100 Milestones: The Ride For Missing Children

I'm in the gray in the back. Dad is in the orange/red beside me. (Right)

To warn anyone reading this: When I started this entry it was Friday night, and I'd actually decided on a glass of wine after that day. I was up at 4AM for the ride that morning. So, there's really no telling how any of this will come across.



WOW.



I just don't know how to articulate this post, I'msorryI'msorry.

This weekend was incredible. My feet hurt. My hands hurt. Other things hurt.

100 Miles, on bikes, through the Capital District, with the strongest, fittest, most inspirational people I have absolutely ever had the privilege of knowing. And included in that is my unbreakable father. 100 miles on his bike.

What's more, the ride itself was just beyond anything I could have comprehended. When we got to SUNY Albany's sports center that morning, I was probably as nervous as I have ever been. Mom kept forcing me to eat, it was freezing outside, and everyone involved with the organization was there. I kept rattling off things I was sure I was forgetting to Mom, "What about my helmet, is it tight enough?" "How many wagons are there if bikers get tired and need to ride?" "What if I can't even get to the halfway point?" "What if I forget the words to the National Anthem?" I don't even remember the things she said back, but you know how it goes. Besides, after years of coaching me through pre-audition jitters, she knew the drill. "Eat a banana."

All nerves went out the window during that opening ceremony. Families of people who'd gone missing were either riding with us or volunteering for the day to stand up for theirs. Families got up to talk about what their struggle was like, and how much it meant to them to have this organization. Truly, I cannot imagine the kind of suffering losing a loved one to abduction must be. No word on where they are. No leads. No closure. I had always felt committed to the cause, but hearing these stories lit a fire that I hadn't known before. As we pulled out of Albany, as a team, the entire police force was lined up, hundreds of people, along either side of the road - saluting, and then cheering.

That happened throughout the entire day - at each school we visited, every single student waited outside for us and cheered and held signs and asked us to sign autographs. (On the signs they made, or on their arms and faces). We played games with them and taught them about safety. Then, we hopped back on our bikes to ride down the highways with police escorts for another 30 miles until the next school. I never felt tired once.

By 4:15 that day, we were almost back to where we started, and my Dad and I had ridden beside each other for almost the entire trip. Despite a terrifying moment where my pedals locked up and I had to quickly skid off the road to fix them, neither of us hopped in any of the wagons once, or had any mishaps. In fact, for several hours of the trip (the amount of time we were actually on our bikes that day was about 7 hours), we talked about life. We joked around. I told him about plans I have coming up, and he told me about things he hoped to do next. It was almost like we were in the car going someplace, rather than pedaling at an average pace of about 16-18mph through upstate New York.

I kept thinking, as we went by gorgeous lakes and towns, mountains and planes (and amber waves of graaain...), how many obstacles there were to this goal. Obviously physical ones - being in the right shape to ride up to this many miles, training throughout brutally hot and busy summer weeks, and also having the endurance to keep moving, mile after mile. Then, there were the mental obstacles. Demons with so many faces and masks, showing themselves in the form of fear, doubt, insecurity, shyness, anger... These were the ones that almost claimed the goal. I'm sure this was the case for every person on the ride.

Getting to the end of that day wasn't just about being physically fit; in fact, I'd say that was the smallest aspect. There were milestones all summer that led to that last one. Dad going home from the hospital, with a sling and pain killers. My mother and I starting brand new jobs in August. Tom coming to NYC to decide whether or not he wants to pursue living here. Dad going on his first jog after the crash and then, shortly after, hopping back on his bike. These were all baby steps - seemingly small things that in hindsight were enormous contributors to achieving the one thing I had come to think would be impossible.

I know this could start to sound like a Mr. Roger's moment, but that thinking - that it really just takes a small step in one direction to wind up just a couple months later leading you across a 100-mile finish line - changed me this fall. While I plan to sit back and rest for a few days with my whiskey and my good friends, and just celebrate having gotten there, I'm secretly even more excited for mile-marker 200. Whatever that may be.

Happier than ever, minutes after the end of the Ride!