This last weekend left me with mixed feelings. Yes, part of that was because of a Utah State loss and a University of Utah win, but most of it was about how the rest of the weekend went. The stark contrast between the me of Friday/Saturday, and the me of Sunday really helped put things into perspective. Friday and Saturday I was admittedly at my worst. It was the me I hate and the me I want to and had hoped to get rid of. Unfortunately it is still there and I don't want to be that person. Fortunately there was Sunday and a group of friends who were willing to put up with me for another day.
A hangover and embarrassment was not enough for me to back out of the plans to ride a bike around Bear Lake. If anything it made it more important to do so. To prove to myself I was more than my mistakes and maybe a chance to prove to my friends that I am not just a shit show. So at 11:30, I made the long lonely drive to Bear Lake. Dave ended up bringing more people than we thought so at least we had a support crew if something went wrong on the ride. We headed out late (4:00) with a scary lack of preparation. To add to our troubles it was a windy day. Mike and Dave looked like the real deal. They had real bikes with real outfits and a combined 2 percent body fat. Clint was on his single-speed, but had skinny slick tires, a light bike, bike shorts, and apparently the eye of the tiger. Me..... Well, I had the wrong bike for the job and just had a tank top a back-pack and some basketball shorts. My bike has a suspension fork, nobby tires, and weighs over 30 pounds. I didn't really fit in...
I was a little nervous when we headed out but for the first little bit I was feeling pretty comfortable. My legs felt great, my wind was fine, and the road resistance wasn't too bad. Then we hit the chipped road and it began to hit me that I was going to have to work my ass off to keep a pace of 20 mph. We were also going into a 20ish mph wind. It was brutal. The conversations we had at the start were awesome and I was desperately trying to keep up if for nothing more than the entertainment, but no matter how i pushed my bike (or me) wasn't fast enough. At one point Mike even passed me.... COASTING! and I was pedaling at a steady rate! We stayed together for about one fifth the distance around the lake, but when I cleared the next hill they were already zooming around the corner probably a quarter mile away. At this point I knew I was on my own for the rest of the trip. I knew they wouldn't stop and wait and I didn't want them too. There was no way I could keep up anyway. So I hit the south side of the lake solo and that's when the wind decided to be a complete dick. I seriously was ready to confiscate the first road bike I saw, without regard to the consequences. At this point the fastest I could push myself was probably 8 mph. I was getting frustrated. I felt like I was pedaling so hard for so long but I just wasn't getting any speed out of it. I finally hit the west side of the lake and things got instantly better. The road got smoother and the wind died down just a little. It was here I finally saw the crew again. They were about two miles out in front of me! Once I saw them it gave me some hope that if I really push it and never stop pedaling even for a second I can catch them. It was a pipe dream but it gave me a goal. I was in auto-mode and felt pretty good until I was about into town. Then I hit another wall. At this point I couldn't help but start thinking about the fact that I was just riding alone around a lake and my car was parked just a mile or so away. I had plenty of reasonable excuses; I had the wrong bike, wrong clothes, was hungover, hungry, and I had been left behind. I couldn't quit. At the start I already decided that no matter what happened I was going around this lake under my own power, even if I had to do it after everyone else had left for bed.
So I just kept going and around each long corner the bikes in front got closer and closer. At about the 80% point I was finally closing in on one of them and thought for sure I was about to catch Clint, but as I got closer and closer I realized it was Mike. All I could think is that Clint either quit or is a total badass on his single speed. I knew Clint wasn't a quitter so it had to be the latter. Clint is a badass. After about 10 miles, some cramping and severe glycogen ups/downs (I had foolishly only eaten about 900 calories before the ride and I am sure Mike had about a half a peanut all week. Also it turns out drinking a bunch of beer the day before is not an affective form of "carb loading") Mike and I crossed the "finish line" together. It was an amazing feeling. I know it wasn't a marathon or a real race, but it still was 52 miles in 3.5 hours under far from ideal circumstances. I had an easy out and still finished! It was the farthest I had ever gone under my own power and I was proud of myself. Something I couldn't have imagined feeling just 10 hours earlier. It is becoming more and more clear the direction I need to go.
