The Climb

Over the weekend, Sam and I participated with a team as part of a stair climbing event. The rules were simple: In one hour, climb the 50-something flights of stairs (in the tallest building in the region) as many times as possible. Although we were part of a team, our results would be individual. Our team, comprised of a group of several friends and a couple of new acquaintances, did an amazing job (with the exception of myself). Among our group, we had a 3rd and 6th place overall finisher, and a 3rd, 6th, and 8th place finishing spot for the females as well.

I had known this event was coming for several months. As I recall, we signed up back in late November or early December when I was somehow convinced that it would be a good idea for me to do this event. Truly, I think the team wanted Sam, and I knew the way to get him on board was to sign myself up, whether I was capable or not. I have definitely had time to train, but the problem has been that as soon as I seemed to be getting some relief from one injury, I'd fall victim to yet another and it continued to slow me down.

Never once did I actually climb a set of stairs in preparation for this event. It's not something I'm proud of, but in some ways, it may have helped me mentally because I had no idea what I was in for on event day. I did crank up the incline on the treadmill, used the elliptical at the gym, and when weather permitted, rode my bike. However, none of these were proper preparation for this type of event, as I quickly became aware of what I was in for at about the 5th flight of stairs.

On my way up, I knew I would be slow. We'll leave out the fact that I carry more weight than probably any other climber. But even excluding that fact, not only had I not trained on stairs, but I have multiple injuries that keep me from any sort of speedy pace with this type of event.

We had been instructed at the start to move to the outside wall if faster climbers were approaching. Having people pass in this manner felt a bit awkward to me; so instead, I would speed up to get to the next landing, and wait as a climber (or climbers) passed. Then, I'd carry on.

Reaching the top of the climb on the first pass, I had asked someone for the time. When I realized how long it had taken me to get up the first try, I knew I had no chance of getting to the top a second round within the time permitted. Still, I rode the elevator to the bottom with other participants, and started up again.

No matter, I thought. I can always get on the elevator at some point along the way and come back down. I couldn't see a reason to not keep going until time was up. What I hadn't realized in that moment is that getting on the elevator at any level wasn't a possibility, and that in order to get out I'd either be climbing to the top, or would need to walk back down the stairs to the main floor, the latter of which wasn't a possibility because another group would be starting a single-ascent challenge as we were wrapping up.

As I climbed, I continued to stop at each landing to allow faster people to get by with ease. When people were no longer coming up from behind, I realized time must be up. A bit of disappointment set in. I started to contemplate my decision to continuously stop to allow others to pass me and realized that had I not done so, I likely would've made the second trip in the allotted amount of time.

Still, I continued to move upward. It gave me time to think, and what choice did I really have anyway? Speed hasn't ever been my strong suit, but never was that more obvious to me than in this challenge as climbers continued to lap me (repeatedly). I have always been able to endure distance, but time is the factor that inevitably gets me. Had I been given unlimited -or even significantly more- time, I would've continued to climb the stairs and probably would have completed several more rounds. But, that was not a possibility on this day.

It would be easy to say that I just shouldn't or won't participate in timed events, but I think there is a benefit to doing these sorts of challenges - even knowing that I may very well be last.

First, it is still a marker of achievement, even if it is comparably much slower to others. Just because someone is slow, it doesn't mean s/he cannot get better, nor that s/he shouldn't attempt new endeavors. We all start somewhere and when the only place to go is up for improvement, it's actually a bit more motivating - at least to me - to keep pushing forward.

It is also an excellent reminder that I have my own strengths. I am not the fastest, nor even fast, but I have the ability to keep going. My endurance (and stubbornness, at times) can be a valuable tool. It may not get me to the finish line first, but I know that I can complete what I start - given that I'm in the right state of mind.

Additionally, I know how to pace myself. Several individuals passed me who looked ready to collapse (In fact, one of our own teammates had to get oxygen at the end of the climb from pushing a little too hard), and others were grunting and groaning in pain as they struggled to get up one last time. I was breathing hard too, but oddly, despite all of my injuries, the only thing hurting was one of my pre-event injured feet. I know that for me, as long as I keep moving, I can get to any point I desire.

