Last week was a rest week, and it was nice to actually feel normal again. We went out, stayed up a little later, slept in a little longer and just enjoyed life. We even had some impromptu date outings, which were refreshing. And there was wine involved. Can't beat that.
Now the monster schedule has returned, but there's a new shift in the hours we're awake. Warmer days are more promising, and Devin's been taking advantage of outdoor workouts whenever he can, even after work rather than squeezing everything in early in the morning. I can't blame him; I've seen it on his face--the complete agony of being stuck on a trainer in the basement for two to three hours. We'll just leave it at: that is not the preferred way to ride.
But I prefer it because I know he's safe. Although a smooth shoulder along the highway is one of the most refreshing moments for a cyclist after a long winter, watching him coast down the street as he sets out for the open road begins my day's most painful hours.
I'm not always a glass-half-full kind of girl--I'm actually a bit of a worry wart (thanks, Mom). So, I find myself incessantly grabbing my phone to check his location on GPS, just to have a general idea of his route (if he hadn't already told me) and to make sure he's made progress since the last time I looked. Does this make me slightly stalker-ish? Obsessive? Yeah, probably. Thanks to my inherited inability to just chill, the only way I can take my mind off of it is to distract myself with laundry or shopping or a beer. Sometimes a whole hour goes by. Then I gasp with panic and dive for my phone, because I feel like not having maintained knowledge of his whereabouts makes me a bad wife or something. Seriously. There must be something wrong with me. Maybe I just need additional beer to distract me a bit longer.
We know so many cyclists locally and throughout Nebraska. I wonder if their significant others and families feel the same way I do. Maybe they did at first and are more at ease after so many years. Maybe they're just better at keeping their emotions in check.
My fears revved up in recent weeks when a local cyclist was hit head on and killed in the middle of the day west of the city. I took an afternoon break to check local news, and it was everywhere. The location sounded familiar, along a major highway, so I mapped it. My jaw dropped. The accident happened along one of Devin's more common ride routes. It made me sick.
Experienced athletes dress to be seen when in high-traffic areas, but no amount of bright clothing, reflective gear or flashing lights can help you when you're up against a vehicle. When Devin went out for rides in the following days, I found myself thinking those horrible "what if" thoughts, making it even harder to put myself at ease until I heard him coming back through the door.
He did something for himself, and I suppose his family and me, last week. He finally got a Road ID.
Since he doesn't carry his wallet or any sort of identification when he's out on a ride, this allows him to wear a band on his wrist that displays his name and phone numbers of people to contact in an emergency. It's just a little piece of mind that, should an accident happen, first responders can know his name and who to call.
I'm still going to look him up no mater what, but I'm just going to chalk it up to practicing for the big day when he'll be swimming, biking, running for 10-plus hours.
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