My birthday is coming up (41 seems like it will be ushered in with much less fanfare and angst than 40) and Whit gave me an early birthday present today: a bike. Now, that's not like an insulting toaster or a scale -- I am totally psyched. I've wanted a real bike for something like, oh, 32 years. Really. That's the last time I owned a bike, when I was in third grade.
Now, we've established that I'm short, so my bike looks a lot like Caroline's bike, but I have been assured it's a grown-up bike. And that the little shelf on the back isn't dorky. Mmmm hmmm.
So this afternoon, the kids and I went on a bike ride. We went to an old trolley trail that's an easy, safe ride.
I forgot that I have this weird competitive gene.
It's not that we were racing. It's just that I always wanted to be in front.
Well, so did my type-A daughter.
Caroline would pull ahead, then I'd zip around her. She'd go off into the grass and give me a mean look then haul ass up the hill as soon as guilt caused me to slow down. She stopped to take a picture (which is funny in itself) and I used the opportunity to grab the lead. Jack's shoe needed tying, so she flew triumphantly past me.
It was almost not fun. I don't like losing. And she's a worthy opponent.
Finally I realized how ridiculous it was that we were turning an afternoon bike ride into the Tour de France, and I let the kids coast down the final hill in front of me.
Fist pump from Caroline: "I won!" Kudos from her lieutenant: "Yeah, you beat Mommy! That's amazing!" (Thanks for the loyalty, Jack.)
Is it unsportsmanlike conduct to tell her I LET her win???
On second thought, don't answer that.