ride from hell

So Inland Empire. Ya, Inland Empire Century. The whole fricken 100 miles of this stupid ride. Why do I do this ride? I don't really know. Always seems like a good idea to start, then quickly turns sour.

On Friday after work I was little miss proactive and went to the bike store for new tubes. We do live in goathead country and one can never be too prepared. So I walk in the store (which has like a bizillion people in it because half of Tri-Cities has the same bright idea) and it occurs to me that I don't remember the size of my bike tires. So I told a guy who worked there what bike I had and he's like "oh ya, you need "X" tire tubes". Great, I buy 3.

So at 9:00 that night I am packing my car for the next mornings early departure and I look at my tires only to discover I actually have "y" tires, and the "x" tubes, won't fit. Thats ok, I think, I have a spare. Well, I pick up my bike only to find out my front tire is flat. Ok, so apparently I don't have a spare. But surely I can buy some at the ride tomorrow. Well, the only size they have at all at the ride are more "X" sized tubes.

So I call the DH and inform him that if I get a flat he is picking my happy ass up because I have no way to fix it. Well I wasn't lucky enough to get a flat. Nope, not me. Got to finish the whole ride. All...100...miles...of....it.

It occurs to me while I am heafting my fat ass up Webber Canyon (emphasis on the canyon) that I need to quit judging my athletic ability by how well I can do STP or by the fact I do spin class 2 or three times a week. Obviously thats not cutting it. Obviously my workout regimine needs to be broadened a bit.

But I finished. Sore and grumpy, and 3000 calories lighter, but finished. Of course that paled in comparison to the mothers day dinner I had to endure later that night. Actually the dinner was lovely, the food was great. What was painful was 15 minutes of the mother and the DH talking babies. And the fact my mother seems to think I should be having twins. Dear God, please kill me NOW.

So I should have an answer by next week as to whether or not I have been accepted to Grad school. I am excited. Scared shitless but excited. I do feel the pressure now to "get in, get it done, and get out" as sherman has officially cleared up the "two year plan" and I'm sure you can figure out that thats not the plan for another dog.

Everything will be fine. I just keep trying to tell myself that as I subtly start to hyperventilate.