Bourgeois Dilemma #29: my bike trip in tuscany is causing me stress

Yes, it's been a while since I've found the time to write. First, I had to return to Alison from Aliey which involves a lot of unpacking, reorganizing and the like. I needed to check on things like the progress across the way at the Krugman's (looks like they might move in sometime sort of soon). And find stuff that Carmen managed to lose even though we weren't even home. The kids had to get back to school, which happens to little, too late in my estimation. The dog had to be neutered and a summer's worth of weird food remainders left around by my sweet husband had to be painstakingly weeded out "oh honey, that's not a bug in your cereal, it's just the way they cook it." Oops. It was a bug. A lot of bugs, in fact. Humming in the background of all this of course is The Job. Very busy. Sweaty palms busy. But that's a good thing.

So where and how in all of this am I supposed to get ready for a week long bike trip in Tuscany?

One of the outcomes of the particular trajectory of my life is that I am fortunate to know a handful of people whose generous spirit is equalled by their generous bank account and from time to time, we are the direct beneficiaries of their largess. Now, vacationing with the Wealthy is not for the faint of heart because at times, the "free" vacation ends up costing more than one might spend on the typical family outing to the time share. Which is not to say it's not worth it to get to the alps for a week in a chalet with fresh chocolate croissants for breakfast every day. But funny things can happen (maybe it's the altitude?) such as getting swept away and finding yourself standing on a laser foot measurement device purchasing $1800 ski boots that are guaranteed to fit forever. Because that's what all the other kids are doing! All kidding aside, I've seen horses on stage at La Fenice in Venice, para sailed off the side of a mountain with my skis on, and skied off piste in the alps like I was born to do it and I am a better person, if poorer, for having gone along.

But now, it's gone massive. We are being treated to a week long bike trip in Toscana Maratima. We will ride up to 100 miles a day with climbs up to beautiful medieval mountain towns overlooking the hills, do yoga every morning and learn to make olive oil. And, lucky for us, we are someone's guest on the trip. Which is awesome. But it does not make it "free." Mainly because you cannot train for a bike trip like that on a 12 year old hybrid mommy bike with a seat on the back and a basket on the front.

Step 1: go to the bike shop and get a proper bike. Go with the intention of getting the cheapest bike you can get away with to serve the purpose. Leave with a carbon road bike with custom pedals, the newest shoe technology, special ultra padded bike shorts, jerseys, socks, glasses and gloves. Make an appointment to have the bike "fitted" and be sure to give the bike store man your email so that he can let you know when the arm warmers and windbreakers are in. While you are there, buy new bikes for your children and get everyone in the family a new insulated water bottle. Why not?

Step 2: make the time to ride the bike for up to 2-3 hours at a stretch. Thank god, it seems that Alison can rely on some of the same muscles that Aliey has been working on the tennis court over the summer to pedal on the bike as it seems to go pretty well the first time out. And there are some side benefits. The special cycling gear, for example, is kind of like full body spanx. Sometimes, I don't want to take it off when I get home. The glasses are cool and super lightweight and look like the ones Bono wears. Except for the fact that I am keeling over backward on account of the shoes, I actually look pretty hot. Thinking that my friend Delia might be better off taking up cycling so as to look the part at her kids sporting events. The nice thing about the rides themselves is that they take me to places I wouldn't otherwise be at times I wouldn't be there. Like along the shoreline at 6AM in CT the day I took my dad to have his driving test. Watching fat men with carpenter's smiles reel in crabs while the tide rushed in sure was a nice way to start the day. Naturally, my sweet husband has cancelled his marathon training in order to make time for the bike trip preparation and reported to me over dinner tonight as he shoved taco number 4 down his craw that he weighs the same as he did his senior year in high school. Me? Chowing the three mini packets of swedish fish from the big bag I bought to send as a care package to my goddaughter in boarding school and that sort of wanton eating of junk means that ride as I may, I am still subject to apt commentary like mommy your flab is hanging down tonight.

