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Imagine this. It is 4:30 am on the morning of your bike race. You, the friendly neighborhood cyclist, are fast asleep. You spent an hour or so the night before setting out all of your gear, maybe a little longer making sure that your bike was perfect and that you printed out directions to the racing venue. In an hour you will awaken, swiftly pull on your clothes and be out the door in 10 minutes flat, driving in the dark with your adrenaline pumping. When you arrive you will check in, chat with your cycling buddies, do some trial laps, and stuff your jersey with Gu packets. When race time comes you will beam with sweaty pride as you glance at the sidelines and see your wife and children waving and cheering you on. (If you don’t have a wife and children, just humor me). Perhaps you will win, or have helped a teammate win. Even if you come in last, it will be to the sounds of cheers, and many handshakes and backslaps will await you across the finish line. Now flash back to the face of your wife and children and consider the following…

Did you ever wonder how a woman with three children got to a bike race 30 miles from her home by 7:30 in the morning?

Ah, now grasshopper, you are onto something. Imagine this….

It is 4:30 am on the morning of my husband’s bike rice. He is fast asleep. I am up for the fourth time this night with the baby, whom we will refer to in this article as The Incredible Non-sleeping Baby (or TINB for short). I was up late the night before packing up snacks, the diaper bag, and a change of clothes for the girls well after my husband had gone to bed. At this exact moment, I am looking at TINB and thinking how lucky he is to be so cute or I would have mailed him to China by now. (Can a person really not sleep for 6 months and still be expected to function?) At 5:30 am the alarm goes off. My husband, of course, does not awaken, so I have to get up, turn off the alarm, and wake him. He is dressed and gone from the house in 10 minutes flat. I have to get up and start getting ready or there is no way we will make it to the race in time to see him.

By 6:15 I am in the kitchen attempting to serve breakfast to the 4 year old, whom we will call The Terminator, and the 5 ½ year old, whom we actually do refer to as The Cruise Director (it’s nicer than saying “bossy”). Apparently I have served the wrong color of cheerios to The Terminator, who is now crying. The Cruise Director informs me that I have made a “yucky breakfast” and is refusing to eat. Both of them want to know where Daddy is. They stare blankly when I explain that Daddy is off on the relentless pursuit of his own personal achievements while Mommy is at home taking care of everything else on no sleep. Is that too bitter, I wonder momentarily. No time. TINB has awakened and we have to hurry to make it to the race.

At 6:30 I can be found nursing TINB while sweeping cheerios off the floor and ordering The Terminator and Cruise Director to get dressed. (Ever see that kind of multi-tasking in a bike race? I thought not.) In 10 minutes the Terminator and Cruise Director, anxious to go see Daddy, emerge from their room dressed. By “dressed” I mean wearing multiple layers of completely mismatched clothing with hair full of ponytail holders and clips, but not brushed. “Good enough!” I say, while stuffing TINB into clean clothes.

In 10 more minutes all three children are ready to go. Something is bothering me…something I forgot to do….”Mommy, are you going to Daddy’s bike race in your pajamas?” Ah yes! I have not gotten myself ready!

After 20 minutes of pulling on clothes while brushing my teeth, and applying make-up while holding the baby, I am moderately presentable. We are ready to leave, except that The Terminator has the Cruise Director in a headlock on the living room floor, and TINB has just spit up all over my shirt.

I pry apart the girls, and run a quick Kleenex over my shirt. Perhaps the smell of baby spit will just blend in to the general aura of sweat and Gatorade that will permeate the race atmosphere. I hope. We are finally out the door.

Once we arrive at the race location I will have to park 5 blocks from the starting line and push/drag the double stroller (with TINB in the Snugli) over to the bike course. There I will cheer wildly for every cyclist who races by. It will seem like I am everyone’s biggest fan, but the truth is that I cannot actually tell which of these men in a cycling helmet, glasses, and a jersey whizzing by is my husband for at least the first half of the race.

At the end of the race my husband will find us, and I will be incredibly proud of him. The girls will be attached to his legs, and even TINB will flash him a toothless grin from his perch in the Snugli. My husband’s teammates will come by and they will all congratulate each other on their hard work, rightfully so. But if you look closely you will see that we wives have exchanged knowing glances. When the moms on the sidelines are given medals and there are Gu packets specially made for all night nursing, then we will know that we have won the Real Race. Until then, we will enjoy the sight of our smiling families, and against all logic, we’ll be willing to do it all again.