Most of the riders have been athletes their entire lives. Some of us played basketball, ran cross country, dominated the football field. Some of us do lacrosse, soccer, or any number of other athletic endeavors. We all have something we love, a past in sports of some variety that lead to us being capable of Illini 4000. For me personally, I have always been completely, totally, and entirely awful at sports. Rackets and tennis balls never collided, basketballs seldom went through nets, and baseballs never entered gloves. Even PE was awful; soccer balls seemed to be determined to fly past me into the goal, the kickballs flew right into the defenses' hands, and dodgeballs never, ever hit their target. Don't get me wrong, I LOVED to play. Basketball was my favorite for a long time, but it's hard for a kid to stay in love with something they're so beautifully awful at doing. Then Daddy bought me a bike, a really beautiful bike. A fire engine red Windsor, probably the prettiest bike I'd ever seen. I fell in love. It was beautiful, and it could carry me anywhere. I enjoyed mountain bike riding with Dad and my sister, but nothing compared to the pure freedom of being on the road. Mountain biking was fun, riding through the woods, looking at rivers, cranking up and down hills, trying not to fall on roots and rocks (mountain biking in central Illinois doesn't involve REAL mountains). However, road riding made me feel alive like nothing else could. The wind that came from every direction, the sound of pavement and tire meeting, the exhiliration of pedaling as fast as possible for a mile just because I could. There was nothing like being under a beautiful blue sky, feeling like the entire world was in front of me. In fact, biking memories are the only ones I see through my own eyes instead of as an onlooker. Maybe it's because biking makes me feel so significantly like I'm myself. It was almost like my bike became a part of me. I rode every morning with it on a trainer if it was cold out, or got on almost everyday after school if weather permitted. The bike meant the world to me, as a way to calm down or to think through something that had happened that day. My bike brought me peace in the midst of madness.One of my favorite books of all time, Heft on Wheels, by Mike Magnuson, is a super inspirational autobiography about a man who turns his life around through cycling. During his story, he got hit by a truck while he was riding. He ends up in the hospital, feeling awful about everything that happened, and realizes that what got him this far was the bike, and what will get him back to health was also the bike. Mike shows that you have to find the thing that saves you. Find the thing that keeps you from falling prey to just walking through life, as though you have no control. He states, "There's life on the page, and then there's life." He's right. I've always loved my bike, and I know that biking is what saves me. My bike consistently reminds me of what it means to be alive, and I can only imagine how much this summer will affect that idea, for the better. Being able to mix biking with fighting cancer, a disease that affects so many of us in different ways, is a dream that is seconded only by seeing no one ever have to battle cancer again. I can't wait to see what this summer brings, and how it changes all of our lives. It's hard to believe that in 81 days, we'll all be attached to our bike for 74 days, but I can't wait to begin. I think Illini 4000 is exactly what Mike was talking about when he said that there's life. In 81 days, we'll all be experiencing life in a way that's barely imaginable. Here's to life (and bikes!).