I first had the privilege of meeting Dara Marks-Marino in 2001 at the NORBA Nationals mountain bike race at Snowshoe, West Virginia. At that time she was already racing as a Pro, and my first memory of her was the way she made everyone around her feel like they were the most important person in the world. She had a sincere friendliness about her that just drew people to her. We were both preriding the cross country race course, and she very kindly let me follow her line down a sketchy descent, showing me where the best route was, and took time out of her busy schedule even to chat for a few moments. Over the ensuing years, we have run into each other again several times at Nationals at both Snowshoe and Vermont, and I was amazed that each time she remembered me, even though I was, and at my age will always remain, just an amateur. She even went so far as to stick around for the very end of the awards ceremony at the Vermont Nationals just to cheer for me, offered to provide support for me during the Snowshoe Marathon last summer, and called me on the phone from all the way across the country last fall to inform me that I had won the overall Marathon Series for my age group and congratulate me on that, as I was unable to attend due to the death of my stepfather. Every time I've ever seen Dara, she always has time not only for me, but for anyone and everyone, graciously answering questions, being willing to pose for photographs with fans, signing autographs, etc., and still exudes that same sincere kindness and genuine interest and concern for others.
Today I happened across an article she had written which touched me so deeply, I wanted to share it. I hope the world knows what a precious gift this young woman is and appreciates her for the truly wonderful person she is.
The full article Dara wrote may be found
Here . However, if I may, I would like to quote some of the lines from it, where she talks about a memorium she had attended for a rider killed by a drunk driver, and states "And we stood there knowing that we'll all still continue to ride, everyday, taking the risk because the alternative is holing up inside the house and not really living life just to make sure we don't have life taken from us... So what can we do? Embrace life. Be grateful you are alive. Do today those things you want to do someday. Love with abandon. Make sure the people you love know you love them. Ride your bike. "
Thank you Dara, for reminding me to embrace life, and for the precious gift of your beautiful words. You are a treasure to to me, and I thank you for that.
Since today was my long ride day, we decided to head up to Dark Mountain for a day trip. Thanks to the diligent efforts of the Brushy Mountain Cyclists Club - who were there again today working on the trail as they do regularly - this is one of the most beautiful and sustainable trails in the region. Although I had not ridden here since the Burn 24 Hour race last spring, it surprised me how some of the most innocuous appearing features of a trail can spark very vivid memories. On turning certain corners, I found that I remembered particular root and rock configurations like I had just ridden them yesterday, and could "see" in my mind's eye the twists and turns of the trail that followed these particular sections as clearly as the back of my own hand. With no suspension and no gears, this time I was truly fully able to experience all the undulations and rollercoaster ride feel of the trail. Rather than finding those sensations disconcerting, however, I actually felt more "connected" with my bike and the trail and seemed better able to get into a definitive rhythm with it. Riding these trails was like visiting an old friend and I cherished every lung-busting climb as well as each breathtaking descent. 
Many thanks to the Brushy Mountain Cyclists. Your efforts are more appreciated than you will ever know!
This evening I received my copy of the instructional dance DVD in which I was a student participant, entitled "Bellydance Moves and Combinations Anyone Can Do". The video is available for purchase through 
You can dance anywhere, even if only in your heart.
I talked with Charlie again today as I had some questions about the next two weeks of my training program which arrived via e-mail today. He informed me that my training is now "getting more serious" since my race season will be starting late next month. This means I will be riding at odd hours, for long sessions, and actually putting increased focus on those intervening recovery days to allow my muscles to restore and fully realize the strengthening obtained from the increased intensity and duration of work. I know I exasperated him with my initial resistance to these new recommendations and my repeated questions, but he retained his usual good sense of humor, telling me it was "okay if you curse me as you do these workouts; you'll be thanking me later", and I could almost see him smiling on the other end of the telephone as he told me that.
Ten years ago today I rode a bicycle for the very first time in my life. It seems like only yesterday - I can still remember the anxiety, the nervousness, the fear of being an adult and riding a bike for the first time. But I also remember the exhilaration and the sheer unadulterated joy of gliding down the sidewalk on that very first ride. I remember not wanting it to end, and the accompanying realization that I was hopelessly, eternally hooked on bicycling, even from the very first moment I wrapped my fingers around the handlebar. It's hard for me to believe that ten years have passed, and how much things change and yet stay the same. I've gone from getting out of breath and feeling like I was going to collapse after merely riding on a flat driveway for less than 100 yards to racing mountain bikes for 24 hours at a time. And yet, one thing remains constant - I still love to ride my bike. So today, to celebrate that first ride, Steve and I headed out on our bikes. Since all the area trails were wet from yesterday's rain, we rode the fireroads at Umstead. For three and a half hours we rode and reminisced, and just enjoyed being outside in the woods on our bikes. We breathed in the fresh air and laughed as the sun stroked our cheeks, methodically made our way up the climbs and then squealed with the joy of delighted children as we flew back down. When I'm on my bike, I feel like I am 43 going on 7 and I can't imagine a happier way to "age".