This event was a good winter time challenge for me, and a nice break from the significant amount of upper body training I've done over the last few months. It's also a good reminder as we move into cycling season that there is always work to be done, no matter where a person starts. I don't know what bicycle adventures are in store this year, but I know my strengths and the areas that always need work. Even more importantly, I am slowly becoming aware that it's okay that we each have different abilities. It makes the world an interesting place to live - and even to compete in.

My point, more so than any other, is not one in which I'm trying to make myself feel better for being slow (it's never fun to be the slow one), but rather that I have come to accept that people are different. Pulling on each others' strengths, rather than making each other feel bad, seems to bring out the best in all. No one made me feel guilty or as though I wasn't pulling my weight during or after the climb. When my teammates (and even strangers) passed me up the stairs, I tried each time to take a moment to encourage them because they were each doing the best they could.

Part of being on a team means that we take the good with the bad. We must accept that not everyone may have trained as rigorously or that someone may be injured or ill on event day. In the case of this challenge, it was of no consequence if we all stayed together and my turtle-like speed wouldn't affect anyone else's outcome, but it was great to see others I know doing well and it was good motivation to continue to work toward healing.

Have you done any challenges that took you out of your comfort zone? Did it push you to do other events outside of those you previously thought possible, or did you find it better to stick with the things you enjoy or do well?

Summer of Climbing: Climb "8,800 feet" in 9 days

The summer of climbing has gone a little differently than anticipated. By now, I expected to have conquered ridiculous mountains and to suddenly be proclaiming myself a lover of all things slanted upward. That has not happened. Not even close. The more I try to convince myself that the only way climbing is going to improve is to actually do the work, the less I want to get on a bike and go in an upward direction. It's almost as though my proclamation has been working against me. Blasted proclamations!

Then, as if Strava could somehow read my mind, a nine-day challenge appeared before me. This 9-day challenge was simple: climb at least 8,800 feet in that slightly over a week time frame. It's a lot - or at least a good chunk of - climbing in just over a week, at least I thought, but if I focused and actually did what I keep saying I'm going to do, it shouldn't be too painful...

I should say more accurately that it wouldn't have been horribly painful if the 8,800 feet was actually the challenge.

*Image from Strava

No, no, dearest pals, that was not the challenge at all. Apparently my feeble mind cannot tell the difference between the word "feet" and the word "meters," and so, I would soon come to realize that in fact I had signed myself up for a challenge that in no way could I ever accomplish. The 8,800 "feet" I thought the challenge would be, was actually 8,800 meters (so, for the record, just shy of 29,000 feet - though all of you non-metric-challenged and able-to-read-English-words readers already knew that).

How a human being that doesn't ride 10 hours a day is supposed to climb 8,800 meters in 9 days is beyond me... but, there are many who (as I would learn) are quite capable, and even far surpassed the challenge. As in, some did 5-7 times that amount. Seriously, what are these people? Mountain goats? In all reality, I have to question when Strava will have a challenge for us mere mortals and/or that doesn't rank us based on what pro or elite riders are out doing.

So, anyway, I was plotting out how I was going to get my 8,800 feet (or so I presumed) in 9 days. I had some routes planned, but when I realized the challenge was more than three times that distance, I immediately started mentally - which led to physical - slacking. The first day of the challenge, I didn't ride at all. Nor did I ride the second, third or fourth days of the challenge. I think I rode to the store during that first four days at some point, but that was about the extent of my time on a bike. What fun would it be if I didn't make it completely impossible to even come anywhere close to meeting the challenge? By day 5, I realized that I needed to do something or I wouldn't even get in 100 feet of climbing.

I can see how some would think, "Why would you even bother if you know there's no chance of completing the required climbing meters?" and I would answer them by saying that, in its simplest, I truly have a screw loose. Obviously, by day five, I knew there was no chance of getting 8,800 meters of climbing on a bike. I mean, who am I kidding? There's no way I'm going to climb close to 6k feet a day for five days straight.

