Sunday, September 25, 2011


I am turning 30 in a couple of weeks. Yesterday I did an 8-hour solo mountain bike race to prove to myself that I was young and fit. Yesterday someone died at that mountain bike race. My friend did CPR and was wishing I rode by. Unfortunately, I was someone else out on the course and couldn't help her. He did not survive. Life went on as usual. Nobody stopped (except a couple of the guys who helped with the CPR efforts), the race went on, no announcement was made until the awards ceremony. There was no moment of silence, no cancellation of the race. It felt pretty wrong to be honest. Because I was in the midst of a grueling solo effort, quite honestly it didn't compute at the time. My husband was supporting me at the race and wasn't racing himself and he had a really hard time coming to terms with everything just going on as usual without any acknowledgment that a man's life had just ended in his 50s out on the trail. Nobody knows for sure what happened. They told us all that he had an MI, but it's impossible to know. He died out there in the woods, while we all pursued small plaques.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

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