I told her that I liked it. I just liked doing it. And of course she asked me why I liked it. I liked it because it was heavy. I liked it because it was difficult. I wanted to carry two fifteen-foot irrigation pipes on my shoulders like my dad. Sometimes I would wonder if my dad noticed how hard I was working. Was I doing okay? Did he think I was strong? My dad never questioned whether or not I was too small or weak to lift those pipes or bales, and so I did it. It felt good.
My therapist asked me again to examine my relationship with my dad, and reach out to him to talk about our relationship. I never did. I just didn’t feel the need. I didn’t feel like there was anything missing.
A couple years ago, I took up competitive cycling. I like cycling for a number of reasons, but one reason is that it’s difficult. It’s more challenging than picking up bales or irrigation pipe. I enjoy it because it’s so difficult. Until last year, my dad had never seen me in a race. He still lives in Montana, and I live in Seattle—but last summer I had the opportunity to travel to Montana and participate in a race there. What made this race unique was the fact that a section of the course went directly in front of the house in which I had grown up. It went directly in front of the fields where I’d bucked bales and carried irrigation pipe. My dad, who was now living in another town, traveled seven hours to come watch me in this two-day race that went right past our old house.
For two days, he got up at dawn. He drove me to my races; he helped me set up my bike, fetched water, made mechanical adjustments. He drove around the racecourses looking for places to stop so he could catch a fifteen-second glimpse of me flying down the road. He seemed to enjoy himself. He enjoyed being helpful. He enjoyed finding me on different parts of the course. And I found myself looking for him and wondering, am I doing okay? Am I going fast enough? Does he think I’m strong? Because I knew he was there watching, I rode faster and harder. I wanted him to be proud.