Instead, I plotted ways in which I could torture myself needlessly. At the base of our old town area, there are several streets running north and south with hills that climb (or that descend if going in the opposite direction... which, I highly recommend for some down hill fun). Each is only one block and I wondered how many times I could circle one of these blocks without becoming both completely sick of the track-like path I'd be making and if my legs would make it up these hills more than twice.

Typically, I avoid these hills like the plague. If I have to go up any of them even once on a ride I am cranky, breathing hard, and whining that I should just walk up the stupid hill instead of trying to ride it. Of course, that's generally at the end of a ride when I'm tired. So, what if I just made the one-block climb the ride?


Ah, brilliant! I was pretty sure it would be a short ride, but I tried to tell myself that I could do it at least 5 times. Five rounds didn't seem so bad if it was all I would have to do.

I should say, these aren't long hills. Just a typical, neighborhood block. The grade runs between 4-13% (depending on the spot on the hill and which street one chooses to climb), but the total feet climbed is somewhere around 45-60 feet (again, depending on the street). So, if I could complete 5 laps, that would give me somewhere around 225 feet. Okay, I realize this isn't even kind of close to what I would need for the climbing challenge, but still, 225 feet for something that's probably a total of about a mile or two at most is pretty good, I think.

My first round didn't go quite as expected. I was on the Hillborne (which has a triple crank and mountain gearing - see, I did use my noggin' a little bit) and I couldn't get it to shift from the middle ring to the bottom. As I struggled to fight my way to the top for round one, I just.... couldn't...... quite......... get there. So, I stopped, got off the bike, picked up the rear end, turned the pedals a few times, and it shifted. The next lap went better and I had no trouble shifting when needed. By the time I was on my 5th round, I decided I would attempt to do 10 laps and then call it done.

A funny thing happens on a short loop like this though. It's really, really easy to lose count - especially for someone like me who's easily distracted by shiny things... or furry things... or old things.... or rusty things... or, well, you get the gist. I'd start to question myself... was that lap 6 or 7... 7 or 8... 8 or 9? So, I'd end up doing another one because I wasn't sure.

Now, a smarter person would keep better track, particularly knowing how much she despises climbing - and specifically these short hills. But, I didn't. I was trading off between two different streets for the uphill portions and coming down the third street, but my mind would become easily muddled. Additionally, I'm fairly certain anyone who was home on the streets during this experiment was pretty sure I am completely insane. I have to admit, it did look (and feel) a bit wacky.

Then, I started noticing something with my GPS. As soon as I'd get about half way up one of the hills, the incline percentage would change to 0%. The problem with this reading is that at no point on these hills is it flat. The reading struck me as odd the first time, but I figured there may have been a temporary malfunction. Soon, I realized it was happening every time I'd ride up. Whether this affects the final results, I'm not entirely sure. I know GPS' cannot be 100% accurate, but at the same time, I still haven't found an answer regarding whether the unit's reading is what is used, or something else entirely (like satellite information, etc).

By the time I'd finished what I believed to be 10 laps, I thought I could complete a couple more, so I went for it. Why not? My legs were definitely starting to quiver, however, so I knew I was close to the end whether I liked it or not.

Ultimately, I ended up doing 17 laps (so much for accurate counting), which (according to the reading I got at home), put me at just over 850 feet (approx. 260 meters) climbed over 8 miles. I'm still not entirely sure if the GPS picked up everything, but regardless, it was a decent amount for such a short distance. Obviously, nowhere near the amount I needed for this type of challenge, but I think it was an interesting - if not slightly moronic - means of getting in some climbing without "wasting" the mileage on flatter terrain. Because, you know, heaven forbid I actually put in more mileage.

As the challenge wrapped up, I came shy of hitting 1,000 meters (it was about 3,000 feet) of climbing. Of course, I also hadn't given myself a very good chance at coming close given that I waited until half way through to even start and didn't even ride each of the last five days. A lesson learned, certainly. Considering I only went on three challenge-specific rides, I didn't think it was so bad, but it certainly didn't come close to being the climbing challenge I'd wanted. Of course, the participant (aka me) has to do the work for the challenge in order to make it beneficial. There are also better ways of getting in climbing, such as simply heading directly for the mountains; but I learned that if time is of concern, there are ways to practice climbing close to home and without spending hours out on the road. I also understand that while not the weakest participant (read: not last place) in the Rapha Rising challenge, I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself - mostly for lack of effort. I live at the base of some of the greatest places to climb on a bike in the world, and I didn't take advantage of it at all.

