The other morning at approximately 5:35 a.m. it happened: I got a glimpse of the feeling I love so much, and the reason why I’ve been an athlete for basically my entire adult life. I was at Orange Theory Fitness on treadmill #13, and we were supposed to run as fast as we could for six minutes. Next to me, on treadmill 14 was a man who is roughly my age (35-45) and who drops the hammer every time I’m next to him. I love it.
The coach starts us off and both of us start running 10 mph (a 6 minute per mile pace). So as not to throw in the towel too early, I push the up arrow on the treadmill and complete the first mile at 10.1 mph (5:54.) At the first minute mark, he increases his speed to 10.2. I match him, and then up the pace again.
Looking back, it must have been funny to watch, this act of dueling treadmills which brought us to “all out speed” (12 mph or a 5:00 per mile pace, a.k.a. as fast as these treadmills will carry us) for the final two minutes of the training block.
Maybe some people would have been annoyed to be in this constant competition. (And honestly, in past versions of myself, I might have been.) Lately, though, I can’t get enough of it. Because of this man next to me, I ran a 5:40 mile. I’m not sure I would have pushed myself as hard if he hadn’t have been there. (Disclaimer: this isn’t real, I know it’s not real. I’m only noting the time because it’s about 15 seconds faster than the last time I ran a mile on this very treadmill six months before. This makes me believe I’m improving my own fitness, not that I’m any kind of olympian.)
We high-fived each other, and then went on to making each other puke on the rowing machines and weight room floor. It’s that moment, though, when you’re not sure you can do what you’re doing, as you’re doing it. You push harder and then you just start to have this belief in yourself that is founded on nothing else other than this crazy notion that you have that you can, despite it all.
Despite it all. That’s what I miss—and love— so much about cycling.
I started writing this blog in my head on my commute home this night from work when it wasn’t dark yet. I brought to mind the golden sunsets I’d ride my bike through, back when I was training seriously for races. The extended days, the way the bike enabled you to melt into the world or to escape from it. The endless beauty of sunrises and sunsets and how you’re alone out there, pedaling with the crunch of the road dirt as the only sound as you climb.
I fell in love with cycling long ago, as a senior in high school, when I used the money I’d saved for a car to buy my first road bike. I rode that bike not only to school, but to my part time job at Blockbuster Video, which was a considerable 25 miles away. That bike was an aluminum red Canondale with shifters on the downtube. I still have that bike and ride it today.
I rode the bike in college when I needed time and space to plot out my essays for classes. Back then, you had to take the freeway to get to a neighborhood called Verdi by bike. And, I did: I will never forget the terror of semi-trucks whipping by me at 80+ mph as I pedaled, searching my mind for thesis statements and appropriate conclusions to draw my rhetorical arguments to an elegant close.
I rode the bike in graduate school when I ruptured my Achilles tendon. I joined a local cycling club called The Diablo Cyclists and saw much of Northern California by bike, thanks to their weekly 100+ mile rides where, more than once, I would turn my body inside-out not to be beaten on one of several dozen climbs. I wasn’t always successful, but knowing I could do it—that I was formidable— that was what kept me waking up at 4 a.m. to train, what made me ride after work, too. It’s what made me put my focus on my writing— not for the writing itself, but because I’d have to get good at it, if that was the thing that would fund my obsession with physical training.
This year, I decided to try something new. I decided to try and focus more on my writing. The long drives to races every weekend was frankly draining— both to me personally as much as it was to my finances. Plus, I wanted to know— in some small way— if it was more likely that I’d make a positive impact on the world via the bike or via my words.
But the golden light of the setting sun brought those memories back: what I loved so much about cycling. Even when I was racing with men and even when they dropped me off the back, there were these incredible moments when it’s really just you and the bike. I might have come in last (I did come in last, many times)— but that hardly mattered. What mattered is that I was there in the early twilight. The world opened and it told me, as I pedaled and pedaled, that I should believe despite it all.
I can’t wait for warmer weather, and I’m looking for new opportunities to get outside and to be on my bike for longer rides. I know I’ll find a way— I always do. I am so grateful for this journey I’m on for the California Coast Classic. Please continue to follow me on this crazy journey to the start line of the California Coast Classic! I’m riding, running and planking my way to fitness so that I can do the 525-mile ride to help Carter and other youngsters like him find a cure.
Here’s a link to my fundraising page. Every cent of your donation goes to research and a cure.