I get freaked out by having to drive somewhere new to take my dog on a light rail system I've never been on, to walk around in an airport. Scary, right?
Or is scary driving to LA with a small contingent from your tiny, under-funded, Portland-based amateur bike racing team and going to the line with bike racers half again your size with more professional-level training under their belt this year alone then you've received in your lifetime, with the goal of beating them fair and square, using only your sinewy muscles, ninja skill, Celtic hocus-pocus and pirate-like voodoo?
That's what I thought.
It's Nationals time again and Dean is on his way to LA to the Staples Center Velodrome. No big thing. Just the make-up of the Beijing Olympics team is on the line. If you remember, Drew and I accompanied the team down to LA last year in the team van. Dean did great. I thought I was going to die of terror.
This is one of those national championships right before an Olympic year. Everybody is on edge. Even if we had money to follow him, it would be a bad idea. I would come back with either a stroke-induced limp or a hemorrhaging ulcer.
I've seen him crash. I've seen him get hurt. I've seen him lose races he should have won. I don't know which one is more painful to watch. They all tear my heart out. But fear of those outcomes can only hurt you.
Fear is the thing that I fight with the most. Because it's useless. Especially when you have a son who has courage. Remember the lesson from before? Courage is doing scary stuff even if you're scared. And Dean is the King of the Forest with that stuff.
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