Even though the challenge is over, I will likely continue to use these in-town hills as training once in awhile. Although slightly nauseating to use in a track format, it's an easy (well, easier) way to get in climbing when I don't have a lot of time to spare.  Additionally, the mountains are at my disposal and the summer is still fairly young, so there's hope for me yet. I may not have met the specific challenge goals, but perhaps I just needed a bit of failure to realize that I can do it (maybe not this specific challenge - but my own version of it) if I set my mind and body in appropriate motion.

The Summer of Climbs: Carter Lake

Carter Lake is a destination/ride that locals frequently cycle (and drive to as well for boating, camping, and so on). On one of the regular routes I travel via bike, it is not uncommon to have brief conversations with other cyclists who ask if Carter is where I'm headed. I always shake my head, assuring them that I am not, and we generally part ways at the same location on the road - they go off to do their climb to the lake and I tackle whatever distance I am up to for the day.

It's no secret that I am not a climber. While it's impossible to avoid all of it in this geographic location, I am extremely adept at bypassing areas that require any sort of sustained, difficult climbing. Climbing is just not easy, and often downright difficult, so I find that I would rather enjoy a long ride than put myself through the pain of climbing into the mountains. However, at the end of winter I proclaimed (to no one in particular) that this would be the 'summer of climbs.' I told myself that I would not avoid these sorts of rides and would in fact set out (purposefully even) to do these types of routes. I have no idea who took over my body when I said such things, but I suppose I did actually say them.

Looking south from the marina at Carter Lake

There are a multitude of these types of local rides, but many are currently closed off to cyclists (or at least aren't exactly safe to travel due to the flooding last year). I have regularly talked about starting this summer of climbing, but I've started off very slow this season. I've had some injuries to contend with which have kept my mileage down, and I haven't had the time to do the longer rides that seemed to happen earlier in the season last year.

On Friday evening, Sam informed me that he wanted us to ride together Saturday morning. The idea was not particularly appealing to me in the moment. It's not that I don't want to ride with Sam, but he's had far more miles on the bike, and particularly long distance rides, than I have this year and I wasn't in the mood to have to race to attempt to keep up with him. Even when he's not trying to, he doesn't seem to be able to help himself and before I know it, he will disappear out of sight unless I constantly keep tabs on him. We've worked on resolving this by having me ride in front; however, this option gives me anxiety because I often hear him coasting behind me which, frankly, makes me feel like crap because I can't maintain the speed he would like to travel. It is simply easier for me to ride by myself and for him to go with a group who is happy to have someone to race against.

I never really committed to a ride on Saturday, and as morning came about, I was even less enthused about the idea of riding together. Sam mentioned briefly the idea of going up to Carter Lake, and truly this was about the last thing I wanted to do. I was in a lot of pain and exhausted as I hadn't slept but a couple of hours. I knew he expected to go though, so I begrudgingly got dressed, filled a couple of water bottles, and went outside to meet him.

As we started out, I knew I was in trouble only half a mile in to the ride. I already felt like crying, which is never a good sign. I felt weak and drained. I simply didn't want to be on a bike - at least not like this. A couple of miles in, I laid into poor Sam, who, I'm sure wasn't at all surprised by my outburst. I must've been louder than I thought because I recall passing some cyclists who were staring in our direction as I blubbered through my snot and sobs about how this isn't what I wanted to be doing [on a side note, I swear I don't cry on every ride, but I seem to write about it frequently here]. Sam said we could turn around, that we didn't have to do the ride, but that he just wanted us to ride together because we never do anymore. I knew he was right, but I just wasn't at all in the condition to do a ride like this. I kept pedaling though, figuring that I'd just go slow and deal with whatever came my way. After all, how bad could it be? Sam knew I was in no shape to take on something more than 20 or so miles, and surely he must understand that I was in no way ready to climb, so, yeah... just keep pedaling.

