noticed, re-reading some of my recent posts, that I seem to be alternating between racing bikes and feeling crazed about life in between. And trying to fit in some riding and running and commuting. And going to work at 5:30 in the morning.



And not sitting down when I get home from work, for fear of not being able to get up. Like today, which is what I did for a few hours - to try and get some work done for the magazine. And then when I got up I noticed I'd been sitting in cat pee the whole time. Because the cat had been locked in the family room without a litter box all day.



I kept smelling something weird and thought I had bad b.o. You know, the kind of smell you sometimes have when you're on your way to getting a cold or something.



I'm stretched way too thin right now.



Anyway. Time for a break from racing for a few weeks. To come out from the fog and catch up on the laundry. And ride a bike for more then 60 minutes at a time. And wash off the cat pee.


(taken by my sister)