Pride

I have heard parents speak of being so proud of their children that it feels like their hearts might explode, and that I would understand that feeling someday when I birth a child of my own.

Until I have my own spawn, I will experience that pride due to Mr. G.

This weekend, Mr. G participated in a 50 mile bike event to raise money for the Vermont Food Banks via a local radio station and a local brewery.  For the biking (and beer drinking) crowd, it is a pretty big event.  Participants have the choice to enter a 25 mile route, a 50 mile route, or a 115 mile route.  Mr. G has been getting soft since last winter (and by soft I mean still the most in shape human being on the planet without an ounce of fat on him) so he decided to do the 50.

For really only about a month he trained for the event.  He started with a 13 mile route and came home complaining.  Then he added more and more miles until he eventually did almost 40.  He was in good shape, but still nervous.

As I drove him to the race drop off, he was nervous, fidgety and sighing in the car.  He was also pretty quiet, a for sure sign that he had stuff on his mind. 

"What are you most nervous about, honey?" I asked to try to calm him down.

"The commands, being tired, coming in dead last, being the only person to do this on a mountain bike." He replied.

All good reasons to be nervous.

But I knew that he could do it, and that he would not come in dead last, not even close.  I dropped him off, made sure he was all ready to go, left him at his meeting standing there alone, still feeling nervous, I was sure.

On my way home I passed some of the other bikers who were doing the 115 mile route.  They were on the hardest part of the route (that my beloved was about to embark on); nearly 7 miles up and over a mountain.  Not really, but it was nearly 7 miles of uphill, no break in site.  All of the bikers were powering through, and I could picture Mr. G biking up the hill as well with the rest of the group leaving from the 50 mile mark.  I was so proud of my husband for even participating in an event like this.  Regardless of how long it took him, I was proud that he was raising money for a great cause, challenging himself, working hard.

I got to the brewery (not for a beer, but because it was the location for the finish line.  And for a beer...) 3 hours after Mr. G had taken off.  He thought it would take him 4 hours.  I had faith it would be less.  I arrived and only about 40 other bikers had finished at this point.  I went to the finish line and waited.  And I only had to wait a few minutes, because in rode Mr. G, so fast, so sweaty, so wonderful.  He was one of the top 50 finishers from all groups (over 600 people participated) and he still had a sweet smile on his face.  Not only was he not last, but he was in the first wave of finishers!  And he had done it on a MOUNTAIN bike!  I could not contain my pride as I rushed over to hug and kiss the skinny, sweaty, stinky, shaky man (biker!) I call my husband.

Mr. G, I knew you could do it and I am so glad this race helped you gain the confidence you need.  You are a wonderful athlete and an amazing biker (and skier, and masseuse, and dish washer...) and my heart felt like it was bursting with pride for you on Saturday.  I cannot wait until next year to watch you cross the finish line after your 115 mile route. 

Filled with pride,

Bubbie