*Image from Google Maps

Here's the thing with Carter Lake. I've never actually been there. We've lived here for over 11 years now and I had no idea what to expect. I knew roughly where it is geographically, and I knew there was a decent climb (and not a fun one, from the overheard conversations of others), but I wasn't even aware of the distance to get there. Additionally, I'm currently riding on a road bike that was intended to be a back up. It's not properly equipped with gearing to do climbs on greater than let's say around 5-6% grade - and even those are difficult as I find myself mashing even in the spinning gears to get up fairly mild hills. If I were in better cycling shape at the moment, perhaps it would be a little different, but for the time being, I am not physically where I need (or want) to be.

At this point, we were still in familiar territory for me, but that was about to change quickly as we turned and headed north. It was actually nice to be on a road that I didn't know. Although I could anticipate what might be coming, it wouldn't do me any good. I had to just enjoy the moment and deal with the hills as they came. There were a few rolling hills and then it turned into a steady, gradual climb. "Is this the worst of it?" I asked Sam, as I kept pedaling. He replied with something to the effect of it not being much worse than at that moment. Somehow, I knew he was lying. Maybe it was the hesitation in his voice, or the fact that I had just finished scream-sobbing at him (and I'm sure he didn't want to go through that again), but I knew there was something I should be fearing on the approach. Yes, here is where the Jaws music should be playing.

A few minutes later, Sam says, "That's it. That's where we're going." Mind you, he is behind me, so I don't know if he's pointing or not, so I assume it is the hill in front of us (I'm not very bright people - definitely not bright). "Oh," I say. "That doesn't seem bad at all. I can definitely do that. The one in front of us, right?" For the record, that was not right. Not even a little bit. We turn and head west and at this point I'm still believing that, even though it was a bit tougher to climb, it was still not as bad as I'd imagined. People are passing us, but that's been happening all morning, so we just keep going. We stop a couple of times to adjust a few things, but all in all, I feel okay. My body was tired at the start, but I'm starting to feel a little better now that we're a bit in to the ride. Maybe this won't be as bad as I think, I tell myself. Perhaps I have inflated this in my head to be something it just isn't.

Sam asks me to stop at the ranger station just ahead. I do so, willingly, as I am getting tired from even (what I will soon learn) is the easy part of the climb. As we pull over, Sam points ahead of us. "That's where we are going," he informs me. I am confused, but nod along. Then, suddenly I see a car zig-zagging up a road and realize what I'm being told... that the road I cannot see is where we'll be riding. "So, is that first part I can see the worst of the climb?" I inquire. "I just don't know if I can do anything more than that." From where I was standing, it looked to be a completely vertical line up. Sam tries to reassure me that it is the worst of it, but somehow, I know he is yet again not exactly being truthful... or perhaps he just doesn't remember as it's been a good amount of time since his last ride to Carter. "How far is it exactly?" I ask. Sam points to an electric pole that seems almost invisible it's so far away. "You see that pole? That's the peak of the climb." Ugh, I think, as I watch cyclists who are on the road now. They seem to be in pretty good shape, but they aren't moving all that fast up the hill.

Then Sam begins to speak again, "Look, we don't have to do it. We can turn around right here and go home. I'm not going to tell you that you have to do the climb." Man. I really hate it when he does that to me. He knows that  my stubbornness will always win out over physical limitations. "Really?" I say. "I'm going to come all this way, just to stare at other people riding up there and not do it?" and with that, I started pedaling. I'm not going to lie. I really didn't want to do it. I had been watching a man on a mountain bike climbing up the road and it didn't look like fun, but dammit, I wasn't going to turn around after all of that just to come back another day and try again.

As I pedaled, I kept telling myself that I wasn't in a hurry. Goodness knows there wasn't any way in the world I was going to get up any faster anyway. At the first zig in the zig-zagging road, I stopped. I was having a difficult time breathing and my legs felt like they were going to give out beneath me. A few more cyclists passed by and it seemed effortless for them, which wasn't helping my self-esteem. I got back on the bike and pedaled to the next corner, stopping again - not because I really needed to, but more because I was scared of what appeared to be an even steeper portion of the road (and for the record, it was indeed steeper).

