"Life is all about setbacks. A
life lived without disappointment
is a life lived in a cocoon. People
have recovered from far worse setbacks."
(Tony Clark)
A friend pointed out to me that I have not written in awhile and checked to make sure I was okay. It was nice to know that someone noticed or cared. I have been riding, but painting more than writing. So many Christmas projects to work on and complete. But I miss writing. I am glad he reminded me. Thank you, Greg. I remain grateful of the day we met during Hell Week all those years ago.
Additionally, I have been looking forward to resuming winter hiking and easing up on the riding. Indeed, I began, but on only my second hike developed what I believe to be a stress fracture in my fifth metatarsal. I am so disappointed. I have missed the hilly terrain of the trail, the beat of my heart as I struggle with the steep rockiness and uneven terrain. And I hike almost exclusively in winter as there are so many ticks in the warmer months. It is hard to check yourself for ticks when you live alone. Some places of your body, your eyes just cannot reach.
Of course, I vow to allow it to heal, then ignore my resolve and do a hilly ride to Salem re-injuring myself in my denial, making the original injury worse and no doubt delaying my healing time. Patience. Why can't I counsel myself to patience? And yet with the nice weather, I determine I will ride again regardless, just avoid hills and climb those I absolutely could not avoid in my granny gear, a gear I love having but seldom use. And so, I ask Jon if he would like to accompany me on an easy century as I know he wanted to get another century in before the close of the year. I warn him, as always, that I will be slow and that I will be particularly slow on any hills we encounter.
He says yes and so plans are laid to meet on Friday when it is due to be unseasonably warm (think 60's but I believe it gets in the low 70's) and not particularly windy (6 mph with 8 mph gusts). The weather is a true gift for this time of year, but it is still cold at the start: 38 degrees. I wear my Hell Week cycling backpack to take off layers as the day warms. And I dress in lots of layers. While I have been riding, I have been doing shorter distances and a century is a stretch. Add on that I struggle to make myself drink on colder rides, and it is a recipe for dehydration and disaster. I want to enjoy the ride and not feel as if it is a death march. I also struggle with my mind questioning if I will injure myself more despite picking a flat, easy course. Despite my misgivings, I am at the start, ready and willing, prior to Jon's arrival.
I am glad to get the century in. I really don't like to allow too much time to elapse between centuries. They are just so much harder than if you maintain that fitness level. While I have made the decision not to be at all invested in completing the Tour de Mad Dog next year, I will ride stages that interest me and I remain hopeful that health/time will allow me to complete numerous centuries. I have truly enjoyed the small century rides this year. I am not yet ready to give up distance.
With the Tour de Mad Dog, there just are too many courses on the schedule that I have no interest in completing. People have different interests, and some like city rides and more heavily trafficked roads. I prefer lightly traveled country roads despite the fact they often involve more climbing. It is not all about me. And this summer brought the realization that my century riding years, while still hopefully numerous, will end. Things just become more difficult because age cannot be stopped, only delayed. I can tell a definite difference on rides, during recovery. But again, I am not yet ready to give it up. And I don't want to waste any of the rides left to me riding a course I have no desire to ride.
I may even ride a century the same day as a stage as I have done occasionally in the past when I didn't need the stage and it did not appeal to me, but one of my choosing if it is a stage that I have no interest in or I find that all the riders are too fast. There is freedom in this as there was when the Big Dog site closed and I no longer had any reason to ride the extra half mile to make it a minimum of 100 miles instead of 99.5. But the closing of the site also meant I began to ride fewer centuries, to let weather deter me that I would have soldiered through, that I lost contact with most of the others on the list.
The only thing that bothers me a tad about not completing the tour is that unless I ride the requisite stages, it will mean conceding defeat to Mike "Diesel" Kamenish and Dave "Bam Bam" King, in our unofficial contest to complete every tour since its inception in 2004, but I will still be the female winner. And in the end, even if I were not, it is not important. Part of life is learning what is and what is not important. Who knows, I may end up with enough stages to finish. I just know that I will no longer ride stages just to complete a stage. I will ride only if I like the course or if there is someone I particularly want to share a ride with. So far out of 21 stages, there are 13 that I have any interest in riding at this point, and two of those are my own.
But back to today's century, a century put together by Dave Fleming, a rider from Madison, Indiana (though he no longer resides there) for I have digressed. While Dave has ridden some of my centuries, including Marengo, I have never had the pleasure of riding this century with him, but at least I have had the pleasure of riding it. It is a relatively flat century, something I insist upon today. I really would like to be able to walk pain free by Christmas and resume hiking by the end of December. I am hoping that a flat course will allow my foot to resume healing while still allowing me some exercise. I am disappointed at the injury and my failure to give it the proper respect already, but I will be even more disappointed if I miss the entire winter hiking season. I am such a wimp.
I toy with the idea of putting the ride today on the club calendar, but decide against it for a few reasons. I never regret that decision though Jon might as he listens to my incessant chattering throughout the ride. Again and again, I notice the winter beauty of the Sycamore trees, their whiteness giving definition to the trees around them as well as themselves. Most trees are leafless though a few of the stubborn oaks cling to leaves that are brown and dry. Occasionally a puff of wind makes them take the plunge, and they whirl to the ground as if confetti to celebrate our passing. We pass a barn that announces a birthday ride. It is in the middle of nowhere, and I later ask Jon if he thinks it was a bicycle or motorcycle ride. Both of us guess motorcycle. He tells me the sign has been there a long time.
There is no first store stop on this century, so we both have brought snacks. We stop at a church facility that has picnic tables to pause and refuel ourselves. Jon has oranges. I have brought a blueberry oatmeal bar that I make. And water. We both drink from our bottles, again reminding me that I have not been taking in enough fluid. We sit in the back of the building where the sun hits the broken down picnic table and both shed layers reveling in the unseasonable warmth that embraces us. We sit like the old friends we are becoming, talking of this and that, comfortable with each other. How I appreciate friends that I am comfortable with. No need for pretenses. Thoughts can be spoken and explained if not understood without worry. How glad I am to have a friend who likes to ride bicycles. While I like solo rides upon occasion, it certainly is nice to have company. Perhaps more so now than prior to being widowed.
The miles pass so quickly, and while it seems we are making good time, I am particularly slow on hills so I hurry us along a bit at lunch and at our last store stop. So long as I am not pushing the pace, my foot does not hurt, but it sure aches when I put weight on it. By the end of the ride, my right leg is tired from taking over part of the left legs responsibilities and my rear is sore from not being able to stand while riding. Oh, well, it is a setback, but a minor one. I expect more as that is just the way of things. Still, I having watched my husband struggle with pain for so long, I have a real fear and dread of getting pains that won't let up or leave. I just am not as brave as he was.
We get in about a half hour before dark, both of us glad that we chose not to waste the day. I will go home and I will ice my foot and rest just accepting that it will probably be Christmas before I can resume my normal routines. And I will try to appreciate what I can do and not bemoan what I can't. Drinking the sunshine today will help. And I will heal. No cocoon for this girl, at least yet. How lucky I am.
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