AGMA’s off again.
Off key, off kilter and off balance. Yes all of that, but off as in so long, farewell, auf weidersehn, goodbye.
Well, it’s a road trip that starts with a plane ride.
Actually it started with a plane ride. Due to the fabulous miracle of technology, I’m scheduling this post to be published after we leave. Right about now we should be ass deep in a lavender field in Provence.
Hubs and I are on one of our most ambitious trips yet. Ambitious not in distance traveled or mountains ascended but ambitious in the variety of experiences we’ve scheduled into less than 2 weeks.
Honestly, it didn’t seem that bad when we were planning it. Now that it’s staring us in the face, I’m sort of wondering what sort of mushroom we ate that night.
Tapas and touring in Barcelona, the markets, wine and gastronomy of Provence, the thrill of the Tour de France in Andorra, the holiness of Lourdes and the Running with the Bulls adrenaline rush in Pamplona. In 12 days.
We’re freakin’ nuts.
But as AGMA has been so clearly and soberly reminded of late, she’s far closer to the end of the race than the beginning. Might as well go for the gusto while she’s still on our feet.
Wasn’t that an old beer commercial?
And did you happen to catch the Tour de France part?
AGMA’S GOING BACK TO THE TOUR DE FRANCE!
Did I say that too loud?
It’s all part of the not Aging Gracefully schtick. A relatively normal, middle class 60+ American grandmother to 1.5 children chasing up and down mountains in Europe after world class male cyclists in their 20’s & 30’s wearing spandex.
It’s difficult to explain this late in life obsession so I’m not going to even try.
But thank God AGMA has a late in life obsession.
Something to be passionate, enthusiastic and joyful about. Something to look forward to so much that you feel like you can’t contain your excitement. Something to make you feel like you’re 8 years old again on a summer night in June chasing lighting bugs.
I’m pretty sure the lightening bugs weren’t wearing spandex.
I know plenty of folks my age who feel that, for whatever reason, that kind of joy, enthusiasm and passion is meant for those younger, and not them. And I think that’s incredibly sad because it’s absolutely not true. Like most of what The Donald says.
My amazing younger son is continually rolling his eyes at me. When I became a massage therapist at 57. When I started my blog at 60. When I ran my first marathon at 61. When I put together my first Tour de France fantasy team last year. When I started my little eBay business a few months ago. When I asked him what kind of a tattoo I should get…
My Lucy and Ethel schemes.
He also is very proud of how AGMA is navigating the choppy waters of later life. He told me so a couple of weeks ago. That felt pretty damn good.
And, if the truth be known, he’s responsible for starting me on the cycling obsession AND the marathoning. But that’s another post.
Behind every successful AGMA is an incredibly supportive son who is also a BFF.
Don’t you love it when you can make your own best friend? It’s just that you have to wait 32 years until they blossom…
It was worth the wait.
So while Hubs and I are picking the lavender out of our crevices and enjoying the discount Euro thanks to those wacky Brits and Brexit, throw caution to the wind and do something that will get your pulse racing and give you a devilish gleam in your eyes.
Look for AGMA on the TV coverage of Stage 9 of this years Tour de France this Sunday, July 10th. I’ll be the lady in the tall red and white Cat in the Hat hat with the cowbell (gotta have more…), the yellow TdF shirt and the green, yellow and white leis around my neck.
With the racing pulse and gleam in her eye.
Viva la Tour!