Step 3: the crushing blow. Procure the appropriate "apres bike" attire and required gear. Tuscany in October. It might be hot, it might be cold. You need to walk around the medieval towns. Swim by the sea. Look casual but elegant for dinner. Bring a yoga mat if you like padding underneath you when you do yoga. Somehow it seems that just wearing the body spanx bike gear with a pashmina and big earrings isn't going to cut it here. So I trawl around the sale racks at j crew and banana republic hoping to find a few signature items to enliven the white jeans. Do they know in sienna that it's gauche to wear white after labor day? I hope not.

But you know, the special bike is pretty darn fast. When I get on and start to pedal, it moves and I get a little frisson just like when I was a kid and Mrs. Blum let us ride in her circular driveway and play "village". Yesterday I went whizzing all the way down to wall street in about 30 minutes. Of course, I did get totally lost and ended up in Chinatown and only managed to suffer the humiliation of falling while panicking and failing to properly release my foot from the pedal once. As a master of the universe striding by said "that looks more embarrassing than painful." Right-o chap. Over the weekend I encountered a professional bike race in central park and had the pleasure of being passed at high speeds by packs of cyclists who seem to be able to propel themselves uphill faster than I can go in a car. Good for them! I only wish that I was as lucky as the girl on a date with the dude in the "palo alto cycling" jersey who actually put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her up the big hill. But I am sure that on the bike trip there will be a suave fellow named Fabrizio who is there for just that purpose on the way to Castagneto Carducci.

Or there's always the van.

Bourgeois Dilemma #44: I am not tournament ready.

First of all, to those of you who've been asking for another dilemma, my heartfelt apologies. Aliey was really, really busy for the last month and between the beach, keeping the job above water, the family and a lot of time on the court as well as entertaining in style, well, not much time for this. But I am back and it seems fitting given the US Open to focus on the game of tennis.

I am not one of those long legged preppies who is a natural on the court in a cute white skirt no matter who's playing. In my early years, in fact, I participated in the tennis clinic at the club after swim team because my mom left me there all day and that's what the other kids did. But I was not good. Lester, the kindly old pro who also handed out candy canes dressed as santa at the annual sing along carol party, tried his level best to get me to do whatever it was they wanted us to do back in the 70's when swinging a racquet, but it didn't really happen for him or for me. As a harbinger of the "everyone gets a medal" concept, I managed to get a bronze sticker for my plaque for each skill I failed to attain: forehand, backhand, serve and volley.

But, in the real world, most people have not had the benefit of an early life with grandparents who turned on the TV only to watch Wimbledon and plenty of time at the club trying to get better. In a civilian setting, in my late 20s and the early days of my career, I was actually "not bad" at tennis. This led to the height of humiliation at one particular sales conference in Palm Springs (remember the good old days?) in which my account team at the agency, after schmoozing with our clients and the sales force decided to use the free hour before the casino mixer to recreate a little. But just as a scratch golfer won't throw his game just to close a sale, my boss took no prisoners that day on the court. Somehow, I ended up partnered with one of the very senior most people at my company as my partner. He also happened to have been the captain of his big 10 tennis team. We faced off against my boss, who played college tennis in the SEC as well as the big boss of our group. Whether he played for a college team I don't know, but he had no desire to lose. We assembled our game and somehow the word got out that we were playing. For reasons unknown to me, we were on a stadium court and little by little, a group of spectators including the senior mucky mucks of the client assembled. In my mind's eye, I was the person that they'd all be talking about that night - lovely young thing sure can hit a tennis ball! In reality, it went down more like this:

I am serving. I serve as hard as I can to my boss from the ad court.

He rips a return that puts a hole in my tennis skirt to my backhand.

And again.

And again.

My partner, Mr. I am in charge not only of the office, but the entire region looks back and me and says I think we'll take the I formation on this one.

I don't even know what that is.

Humiliation.

