On Sunday I loaded up my bike and braced myself for a cold, wet, misery-inducing 45miles.

The “Ride for Rick” was a long-scheduled charity event for a local cyclist battling cancer. He sadly lost his fight and passed away last week. The ride and fundraiser BBQ, was more somber but still held to raise funds for his outstanding medical expenses and show southern community support for his widow and daughter.

I thought the least I could do was brave a little weather and show up.

I expected (hoped) that maybe the ride would be canceled. I was planning my gym workout as I pulled into the lot. A clutch of men in rain-gear, already astride their steeds, dispelled my dry daydreams.

Ok. Let’s do this.

After barely 5miles I wasn’t at all sure I could. I was desperately wishing that I had been one of the smarter ones that chose the shorter 26mile route, stayed warm at home, or waited til later in the day…

I wanted to be anywhere, doing anything rather than pumping with rivulets of water running down my glasses from above, getting sprayed in the face by the wheel in front of me, losing feeling in my pruning toes, muscles aching with effort after too much at the gym the night before and in all attempting to keep pace with the only others doing the long route —  three much stronger men.

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