Crazy is loosely defined.

I have decided to train and ride in JDRF’s Ride to Cure Diabetes in Death Valley, Calif. on Oct. 20. Yes, I am aware this makes me crazy, but as an online friend pointed out: “crazy is loosely defined”

Let’s review why this makes me crazy. A) I haven’t been athletic or terribly active since my sophomore year of college. I played club rugby at MTSU that year, but in an unfortunate pancake block during a game against the University of Tennessee, I (and by I, I mean a monstrous, chewbacca-resembling girl) broke my collar bone. 2) While athletic as a child and teen, it was never something that came naturally to me (those skills went to my 6’7 brother). I played soccer and volleyball, but I had to work hard to play competitively. There’s no natural ability here. C) I only started riding a road bike a few months ago. Actually, I started riding a couple of summers ago to lose weight and found that I really enjoyed it. But a few months ago, I started to ride seriously — as in train for the JDRF Ride.

So while I knew last November this ride was something I wanted to do, I waited to write the post. For one, I wanted to register first (so you could donate) and for two, I wanted to make sure I believed I could actually do this.

I can ride 15-20 miles around my neighborhood without much effort or exhaustion (mostly because it’s flat). And I’ve started pedaling my old-school Fuji around Huntsville doing my best to avoid all major hills and inclines. But that avoidance thing is going to have to change because of the photo you see below. That’s the Death Valley course map. (Let the record show I agreed to this ride before I knew it was a 1,500 rise in elevation in less than 53 miles. I’m looking at you Ross.)

But for better or for worse, I’m committed now. During the next nine months, my life will revolve around cycling because 105 miles is a lot. It will quite possibly be the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done. I’m ridiculously scared, and this sort of endeavor is so far out of my comfort zone I think I need to ask my doctor for a prescription of Xanax. I have participated in sports my entire life, but I mostly played sports because my brother did. I am not built like an athlete, I’m short-winded and I give up when I get tired or it gets too hard. So to commit to something like this is huge for me. HUGE.

But this ride is not about me. I mean, it is in that I have diabetes and this will benefit me physically and will benefit me in the long run through research. But this ride is about others. It’s about my friends Ross and Sarah who ultimately encouraged me to do this. It’s about my friend Jeff who kept telling me “You Can Do This” and to prove it, he agreed to ride with me. It’s about Squeakers who rode 111 miles last year. It’s about a friend of mine who struggles with managing her diabetes, emotionally and physically. It’s about one of my nephews who hates exercise, but diabetes runs on both sides of his family. It’s about finishing what I started. It’s about giving every bit of this to God.

I’ve said this before in another post about riding, but I’ve given the entire thing to Him. I gave Him my diabetes control while riding (major low issues). I gave Him the fundraising, the training, the everything. I asked for strength and for wisdom and for guidance. And so far, I’ve seen so much from Him. The day the ride opened, I met three new online friends who’d signed up for Death Valley — all who encouraged me. I found out Moira is riding the same ride. One of my friends who owns a bike shop offered to teach me what I needed to know and to help throughout the process — even agreeing to help me train on the hills. (Argh, the hills.) And the morning I signed up for the ride, I felt such an incredible peace about the decision. I know this is what I’m supposed to be doing, and come October, I will give Him all the glory for the success.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us.” – 2 Corinthians 4:7

This ride is for every race I never finished, for each time I walked part of a 5K, for every mini-tri I’ve wussed out on. This ride is for you. For the race you didn’t finish, for the times you gave up, for the times you hate diabetes because it makes everything a little bit more difficult.

This ride is for every teen I work with in Huntsville. It’s for the future generations of diabetics who don’t think they can do something for whatever reason. Because, trust me when I say this: if I can do this…. you can totally do this. I’m the last person on earth capable of riding a century, but I’m doing it anyway.

I’ve committed to raising $4,000 to ride in California, which is more than I’ve raised in a single effort — ever. I’m anxious, but I know the money will be there. He will make sure of it. In fact, He might even start with you. I’m not asking for your time. I’m not asking you to throw $5 in a bucket for a raffle. I’m asking you to invest in me, to encourage me and to believe in me. That’s what your money means to me — it means you believe in me.

I believe in work, hard work, and I believe in a spirit that is not afraid. So I’m going to work hard, and I’m going to check my fear at the door. I’m hoping you believe in me enough to share $10 or $15 my way. But regardless of whether you’re able to support me financially, I’d love to hear your encouragement, and I’d love to have your prayers. This is one of the biggest things I’ve ever done. I’m nervous, but I have faith in myself.

“Finishing is better than starting. Patience is better than pride.” -Ecclesiastes 7:8