It is probably best that you dissented. That Wii and dinner preparation were more important than this Sunday afternoon ride.

We all have our releases. Yours is cutting onions and spinning tires in an imaginary resort. Mine is spinning tires in the real world, on concrete paved just for my bicycle.

I was first out of the gate, ready to win. For one hour, I was not anybody’s mother. Anybody’s teacher. Anybody’s wife. Anybody’s (even the one who lost her baby) friend. I was just a cyclist, three words to my name: “On your left!!” shouted to the tops of the peaks. Ringing out over my music. Move out of my way because there are not enough miles, not enough breaths in my lungs, not enough songs on this playlist to pedal through this pain.

Only: Road, River, Range. That is all I wanted to see. That is all I wanted to pull into my soul this Sunday. Those blue Colorado skies, the perfectly paved path, the river that feeds us all, and the mountains that divide our continent. There is nothing in this world more beautiful than sweat trickling down a back, tight thigh muscles, clicking gears, and That View. I could live my whole life in that one hour, the numbness of nightmares disappearing with each and every mile.

Forget what she said on Friday. Or the horrible news that I might carry like a burden for three weeks and she will carry for a lifetime. Forget that I came home to discover my husband’s mother rests on her death bed and my little girls can’t quite wrap their minds around anything deeper than the five-house alley-walk to their friend’s house.

Forget it all for this one breath-stealing shout-out: Road, River, Range. Placed here for me, for all of us, to tackle with this perfect body someone gave me to live on this Earth.

The three R’s. Only a different lesson.