ABCD: About Biking, Conventions, and Duty

I love to ride my bicycle.  Really, it doesn't get any better than a good, hard bike ride. I wear a helmet, so I don't get the wind through my hair, but I still love it in my face.  I love to push and see how fast I can go, conquering hills, and then flying down the other side.  Biking is one of my very most favorite activities in this world.  Last year I checked of a major "bucket list" item by completing a century bike ride.  Then, a few weeks after the ride, I hurt my wrist and had to stop riding.  I had surgery on my wrist in November and then I finally got the green light to ride again in February.  There isn't a better way to get back in good riding shape than training for and doing another century ride.  I had to enter a lottery to get a spot this year, but despite the high demand, I made it in and was on my way to another century, I was so excitied! 
My plans for cycling greatness came crashing down when, several weeks after winning the lottery and paying my registration fee, I learned that the Davis County Republican Party was holding its organizing convention on June 2, the same day as my ride.  This convention is usually held in April, not June, so I thought I was home-free planning something else for that day.  I was sorely tempted to bag the convention.  It was the DCRP's fault for announcing the convention date late, right?  Then there's the fact that I already paid my registration fee, and lots of people miss the organizing convention anyway.  I really wouldn't be missed at all.  No one would notice.
No one, that is, except for me.  I would notice.  At a caucus meeting last year, I stood before members of my precinct and told them I would represent them as a Delegate to the Davis County Republican Party.  I told them I would research the candidates thoroughly, listen to the input of the people in my precinct, and do my best to select good candidates.  Part of the job I said I would do is representing our little precinct at both conventions: the exciting nominating convention last year and the less-exciting organizing convention this year. 
June 2 dawned bright and sunny.  I awoke early and put on my biking spandex, my bright yellow visibility shirt, and my cycling shoes.  There wasn't a cloud in the bright blue sky as I mounted my bike Boaz (a Hebrew name meaning Swift) and headed out on my ride.  I could not have asked for a more beautiful day for a bike ride.  I rode the 5 miles up to Syracuse High School, chained Boaz to a pole, headed inside, and changed into clothes more suitable for the 6-hour convention.  I suppose it is human nature that I was tempted to bag the convention for the bike ride, although I am disappointed that I was.  Ultimately, though it boiled down to one question: "Am I a woman of my word or not?"  So much in life comes down to those quiet moments and those small decisions about which only we will know.  Would I have been missed at the convention?  Maybe I would have, maybe I wouldn't.  At the end of the day, though, I have to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that being who I want to be is more important than doing what I want to do.