Ammi Midstokke: When misery and gratitude go hand in hand

It is not always easy to find gratitude in the things we are doing. It is just for lack of trying.

I’d been on my bike for four hours. For four hours, it rained at me in all directions. I say ‘at’ because the rain, I am certain, is determined to not just passively fall from the sky, but singles me out as a target for concentrated precipitation.

It rained into my ears. It rained up my nose. I even felt the cool trickle of relentless skyfall dripping down my rear end, as though its two halves were formed like the geological chasm of a canyon. Perhaps the Grand Canyon, at that.

I lost feeling in my toes for a good two hours. It was likely better that way as they surely were reminisce of trench foot. I hoped that I didn’t need to brake, as my hands took the shape of my handlebars and were resistant to any suggestion for movement.

At some point, I realized I still had thirty miles to go. I lost my ability to calculate after I passed the first aid station and realized they were not serving coffee. I needed to ration my mental abilities. For much of the route, auto-cyclist was running. It only pedals and thinks about food.

And gratitude.

My purpose for riding in those elements was to take part in a fundraiser for MS. The Bike MS campaign raises funds and awareness for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. They host rides around the country. Everyone is invited.

As I splashed through puddles and somehow managed to get even wetter than my soggy body already was, I felt gratitude. It was the kind of gratitude you grit your teeth through for a moment – before you accept the reality that you’re a whiny pansy and things could be a lot worse.

I don’t have MS. No one in my family has MS. But I know people who do. Some of them were on this ride. Some of them could not be on this ride. But I bet they would sell their souls to crank through the pouring rain all day.

I didn’t hear a lot of complaints at the aid stations. What I heard was support – and gratitude. Volunteers were grateful for the riders who raised funds. Riders were grateful for the volunteers who schlepped out boxes of fruit leather. I was grateful that no one judged me for how many I can fit in my face at once.

There was a sort of community of gratitude. A society of support. An entire club of humans who had nothing in common but a bike and a connection to this debilitating disease. That was enough to form new friendships and emotional bonds that only true understanding and empathy can create.

It was an honor to ride with them – rain or shine – and to be allowed to witness their vulnerability and courage, to watch this community celebrate their successes and each other. It was a gift far greater than any other finisher’s medal I’ve ever been handed.

The ride itself happened to be one of the most beautiful cycling tours I have ever been on. It followed the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes through some of the most magnificent Idaho countryside we boast. I could only imagine what the autumn colors would offer – should the clouds had parted.

Somehow, though, I was even grateful for the rain as I rolled the last few miles. The rain meant that not too many innocents were on the path. It meant the temperature was low (something all MS patients love). And it meant that the hot shower waiting for me at the finish was going to be that much more glorious.

Sometimes gratitude only comes when we can end the misery. The gift is when we have that option. Not everyone does.

The next time you’re out feeling miserable, or just a tad sorry for yourself, dig around for some gratitude. Or sign up for this ride and learn it from a group of people that find gratitude in some of the simplest things in life – the things we often take for granted – like being able to ride your bike in the rain.

To find out more about supporting this event or others like it, visit www.nationalmssociety.org