The morning arrived a bit earlier than expected. The taste of mint julip still permeated from the festivities of the day before.
My phone already had 15 text messages; people were beginning to assemble. The day before, I dropped the bikes and bibs in the garage across from the studio.
Showered, checked the weather… a buddy recommended another layer who was already posted up at the start line, which saved me later that afternoon.
I hustled my way down to the subway, hoping that the jerseys and people were where they needed to be. I checked the charity passes to sort the breakfast situation… damn it, I scheduled the meet up at 7:15 when breakfast started at 6:30 and ended at 7:30. Oh well, wish they had told us that sooner.
Made my way down into the subway, and on the boards, I see a massive delay due to track work. Really, MTA? You have 30 thousand people heading downtown, and you’ve known for about a year in advance that this is a primary mode of getting the riders set? Well, grin and bear it.
I was now officially late for having left early. The story of my life.
I plugged some music in and fired up my F# playlist on Spotify. Damn, a lot of people put a lot of good tracks on this. It’s pretty cool to see what music inspires different people. Found a few new things I’m going to throw on my playlist when I get back.
I arrived on Wall Street. As I came, the phone started buzzing: Another 30 text messages coming in as I was now officially late to my own event. I was sure the volunteers had things under control, so it shouldn’t be that bad. When I rounded the corner, I saw this massive group of people in front of our office. Crap… people are stacking up where I am trying to have my group meet.
Oh shit… that IS my group. Wow, we are big! 43+ riders big. My heart swelled, that little lump in my throat came up. Damn you, David. All these people here for you and your story. I really wish they weren’t, and it was just me and you queuing up.
I said hello or something… or at least I think I did. My mind was in event mode now, and it was time to get the show on the road. We loaded up the bibs and jerseys, handed them out, and launched the first group early to make things a little more manageable.
I went back down into the garage, assembled my bike, and put some air in the tires. This year, David’s bike was staying in the trunk as the two riders who were going to use his bike had issues the day before and could not ride.
Everything took longer than expected, and then my phone rang again. My friend Erin was trapped on the west side, and they weren’t letting people across. I didn’t know what to do, but she’s resourceful so I knew we would meet up before the ride. Especially since I had her rider stickers and bibs.
I closed up the car, hopped on the bike, and a group of about 20 who had hung back to be the second peloton all started making our way. As we approached the VIP section, we realized that we were way late to the game and basically filtered into the group.
For those of you who have never done the five boro: It is a sea… literally a SEA of people. Thousands of people on bikes nervously anticipating the start.
The TD spokesperson and all the big corporate sponsors had their turn welcoming the riders. The speakers near us had better days as we only caught every third word.
And then we were off. That slow walking of your bike that normally happens while people mount up and ride as if was their first time. This is actually one of the most dangerous parts of the rides because a lot of people are not aware of how close other riders are. It is also the time when you realize who is using clip in pedals for the first time as you watch the panic while they try to un-cleat and fall over in slow motion. (Recommendation: Take a couple rides around the park on a Saturday before you use your clip-ins. It’s not as intuitive as you think, and you will be embarrassed.)
Very quickly the group got separated, and I was riding with a person whom I had just met that morning. I will reserve his right to anonymity until he let’s me know otherwise, but less than six months ago, he kissed his wife goodbye in the morning as she made her way to work. Less than an hour later, he would come to find out that she had stepped in front on an oncoming express train and took her own life. We rode, we talked, we shared the anxiety and the sadness and the grief and the questions, yet all the time it was a positive upbeat discussion. His attitude was so positive that I was impressed. He attributed some of his positivity to my blog. I was humbled.
We broke off at some point as the ride continued, and I got to see familiar faces and new ones. We made the first mandatory stop, and miraculously we were able to regroup a good portion of the crew to start off again.
On the second half of the ride, I pulled up to another person who I had only met but shared a few e-mails with before the event. And we, too, discussed the challenges he was having with a family member who was battling extreme depression. We pedaled and commiserated. I could feel the anguish he was suffering, trying to do everything in your power to help when nothing seems to work. We talked about how it impacts your everything being on the outside—the fear, the anger, all the emotions of a person who loves on the outside—looking in, trying to comprehend what is going on in the mind of a person whom they love and know so well.
