24 Inches of Incognito

The thing about Halloween is that you get to dress up. That you can costume yourself in another identity is what makes Halloween so special for both kids...and people who aren't kids.

Every day I dress up as a pro mountain biker. That means team clothes, in team colors with team logos. Every day because I usually ride every day.

On days when I am not on my bike, I am likely still doing some kind of pro cycling thing. So that means I'm probabaly wearing the "right" base ball cap. Slung over my shoulder is the "correct" messenger bag. Even if I am delayed at the airport. Or, eating a dinner with an event organizer. Working out at the gym. Gotta "rep" for my sponsors.

That I am a pro cyclist is really an incredible treat. I am aware of how lucky I am. But the tricky part is that sometimes it would feel great just to pretend that I'm somebody else. Dress up like a lumberjack, or a police officer. As an astronaut. Even a mortgage broker would afford a nice change of pace.

Kids are aware of Halloween's ability to transform them into mini pirates, Spidermen, witches, Snow Whites and 24 inch fire fighters. As a kid I liked Halloween more than Christmas. Christmas was cool but it was just toys and stuff.

Stuff.

On Christmas morning I was still just a skinny girl playing with a new Barbie and Ken set. Or later, a pimply, buck toothed, girl playing a shiny new Foreigner album. Eventually on Christmas morning I was a skinny, pimply, and buck-toothed college graduate "playing" with the set of snow tires my father had thoughtfully mounted on my Chevy Malibu so my commute would be safe and sure.

Christmas was about stuff, but Halloween was always about being.

On Halloween a skinny little girl would be a Figure Skating Ice Princess. Or, a pimply, buck-toothed, girl would be a "Dreadlocked Rasta". Eventually a skinny, pimply and buck toothed college grad would be a...grad student...too old for dressing up on Halloween. Too grown up to be some one else.

So, this Halloween while I was handing out Clif Bar samples and Luna Bars to the kiddies I dressed up, too. I wasn't Marla Streb, pro downhiller anymore. I dressed up, I costumed myself, in a baggy long sleeve shirt. I hid my true identity behind a layer denim jeans. My sensible cycling shoes were discarded for a pair of bright orange Vans. Under a half shell plastic helmet my being was transformed into ...BMX Rider.

Riding wheelies down the driveway never felt more like a fantasy.