This past week, my teammate on #TeamCarter2020, Kyle Berg, posted this video on Facebook about his commitment to the Arthritis Foundation, which really threw me for a loop. Not because I don’t agree with him, but because I haven’t really checked in with myself in the midst of all this craziness: am I truly prepared to complete the California Coast Classic this year? In other words, am I committed?
In terms of physical preparation, I am. Granted, now that the weather has been cooperating, I’m ready to start adding volume to my outdoor rides in addition to the CompuTrainer sessions I do before work during the week. The days are longer, and I’d honestly like to head out after work, too (there’s always been something about riding in summer twilight that I absolutely love.) But beyond the miles, the core work, the stretching, the proper nutrition and hydration, the making-sure-to-get-enough-sleep-routine and all that goes along with training for a multi-day endurance event, Kyle’s video made me ask myself: am I truly committed? And, more importantly, what does that even mean?
I guess I can point to a handful of times in my recent adult life when I didn’t really want to do something, but I said I would and waited… pretty much until the last minute not to do them. Nothing terrible, but there were a handful of times when I put off reading manuscripts for my writer’s group until the day before our meeting, which is very not like me. Typically, I like to read something a few times, and let it “sit” for a few days before I offer up any advice on it, but lately I just can’t bring myself to meet those deadlines in my former life.
I also did that to an editor this past year— I’d been asked to write a review of a collection of folktales from Burma which were absolutely lovely and fascinating. I read the book twice, actually, but every time I tried to write about it, I experienced something like a panic attack— that blinding sense of zero-worth (a.k.a.: who are you to write about culture and art? You’re just some stupid person from Reno…) that sort of thing. And so, I didn’t write the review, burning a bridge with an editor and a publication I respected, something I really never wanted to do.
I guess what I’m getting at is this: being committed to something means you’re going to do it no matter what. There’s no half-doing it, or thinking about doing it but then stopping before you’re done, or letting excuses “let you off the hook” from doing what you said you were going to do, or using a worldwide pandemic to say “Awe shucks, I guess I can’t fundraise!” The thing is: life is always hard and committing to other people, events, causes, deadlines—you name it— is inconvenient, annoying, scary and sometimes downright impossible. But, when you sign on the dotted line that’s it.
Or, that’s what Kyle’s video made me think about this week. There’s no going back—not now, not in October.
Why the CCC Matters to Me
I haven’t really mentioned the other half of why the California Coast Classic is so important to me this year. Yes, I am riding for 10-year old Carter. Yes, I believe that the Arthritis Foundation has done incredible work with both children and adults, and if I’m going to spend time and money supporting an organization, it might as well be one whose values align with my own.
In last week’s blog, I admitted I wasn’t always thrilled with competition— I wanted whatever sport I did (whether it was running, triathlons, swimming, cycling) to articulate things about me that other kinds of accolades—work, etc.—couldn’t. It’s too simple to say that the podium never gave me any satisfaction (of course it did!) but it wasn’t really what I was looking for.
It took only one part of myself to do that (again, in all my sports): I could work a training regimen into my daily routine, just so long as I came home and slept in my own bed every night. There were things I could do: intervals, hill sprints, long rides, short runs, open-water swims, drills, etc.— but these things all fell within a comfortable schedule that I have established for myself since graduate school: sports in the morning, at lunch and/or at night. My regular life was the container— like a giant tortilla—into which the “stuff” of running, riding, swimming, whatever was comfortably held.
If I’m going to be blunt, I’m fundraising for a condition of which I do not have, not only because that kind of thing feeds my soul, but because it’s forcing me outside of my comfortable boundaries. This is definitely outside my wheelhouse.
When I participated in the first two legs of the CCC. two years ago, I was mesmerized with the idea of riding point-to-point for days. Of having a tent and setting up that tent every night— of living a kind of “life on the road.” I’d read about people doing events like this, but had never participated in one. Even as a kid, summer camps (where you stayed away from home for days or weeks on end) wasn’t something I was permitted to do.
Even the Silver State 508, which I’ve done every year since the race moved to Nevada, is completed in under 48 hours: not only that, but you’re constantly moving. There’s no “pitching camp” in that race, it’s ride-until-you-puke, pass the baton, try to sleep/eat in whatever cramped vehicle you could procure for the race until it’s your time to ride again and at some point, you get to the finish line in Reno feeling pukish, dirtier than you’ve ever been and ready to do it again the next year.
So, let’s just say, for the CCC, it’s all about the tent.
Why It’s Really All About the Tent
Two years ago, Rich and I both did the first two legs of the CCC. Early in the first leg of the ride, we were separated. I rode with Team Carter riders, and we basically blitzed those first 80-miles. When we arrived at camp, I’d bet we were among the top ten first riders there. Rich was over an hour away, helping other participants to get through the ride.
What do you do when you’re sweaty and slightly hungry and faced with two-hours of waiting for your other half to arrive, equally sweaty and tired? My answer that day: you build your tent, even if you have never built a tent by yourself in your entire life.
Also: “my tent” wasn’t really “mine”— a friend of mine lent it to me the week before and instead of “practicing” putting it together in the backyard, I just decided to let things naturally unfold as they would on the road, either for better or for worse, which (I realize in retrospect) is a terrible strategy, but that was mine.
I’m not going to tell you how long it took for me to build that tent, or how many times I had to take it apart and try again. I can say I got it together before Rich rolled up, which is impressive by my own standards. However, it was THE MOST VALIDATING AND REWARDING EXPERIENCE IN BASICALLY FOREVER because I realized I’m not helpless, that I can learn from mistakes and that, if I had to, I could, figure out how to pitch a tent.
I know that seems so stupid, but I’ve never had to do that before. I want to experience a 525-mile ride that way. What is it like to live beneath the stars for a week? To let go of the “safety” of home, to go where I’ve never gone before? That’s something the CCC promises me, and why I am committed to this experience. Not only am I ready to give back, but I’m also ready for some much-needed personal growth, and to learn about all the ways I can exist in this world that I have never considered.
What You Can Expect from Me
So… lately, I’ve been thinking about what will happen if the CCC is canceled. It’s not canceled, but, still, I’ve asked myself that question. I don’t want to just give up. That’s too easy… and that’s not why I committed to the CCC or to #TeamCarter2020. Rich and I have been talking about this a lot, and we’ve decided that if that happens, he will help me ride 525 miles from one end of the state to the other in less than 8-days.
We’d ride little-known areas, do a bunch of live feeds on social media so you could follow along. I would ride every single mile myself (no drafting) and blog about my journey so you could not only see more of my beautiful home state, but also to see that this isn’t a commitment I have taken lightly.
Of course, this is a totally worst-case scenario.
For now, I’m shopping for tents.
How You Can Help
Please, please, please follow my journey to the 2020 CCC and help me to raise funds and awareness for #TeamCarter2020. Your donation is totally tax deductible and goes to help the 54 million Americans who suffer from this condition.