"I don't know if I can ride up that," I said with my voice starting to quiver. I could feel the tears forming but I knew I couldn't cry because then I definitely wouldn't get up the hill if I was choking back tears. It's a horrible feeling to honestly believe that you don't have the physical strength to do something that others are clearly doing (and without all of the stops), but I figured the worst thing that would happen is I'd roll backwards down the hill - which would be scary! So, I decided that image would have to be the strength I'd use to get up the rest of the way. I heard, "Keep going! You're almost there now," from Sam behind me. I know I was frustrating him with the stops up the hill, but it was nice to hear something to keep me moving forward.

I'm used to the rolling hills on the first and middle section, but the last part was more - far more - than I anticipated. Apparently, I have a LONG way to go during my summer of climbing. :O)

And then, we were there. At the top of the climb to the lake. Even though muscles were quivering, I really didn't feel too bad. I could hear my stomach growling though, and I knew that wasn't a good sign. It'd taken far longer than I think either of us anticipated to get to the lake, and I was not at all prepared to be out for more than about an hour and a half or so. "Do they have any sort of food at the marina?" I asked, and the reply was that there should be something there. The items available were not exactly what I needed, but it was something to get me through since I was not aware enough to bring a gel pack or even some type of sports drink with me for the ride.

A (thankfully) cloudy day to Carter Lake.

We chatted for a few minutes about the climb. Sam said he thought I could have made it up in one shot, but understood that it's difficult the first time to know what to expect. I wasn't sure about being able to get up in one run, but thinking back on it now, if I'd had proper gearing on the bike and been in a better state of mind, it was likely doable. He reflected on his first run up the hill and how different it was from his ability today. He talked about the downhill and how it made it all worth while as well. I was actually looking forward to the downhill too and so, we got on our way again.

One of my main issues with climbing (other than the difficulty) is that I have extreme fear of coming down steep hills. A nice 2-5% grade is fabulous - something that I can enjoy, but when it feels as though I am going to fall over the front end of the bike coming down a hill, I scream like a little girl and try desperately to brake the entire distance. Knowing this, I'd have thought Sam would've turned us around and come home the same way we had ventured out, but that isn't what he had planned. Instead, he had us continue on so that we would go farther north and come down the back side of the lake.

Not knowing what was on the other side, and hearing that Sam had enjoyed "going down the back side" on past trips up to the area, I wasn't concerned. I should have known better. As we started down, at first it was okay, but suddenly there was an extreme drop in grade. I was clutching the brake levers for dear life and saying, "I don't like this... I don't like this," pretty much the entire way down. I'm sure I screamed a few times in there as well. Part of me wanted to just let off the brakes and go for it, but even holding them tightly, I was still careening down the hill in the mid-30 mph range. I didn't want to know how fast it would be if I hadn't been braking (but as I'd learn later, my darling Sam said he's easily come down in the mid-40 mph range - yikes!).

The quick drop was more than I was looking for on this ride.

I was informed that the rest of the way home was "pretty much down hill," which was a relief as I could feel the fatigue and hunger setting in. Although I'd been okay at the marina, things were quickly catching up to me and just finding the mental strength to carry on seemed inordinately challenging. We chatted about lunch (always a bad idea when one is hungry and still having to move his/her body), but it certainly wasn't feeling as though we were going down hill. In fact, I would've bet that we were actually traveling up hill. Sam continued to tell me that it was just "a bit more," but in my mind it was going on forever. I pulled to the side of the road. "I just can't do this anymore," I told Sam. "I don't have it in me today." This would happen a few more times over the next half mile, and I was getting extremely frustrated.

The frustration was not with Sam, but with myself. I believed that I was in far better shape last summer at this point in the season, and I knew that I had traveled longer distances, but my body was done. My hands were killing me, my ankles were oddly strained, and I simply didn't have the will to go on. Somehow, I got back on the bike at which point a woman and her cycling mate passed by stating something like, "It's a sneaky little climb here, isn't it - just enough to slow you down," but of course, I almost didn't catch the last part as they were speeding along quite merrily and swiftly. I couldn't help but curse them in my head. They'd done nothing to me, but I was irritated that my body was failing me (or more accurately, that I had failed my body by not training better).