Now, this was a good 15 or so years ago and I have evolved. Last year, for the first year ever, I played tennis with a friend and a pro ALL YEAR LONG. this has a dramatic and positive impact on one's game. Late last year, in the context of a professional transition, one of the points on my decision matrix was will i be able to continue playing tennis as much as i want to? there is something fun and relaxing and great about taking on a sport well in to middle age that practice and work really does make better.

but that's not the same as being tournament ready. tournament ready involves drills, games, hours and hours of practice that I just cannot figure out how to fit into my life. as a friend who wins all the tournaments said to me once in passing my game got so much better after I stopped working. nice work if you can get it.

in spite of my now year round playing, the annual season that matters is really august. I play, my sweet husband plays and our girls do to. nothing quite so cute as a 5 year old in tennis whites with a streak of maple syrup down the front.

every year is better than the one before it, and every year I have the same feeling that I did that day in palm springs maybe this time, i will bust out and WIN.

this year, I had 3 chances to make myself, my family, and my tennis coach proud.

Parent Child Tournament: August 6

this will be fun, just a bunch of kids and their parents having a good time. the trick is, the idea is that the adults are good enough at tennis to have complete control over the ball at all times. to make it FUN FOR THE JUNIORS. great. I have just paid $240 over several lessons to learn how to lower my strike zone and to hit an evil topspin forehand and now i am supposed to luff the ball over the net to an 8 year old gently enough that it doesn't look like I am trying to win so that my 10 year old daughter will be happy. talk about a set up. in a particularly special moment, little A's dad puts a soft ball in to the air that comes in range of me at net and some primal instinct takes over and I hit a perfect volley spiked to the feet of the net man across the court. trouble is, he's a 6 year old boy. a cry of "aliey" goes up on the porch and I am crimson. after that, I cannot even get close to the ball without panicking and we suffer grave defeat. the truth is, a parent cannot do anything right in this context - out dear friend J and his 15 year old daughter played in the same tournament (and won) - her comment to him as he helped them to go ahead round after round: papa, you aren't smiling enough.

Ladies Doubles: August 12-13

one day during the clinic the head pro comes on to the court looking for players. My friend J and I shuffle around a bit a decide to do it. She is, like me, a good player who gets better every year. also like me, she probably didn't hit 10,000 balls before the age of 15. but we love it and we decide to go for it for fun. this is significant as early on in the season in a mixed doubles game I managed to unleash one of those topspin forehands at great speed that unfortunately made contact with her larynx. luckily she seems to be ok and ready to go. In the first round, we are paired against amazonian regular players with ridiculously defined leg muscles. people who ask for overheads in the warm up and take practice serves where they manage to toss balls to each other as if choreographed. it might have been when J stepped up to serve and ask for FBI that we lost the match - we were so clearly out of our league. 6-0, 6-0.

Mixed Doubles: August 21

My sweet husband really gets points for even agreeing to go along on this one. He hasn't had the benefit of year round coaching or the hours in august that I have, but he's a natural athlete and in such good shape that he can get anywhere on the court at any time. But our first match against Missy and Chip doesn't end so well. We try, but have some drama early on when he smacks a forehand into my kidney and nearly kills me. Missy and Chip have a way of approaching each other between games and conferring on strategy. tempting as it is to replicate this and just ask about the weather or what kind of beer would taste good, we refrain. but you know you are out of your league when a ball sort of near the net that you might not notice (not as if you are about to go near the net when playing against the formidable team of missy and chip!) gets a remark of is that ok with you? from the opponent. yes, it's fine you answer even though the obvious and desired response is oh my gosh let me move that ball lest I trip over it when I move up to dominate the net yet again

It's not as bad as it all seems. J & I actually got a towel for winning the consolation of the women's double and the consolation round of the mixed doubles had cold beer to sip between games - those championship players had only stress and underhand serves. And just today, in the 97 degree heat, I managed to get 4 games off of a crazy hungarian software developer who would have wiped up the court with me only a few months ago.

i've added a weekly doubles game early AM to the weekly lesson. And for sure, I am going to be ready for the tournaments next year. look out. Lester i am going to make you proud one of these years.