A hangover and embarrassment was not enough for me to back out of the plans to ride a bike around Bear Lake. If anything it made it more important to do so. To prove to myself I was more than my mistakes and maybe a chance to prove to my friends that I am not just a shit show. So at 11:30, I made the long lonely drive to Bear Lake. Dave ended up bringing more people than we thought so at least we had a support crew if something went wrong on the ride. We headed out late (4:00) with a scary lack of preparation. To add to our troubles it was a windy day. Mike and Dave looked like the real deal. They had real bikes with real outfits and a combined 2 percent body fat. Clint was on his single-speed, but had skinny slick tires, a light bike, bike shorts, and apparently the eye of the tiger. Me..... Well, I had the wrong bike for the job and just had a tank top a back-pack and some basketball shorts. My bike has a suspension fork, nobby tires, and weighs over 30 pounds. I didn't really fit in...
I was a little nervous when we headed out but for the first little bit I was feeling pretty comfortable. My legs felt great, my wind was fine, and the road resistance wasn't too bad. Then we hit the chipped road and it began to hit me that I was going to have to work my ass off to keep a pace of 20 mph. We were also going into a 20ish mph wind. It was brutal. The conversations we had at the start were awesome and I was desperately trying to keep up if for nothing more than the entertainment, but no matter how i pushed my bike (or me) wasn't fast enough. At one point Mike even passed me.... COASTING! and I was pedaling at a steady rate! We stayed together for about one fifth the distance around the lake, but when I cleared the next hill they were already zooming around the corner probably a quarter mile away. At this point I knew I was on my own for the rest of the trip. I knew they wouldn't stop and wait and I didn't want them too. There was no way I could keep up anyway. So I hit the south side of the lake solo and that's when the wind decided to be a complete dick. I seriously was ready to confiscate the first road bike I saw, without regard to the consequences. At this point the fastest I could push myself was probably 8 mph. I was getting frustrated. I felt like I was pedaling so hard for so long but I just wasn't getting any speed out of it. I finally hit the west side of the lake and things got instantly better. The road got smoother and the wind died down just a little. It was here I finally saw the crew again. They were about two miles out in front of me! Once I saw them it gave me some hope that if I really push it and never stop pedaling even for a second I can catch them. It was a pipe dream but it gave me a goal. I was in auto-mode and felt pretty good until I was about into town. Then I hit another wall. At this point I couldn't help but start thinking about the fact that I was just riding alone around a lake and my car was parked just a mile or so away. I had plenty of reasonable excuses; I had the wrong bike, wrong clothes, was hungover, hungry, and I had been left behind. I couldn't quit. At the start I already decided that no matter what happened I was going around this lake under my own power, even if I had to do it after everyone else had left for bed.
So I just kept going and around each long corner the bikes in front got closer and closer. At about the 80% point I was finally closing in on one of them and thought for sure I was about to catch Clint, but as I got closer and closer I realized it was Mike. All I could think is that Clint either quit or is a total badass on his single speed. I knew Clint wasn't a quitter so it had to be the latter. Clint is a badass. After about 10 miles, some cramping and severe glycogen ups/downs (I had foolishly only eaten about 900 calories before the ride and I am sure Mike had about a half a peanut all week. Also it turns out drinking a bunch of beer the day before is not an affective form of "carb loading") Mike and I crossed the "finish line" together. It was an amazing feeling. I know it wasn't a marathon or a real race, but it still was 52 miles in 3.5 hours under far from ideal circumstances. I had an easy out and still finished! It was the farthest I had ever gone under my own power and I was proud of myself. Something I couldn't have imagined feeling just 10 hours earlier. It is becoming more and more clear the direction I need to go.
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