All these anonymous faces were coming out of the pack of riders, and we shared and we shared and we talked openly amongst 32,000 people about depression and about suicide and what we think we can do to try to make a difference. Doing exactly that at the same time.
We arrived at Pedro’s, and as it is every year, people naturally gravitate to the meet spot. I plunked down a credit card and called out to Rose: 40 margaritas, 20 Coronas, 20 Dos Equis… Life is Priceless is here. She smiled as she knows each year we make the stop. Outside our neighbors were in their orange shirts, and we shared some pleasantries as these two groups seem to make camp each season.
The margaritas arrived, and riders poured in. We all shared stories of our ride thus far. Word had come in on my cell that one of our riders had been cut off and fallen. I hope she is okay. I reserved two margaritas for her arrival.
Theo and William were beaming with smiles as Theo redesigned his jersey into the new sleeveless variety. A couple people were showing the first stage of sunburn. Beer bottles clinked, laughs ensued, and for the next hour or so, we just hugged and shared stories all around, new friendships made new faces to add.
Colleen Soriano was making her way down the block, and when we spotted her, the whole group started yelling her name. It was funny because some of the other patrons who didn’t know her were like, “Hey Colleen!” She had actually asked me if I knew who it was, which was realistically possible. Turns out he just thought it was funny that 30 some-odd people are screaming “Colleen!”
We set up for the group shot. Turns out it was Ghost who took the tumble earlier, and she had an ice pack on her wrist. She had two margaritas.
Colleen was nearly run over 40+ times while trying to fit us all in the frame for the ride, so we had to marshal a Marshall to direct traffic around her while she took the picture. Yeah, she’s baller like that even in her personal life: People stop traffic for her.
We were settling tabs, and Glenn went back to “drop off” the camera. He knows what that means. It took a little longer than expected, so another tab was open. Another round of margaritas!
The last half of the ride was for me. The sun was shining, people were having fun. Glenn and I peeled off from the group once it actually started moving. We plugged the headphones in and boogied. This is that part of the ride where I am absolutely focused on one thing and one thing only:
David… I take this time by myself to thoroughly unplug from the world and just try to get it all out. I think of our bike rides as kids, of our adventures around Manhattan, of the good times… and then as I enter the turn for the Verrazano Bridge, I let my demons out. The hurt, the pain, the anger… I transform it into a burning source of energy. I start the last climb. I’m sweating, I’m tearing… if the gear seems too easy, I drop it down to make it harder. I force myself to suffer, to make every inch of my body burn. I turn the volume up, “Little Lion Man” just blasting at my inner core. I let every bit of rage into my legs. I push. As I reach the midpoint, I am exhausted. The bike begins to cruise, but I don’t let up. I push harder, moving my legs faster… I will not stop until I am absolutely ready to surrender.
To forgive him for what he did to us. To forgive myself for still feeling for doing more. To recognize that my loss and his decisions are being turned into something more powerful than I could have ever imagined and that this year, 42 people raised over $42,000.00 and shared their intimate stories with me and our riders and their friends.
And as I turn that last right corner into the finish, I am free. My body is free, and everything in me gives in. I put my bike down. I sat down facing the sun, took my shoes off to scrub my bare feet on the grass. I close my eyes and remind myself that I choose life, because no matter how bad things get, there can always be days like this.
Thank you so much to my sponsors: Spotify, DG, 33Across, and F#. Thank you to UM, Mediacom, SMG, Specific Media, Martini Media, the VMDB. Thank you to Kaitlyn McInnis and Brian Chap who were the top two individual fundraisers. Thank you to everybody reading this who contributed to your riders who rode for us. Thank you to my riders who shared your stories and for encouraging me to continue when many times I want to quit.
Next year we will be 100 riders, and we will raise over $100,000, and I swear to all of you that I will keep telling your stories and being a megaphone about depression and suicide, and we will collectively bring this into the public conversation.
Thank you.
