This last weekend I took a very challenging bike ride, down near San Diego. We were staying at the beach house of some close friends for the weekend and I brought all my gear with me, hoping to find a few hours to indulge in my latest obsession.
Fate saw fit to place two wonderful women cyclists literally in my path as I pulled out of the condo driveway. We ended up chatting and they took me under their collective wing, saying I was welcome to join them on a rather easy fun ride. Not a ride for training. Not a huge ride for distances. Just a fun, 30 mile or so ride. With a few hills.
As Bilbo Baggins used to say... “You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your
feet, there is no telling where you might be swept off to.”
So I said sure. It was a beautiful morning, the sun out and sparkling on the vast expanse of the Pacific as it rolled out towards forever. The kelp beds painted patches of deep orange on the tourquoise waters, the surfers dotted the shore watching the rise and fall of the incoming swells, the open windows of the bars on the main street let out smells of bacon, and last night's beer, and sounds of Jimmy Buffet and people laughing.
And yes, there were some hills. Pretty manageable ones at first. Little ups and downs. But as we got out of the main parts of the necklace of towns, the hills started getting longer. Going down -- ocean on the right, lagoons and rolling hills and the snake of I-5 on the left -- was a truly glorious thing. Wings could not have made me feel any more free. But going up....? Going up was another thing altogether.
I do not like hills. I have a nice bike, but all the gearing in the world does not make the hills feel flat. All the gearing in the world just makes me feel like I'm never going to be strong enough to really do any significant riding.
I used to have this thing where I would save some gears, like I'd hide some extra cash in the glove compartment of the car. I'm a big saver, a big fan of rainy day stashes. And I found myself saving my lower gears for a rainy day.
When I started riding, I always stayed on my big front gear. I made it a point of honor to never shift to the small inner gear. Which was fine... because I was riding up and down the Santa Monica beach path which is just about as flat a ride as you can get.
Then I started training and getting more into elevations. Elevations are a fact of life if you're going to cycle anywhere meaningful, so I started trying some out. Well, in short order, I found the beauty of the lower gears. Lower gears are great! But... I always left the lowest ones unused... like, if I didn't use that last gear, I'd be really badass and bitchen, but if I caved in I was just another middle aged bag trying to get in shape.
But, ya know? ... I got over that pretty quickly, too, as soon as I started tackling some bigger climbs. Man, I started shifting down to that lowest gear like it was my best friend at a high school reunion. Hello old pal!! Here we are! My legs spun, my heart raced, my thighs burned as I checked periodically to see if I was really in my lowest gear... and of course I was. And that's about where I found myself on Saturday, going up the Torrey Pines grade... all two miles and 400 feet elevation of it, in the heat, in the lowest gear possible, with real honest to god cyclists passing me by while I pedaled... and stopped. And pedaled... and stopped. And pedaled... and stopped. Many times.
My newfound companions were patiently waiting for me as I got to the top of that hill. Some very smart entrepreneur had put a permanent table out with water and bananas and business cards for people who successfully made it to the top. And I rested and caught my breath and doused myself with water from my bottle, and then we carried on.
Hills. They bring out everything. The fear of public humiliation always gets me propelled up a slope for a little while... almost trumping mental and physical fatigue. But then after awhile, that just kind of goes away. I usually have to stop at least once on a big slope, and I feel like a totally wussy pants... but... really, I don't give a fuck at that point. I just can't go another foot... and so I stop, and wait until I can think again... and then I go a bit further... and then I stop... and so it goes. Up the hill. Bit by bit.
My friend Scott send me some hill climbing advice yesterday. You have to sit up tall, so you can breathe. You should try to concentrate on the upstroke of the pedal, rather than the down. It sounds backwards, but you fatigue much less quickly if you use the opposite set of muscles. Don't burn yourself out too quickly. And, most importantly... enjoy the ride. Even if it's painful, even if you feel stupid, even if you don't think you can go on. Enjoy the ride. You're going slowly, so look around. You can't get into too much trouble going uphill at 3 mph, so take a moment and enjoy the scenery. All too soon you'll be back to your stupid day job, or your disgruntled spouse, or your list of errands, or your pile of laundry. As hard as this hill is... this is the best part of your day. So, enjoy it. Enjoy even the pain of it.
There are big hills and there are baby hills. There are hills you can get a running start on and sail up. And there are hills that look so easy, so benign, and they just crush your spirit.
Last year, I went up a big hill. Cancer is up there with the Himalayas, right? It's big, it's scary, it's life changing. And it brings out everyone's best, or so it was for me (and for which I am intensely grateful). I had so much support, was surrounded by so many good vibes, the tables of water and bananas were available to me at every turn. Not to say that it was easy. And not to say that I didn't, ultimately, have to ride it up all by myself... with many sinuously evil dark nights and much teeth clenching fear and some really really bad moments. But it was The Hill, and it was my turn to take it on, and I didn't have a choice in the matter, really.
And yet the smaller hills are just as challenging, in many ways. I now find that I have to take on the smaller hills all by myself, without the bananas and water. People pass me by and actually really DO think I'm a pussy for standing there, gasping for breath. The smaller hills get me because they are normal. The smaller hills get me because there is no escaping them if I want to get anywhere even a little bit interesting. The smaller hills get me because everyone makes them look so easy. The smaller hills get me because sometimes I am just so fucking tired.
The same strategies apply for the small hills as the big, I think. It's all about sitting up and looking the world in the eye. Breathing fully. Approaching things using a different
set of muscles if the traditional approach is burned out.
Even if that little baby hill is just stupid, or boring, or annoying. Even when I am angry, or lonely, or feeling stuck. It's where the Road is leading right now. So I need to be swept off. Be taken away. Give myself over to the glorious flying downhills, as well as the tedious soul crushing climbs.
