Goodnight, I whispered. The words froze in the cold air. No one heard. I wiggled down into the depths of my bivy sack as if that would keep me warmer. My eyes closed and visions of my little boy cheering me on filtered in. I had seen him half a day earlier when I biked through my hometown, Canmore.
“You won the race, Mama!” He had cheered. His cow bell clanging.
“No honey, it is not over yet. I’m going to bike for a few more days,” I gulped back the guilt. I looked down at my GPS. It showed I wasn’t even a third done the 700-kilometre race.
Now, in the dark of night, I tucked my knees into my belly as if the curl would help the loneliness.
Sleep never came.
You chose to be here, Kat, I scolded. I knew it, but it certainly had me question my sanity.
I stuffed the now wet glorified garbage bag into its bikepacking sack. My hands shook while I fought with the last buckle; while I struggled between being me and being a mom. My goals for the new day were not clear. The day before was incredible at nearly 300 kilometres – my personal best. Mostly I loved it. Mostly I smiled, sang and soared.