I'm "A City Mom" and the author of two novels, Down at the Golden Coin and Wish Club. I live in Chicago with my husband, three kids, two cats and a dog. When I'm not being a mom or a writer, I fly 767's for a major airline.
It seems maybe that Do-Gooder Graffiti I wrote about last week is having an effect. My sons and
I went for a run along the lakefront this afternoon and for the first time in a long time I didn't get "Lanced." If you've ever run the lake, then you know of what I speak. "Getting Lanced" is the term I use to describe the cyclists who brush by closely, too closely if you ask me, when they pass.
I hate that.
I know it's hard to be an aspiring Lance Armstrong within the city limits of Chicago; our lakefront path is crowded. But maybe you "Lancers" should have thought of that before you moved into Chicago to train for the Tour de France. And I know this is what you must be doing if you get so annoyed with anyone getting near your precious bike path that you feel the need to Lance us by speeding by so closely to show us you're annoyed. Sometimes I swear you take off some of my dog's ear hair when you go by.
I'm out there trying to take up as little space as possible,which is even harder in the winter when ice and snow take over the running path adjacent to the bike path. I must admit some days even I get annoyed with the strollers and people out for a stroll and the flocks (they must, apparently, be required to do this in flocks) of women power walking (and you know they're power-walking and not just out-for-a-stroll because they purposefully pump their arms to show you) but then I remember all the things our kindergarten teachers taught us about sharing and being kind. So I try to stay Zen and just run around them, remembering to clear left every time lest I get run over by someone in yellow spandex training for the Tour de France, which would be an ignominious way to die.
And yet today, on this wonderful, glorious Sunday afternoon, I ran with my sons (and the three of us, with the dog, are like a double-wide coming down the pike) and not once did we get Lanced. Not once!
Maybe it's the spirit of the season. Maybe it's the Do-Gooder graffiti inspiring all the Lancers to be kind. Or maybe it's just the fact that when the temperature 19 degrees, yellow spandex just doesn't keep you very warm. Regardless, today I celebrate a Lance-free run!