It’s not the first time my sister has pushed me during a long-ride. The first was my inaugural hill ride at Chappell Hill. The most recent was this morning on a 46-mile ride in Katy. She literally rode parallel to me and put her hand on my back to give me some extra oomph. Part of it is I’m simply not as strong as a rider as she is. Part of it was that I didn’t eat enough for breakfast because I thought my body could use my fat as fuel.
Yea, I was embarrased. I hate letting people down, especially if that person is my sister, who’s time is probably more valuable than mine. She got up early when she should be sleeping, and she missed her bbq lunch because I was too slow; but, she didn’t scold me once for being plain stupid for not eating enough.
I struggle with how much to eat, when to eat, and how I feel after I eat. Don’t get me wrong, I love, love, love to eat. My whole life is centered around food. I struggle with looking at my body when there’s a mirror present. I struggle with society’s definition of how I could look. I struggle with thoughts of fast ways to purge unwanted fat. I even have fat-blasting capsules in my pantry. I almost purchased a Groupon for ultrasonic lipo the other day until I realized I was out of my mind. I sometimes punch my stomach to hopefully break up fat cells so they can have the option of leaving my body. I eat ungodly amounts of beets when possible because I read once they help you burn fat more efficiently.
But it’s not worth it to me to get to the starting line and not be ready to ride with my sister. I should be eating so I can optimize my performance in life, not so skinny twig bitches can tell me how beautiful I am. My sister loves me so much, and that so much is worth losing sleep over, or sitting in traffic to bring me sunflowers, or driving my sad depressed self to Utah where she knew it would change my life, or scrubbing road rash off my body as I yell un-nice words, or to know that there’s never enough carebears in my house, or to humor me in my necessity to obtain the best green juice in Chicago. I know how beautiful I am to her. I know how beautiful I am to me.
She’s my rock. She’s the definition of awesome. She’s my best friend (and probably your best friend if you’re worth it). She’s the little sister I look up to. She’s the strongest woman I know. She knows all my faults. She lets me have too much wine at dinner. She knows what I’m capable of even when I don’t think I’m good enough. She means the world to me, and I want the world to know that. Ange, I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t eat enough for breakfast, but I tried to make up for it at lunch today.
She’s my super Angie Man.