At approximately mile 30-32, my body was done. I pulled off the road, threw my bike down and started walking down the road. "Free bike to whomever wants it," I started yelling at no one. I was crying again, so angry that my body was not cooperating with me. By the time Sam caught up to me (he'd stopped to pick up my bike and roll it back to me), I was ranting uncontrollably. "Why do I even bother? What is the point of this? This is never what I wanted. I just wanted to ride bikes and enjoy it, not be tortured and feel like shit at the end of a ride. I can't even make it home for God's sake. I'm so pathetic that I can't - even - make - it - home!"

I sat down on the side of the road and a couple of passing cyclists asked if I was okay. My back was to them, but I nodded yes and they kept going. Sam sat the bikes down and kneeled beside me. I was sobbing again as I muttered out loud to no one, continuing to bash myself for being so incapable. "This is just sad," I said, "So pathetic." I wish I could explain the amount of pain I was in, but at that moment, I felt worse than I had at the end of my first century ride (for which I was also ill-prepared). My hands hurt so badly that it felt as though I had sharp rods being jammed into my wrist and palms. I was thirsty (because of course my water was gone), it was getting hotter, and I think, more than anything I had convinced myself that I was broken.

Sam and I chatted for a few minutes, sitting on the side of the road and then I said, "I can't make it home. I physically cannot make it home." "Okay," he said, "I'll get home as fast as I can and come back for you in the car." We discussed the route we'd take, but I told him that I'd probably just walk the bike up the road in a few minutes and stop under some shade.

As I watched Sam race off, I felt even worse. Was I really going to just sit there on the side of the road and wait? It sounded appealing - but, not really. I had just climbed something I'd avoided for years now and then I wasn't even going to attempt to keep riding to get home. It just didn't feel right. I picked up my bike and got back on. I told myself that it didn't matter how slow I pedaled because Sam was coming back for me, but I just needed to keep going. If I needed to get off and walk, that was fine, I told myself, but just keep moving forward.

As I rode, I thought about how disappointed I was in myself and how I know that I am capable of doing more, but I also recognized that I need to cut myself a little slack and that sometimes the body just isn't feeling it - and there's not much to be done about it. Before I knew it, I was back in familiar territory. I knew what the rest of the ride home was and somehow, that improved my cadence. I started wondering how far I could get before Sam would be there to pick me up. The speed picked up a bit and I hit a spot that I knew was just a little over 6 miles from home. "Six miles isn't very far," I said to myself and kept right on pedaling.

I was keeping a watchful eye out for Sam, but I still hadn't spotted him, odd as that seemed, so I just kept riding. I pedaled up a few short hills, going as slow as I needed to, I traveled along the highway, grateful for a very slight down hill portion, I pedaled through neighborhoods, by schools and parks, and then as if without warning, I was only a block from home - and just shy of 50 miles, and having climbed more in a single ride than any other ride to date. I smiled and cried as I realized that I had made it home without the need for a rescue. That I had actually completed it - painful as it may have been.

Ride profile - For the record, it seems Sam was right and most of the ride home was fairly down hill - but it definitely didn't feel that way.

As I came over the ridge and looked down to our home, I saw that the car was gone. When I checked my phone, there was a text message from Sam stating that he was on his way 10 minutes prior. I sent a message back stating, "I'm home." A minute later, my phone rang and Sam said, "Where are you?" to which I replied, "I'm home." There was a pause and then he asked in a perplexed voice, "How did you get there?" I replied, "I rode here. How else would I get home?" The phone went silent again. "Uh, okay. I'm on my way back. I'm pretty far out, so it'll be a few minutes."  Later, Sam and I would talk out his confusion - both about how it was that I made it home when I seemed near death, and about how we never spotted each other on the roads.

