The Tour de Something

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.

Poor Jack.

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.