Icarus, Smicarus

Icarus, if I remember my mythology right, escaped with his genius father from Crete by way of flight. They donned crafted wings from wax and feathers, and took flight. The father warned his son, "Fly neither too low, nor to high - your complacency will be your death as will your hubris." Icarus is said to have gotten too big for his britches and flew too close to the sun. He wanted to fly as high as the Gods he believed in. And so, the wax melted from the braces of his wings, and his feathers trickled off. Icarus tumbled into the sea, to his death. Do you think he felt the burning disappointment in his soul as profoundly as the scorch of the sun?

Today, I am feeling like Icarus - I aimed too high, I was far too ambitious for a human of my station. What happened to the chubby girl showing up to club rides on a steel bike? What happened to giving a mental middle finger to the expectations that roadies have for their kindred? I saw opportunities to really impress upon myself just how legit I was. I feared flying too low, of stagnancy. I looked ever upward, convincing myself that it was not only acceptable but also expected for me to withdraw into my own fantasies and leave behind my family and friends. And in doing so, in tackling challenges like Dirty Kanza 200 and Race Across the West, I flew too high. My wings burst into flames and I felt the searing pain of fractures and a dream shattered. Now I sit on the shoreline and sing a little song, "Mourn for me." I sound like all the other birds.

If that mythical adaptation is too angst-y for you, if it is a stretch to believe, try these on for size. What friend and enemy did I piss off to have them wish upon me such a karma as this? Was it too many Strava QOMs and PRs that caused burnt effigies for my demise? Did someone sell their soul to see my undoing? Was I so miserable or insufferable to be around that I needed to be taught a lesson in humility?  I wish my husband would have just told me he wanted to see me more.

Oh, how about this one that harkens back to my time as a religious person, while I'm being impossibly negative? When the churchy ladies tell me that everything happens for a reason, I think about the looks on their faces if I told them that I don't believe in a god above or below that would have put me in front of that fucking car, anymore than I believe in a god who allows for the people on earth to suffer in such ways as they do. I think about how I could tell them that, I appreciate how God perhaps saved me from paralysis or death by making the driver 5 seconds late/early in striking me (PTL! - barf -), but he's a real fucker for allowing it to happen anyway. I think about how they send me their thoughts and prayers, but not any solutions for feeling so angry at myself that I think that sometimes death is more bearable than other things.

But, you know, they sigh, that's just her black moods.