To this moment, I still don't understand how we never crossed paths, but how I made it home - that, I understand a little easier. Despite the fact that I really did think I was physically done that day, there is something in me that will not give up - no matter what happens or how bad I feel. Whether that's a positive trait or not, I still haven't decided, but I think Sam put it best when he said, "I guess it shouldn't surprise me. It's not the first time you've been 'done' and still made it home... You just got there so fast." In the end, I completed my first Carter Lake climb, and even if it wasn't the prettiest, fastest, or best ride I've completed, I hope it will be the motivation I need to keep climbing this summer - and hopefully, they'll get better down the road as I get stronger and better mentally prepared.

Quick and Significant Hill (Mountain) Training for a Non-Climber?

As some are already aware, there is an annual ride I participate in and even though I say I'm not going to ride it - every - single - year, somehow I end up getting talked into doing it anyway. This year, I registered early to save myself the frustration because I knew inevitably some person, moment, or event would present itself and miraculously I would be doing the Venus de Miles ride. Why fight it was my motto this year and I started annoying friends and family early on to help me out with fundraising. I don't mind the fundraising, actually. It's the one consistently positive attribute of this ride and the money goes to a cause I whole-heartedly support. I also expressed plans early in the summer to complete my first ever century ride. So, since VdM has a century option, it seemed like a great idea to just go ahead and sign myself up. Even though I ended up completing my first century on an unsupported ride, I was still excited to participate in this event, if for no other reason than to compare the experience of riding alone versus riding in a supported, group event.

Venus de Miles starting line - August 2012

In past years, the 100-mile ride has gone up into the mountains and (among other reasons) this has kept me from really wanting to participate. However, when I first got a look at the route map earlier this summer, it had changed significantly. I realized no part of it was going into the mountains (Yippee!!!), but I also was not exactly thrilled with the roads we'd be riding. Many of them have no bike lanes, no shoulders, and they also travel through extremely high speed and high traffic areas. I was starting to rethink my decision to do the century with VdM. I even had a back up plan to ride a shorter distance with the group and then complete a century on my own just to avoid the route that had been planned. Oddly, VdM still had no route approvals just a couple of weeks ago and I started to wonder if the ride was going to take place at all. Then, just as I was starting to believe I was getting out of the ride this year, route approval came in... However, the ride had been changed back to climbing up into the mountains. This is where the big sigh was let out. This is also where panic set in.

I am not a climber.

Lots of people say it, and many actually aren't climbers at all, but I am really not a climber. I like to blame the excess mass on my body (which I'm sure doesn't help), but I've seen plenty of big guys rock the hell out of climbs, so I really don't think that's the problem. It's also not the bike as I've whittled my way down to a pretty light and fast bike. The sad but honest truth is that I just don't seem to be able to do it. I do climb hills, and I never walk them, but they are the most painfully slow climbs I think one could experience - even when they aren't notoriously difficult climbs. Knowing that the first 60 miles of the ride will be climbing (in one form or another), I am really concerned. The worst part of the climbing is that the actual mountain portion doesn't even begin until half way into the century. Call me a wimp, but four thousand seven hundred and sixty-four feet is a lot of climbing for me. A lot.

100-mile Route Map

In case you missed it in the photo above... this is what the climbing looks like. Yeah, see that scary, large hump to the right side of middle... that's the part I'm dreading the most.

Yes, 4,764 feet of climbing to do... and a lot of it will be starting as I'm getting tired

I have less than three weeks to go and I have no idea what to do to train myself for this sort of climbing. The century I did on my own was about half the feet of climbing this ride will entail, and I planned much of it to be early on in the ride, not after the half way point. In addition to just being naturally ungood (yes, I'm making up words again) at climbing, I have an injured knee and have been experiencing aching while doing even the most minor climbs over the last several weeks.

So, fabulous people of the interwebs... I need help, suggestions, thoughts... anything you think would be valuable to help me out as I attempt to train myself to climb in a very, very short amount of time. I know I can do the distance, but I am not so sure the climbing won't take me out of this ride earlier than I would like. I'm also a bit fearful of being able to finish out the distance after expending all the energy to attempt to get up the big peak, so any thoughts on that matter are certainly welcome as well.