A Windy Ride

"Feeling discouraged does not

mean you quit.  Feeling sad 

does not mean joy is nonexistant.

Feeling lonely does not mean you

are alone. Feeling anxious does not

mean you are in danger.  Feeling

loss does not mean you have nothing.

Feeling angry does not mean you lose 

control. Feeling sorry does not mean

you are at fault.  What  you feel is

not necessarily what is."

Richelle  Goodrich

 

It has been a busy week exercise wise.  I am trying to recover from the fitness lost to a stress fracture as spring is coming. Sunday Jon and I hiked the Millennium Trail at Bernheim which probably came out to about 14 miles with getting lost.  Tuesday we hiked the creek bed at Clifty Falls  climbing borders and crossing the creek repeatedly.  Then yesterday a 60 mile bike ride when winds were pretty steady at 16 to 17 with gusts up to 40.  It was not until yesterday that the strain began to show on me, particularly upon getting dropped so quickly and so soundly by the other riders:  Jon Wineland and Paul Lapham.  It is my first time riding with Paul and he is obviously strong, particularly on the climbs.  

 

Windy rides are like that, they can take all the stuffing out of you quite quickly. You normally can't hear well enough to talk due to the noise of the wind, and so they are normally solitary rides even if you are riding with others.   We know it is predicted to be windy and so the planned course is into the wind for the first half, but this long stretch of being buffeted and slapped begins to show on me.  "Why," I ask myself, "do I do this to myself?  How could riding in this wind be fun?"

 

 

I already am a bit down from learning that morning that a good friend is in the hospital following a stroke:  her second though the other was a few years ago and she never completely recovered.  She is one of those friends that I can always call on the phone if I am lonely or need advice or just need to talk and one of the few people that I like to call because I truly am not much for talking on the phone.  We share history and end up laughing almost always when we talk.  I grin to myself thinking of the last time we talked.  It had been and was icing outside:  a thick coating that the experts warned could rob us of power.  When she answered the phone, I brightly exclaimed as if surprised, "You're home!"  It was good to hear the brief pause followed by a burst of laughter as she asked me, "Where else would I be in this weather?"   I think how friends and friendship burnish our lives and give them shine they might otherwise lack.   Lucky is she or he who has a close and true friend, the kind that loves you warts and all.  

The wind begins to get to me, discouraging me, urging me to quit. The ride makes me think of past windy rides:  PBP 2007 with the wind and rain, Mike Kamenish and I riding a century to Frankfort when Hurricane  Ike was blowing through, the Kentucky brevet where a small group stayed together unable to hear each other even if shouting and how we lost one member to a flat without knowing it and how I wondered if I would reach the end before dying of exhaustion and cold somewhere along the roadside.  Windy rides are, doubtlessly, character building and make a stronger rider, but I also realize that they can leach the joy out of riding and so should be used and completed only occasionally and cautiously.  Maybe only if there is a purpose.  My old mantra while preparing for brevets in the past comes to mind:  "Weep in the dojo, laugh in the battlefield."  The problem today, I suppose, is that I really have no goal that I am aiming to achieve other than riding with my friends this summer. This makes it hard to justify beating myself up.

When we reach the lunch stop, I make the bad decision not to get a sandwich to fortify me for the remaining 11 to 12 miles into the wind.  I toy with and voice the idea of letting the other two rides go on and turning around using my GPS return to start feature, but I suck it up and head on.  Discouragement is like that.  It can mess with your head.  And those that ride distance or challenging rides  know that over fifty percent of completing the ride is done mentally. By the time we reach the  point where we will have a tail wind, I have realized that I could complete a century or more if I had to, even with the wind, but I have no desire to do so.  I am glad when the wind hits my back instead of slapping me in the face.

The tail wind is sweet and it seems no time when we are back in Madison.  And I am tired.  I am glad I did not turn around, but I want something to eat and to go home.  And so, this is what I do while the other two riders go to savor coffee and talk of the ride for a bit.  And as usual, I am glad I finished.  Ms. Goodrich is right: "Being discouraged does not mean you have to quit."  And there is satisfaction in that. 

Aging

"The afternoon knows 

what the morning never suspected."

Robert Frost

 

As I walk today, rain delicately splattering me the entire five to six miles, I think mostly of aging.  Perhaps because of yesterday's ride.  Perhaps because most of the miles I now must walk were once my week-end nine mile run course.  Perhaps because I received news this morning that a health problem I suspected I might have was something else entirely.  But for whatever reason, I think of aging along with other things.

 

Yesterday was an exceptionally warm day for early February, warm and breezy.  It was the kind of day that reminds you of how spring will feel when it finally arrives.  I rush into her open arms for an embrace, her warm breath caressing my cheek,  making me happy to be alive, to see the greening, the birthing.  But not yet.  Yesterday was just a reminder of what will come despite the fact that some of my daffodil leaves are beginning to nudge the earth aside, tips of green emerging, yearning for spring and her embrace.  "Not yet," I counsel them.  "Not yet."  "Soon," they answer.  "Just hold on. She will arrive soon. And we will dance with the wind in our yellow gowns."

 

Winter is not yet ready to relinquish her grasp.  Snow and ice, possible power outages, are predicted.  And so despite being a tad tired from yesterday's almost 60 miles, I walk.  It is not so warm as yesterday, but it is a heck of a lot warmer than what is to come.

 

Yesterday  Jon agreed to ride with me and agreed to a course that babies my injured foot which is almost healed but still plagues me if I overdo.  So there will be hills, including the climb out of Madison, but no really steep hills or demanding hills.  Merely climbs. And we will be slow.

 

I am so slow anymore and I don't know whether to attribute it to a lack of fitness or age or a combination of the two.  I don't know how much is mental (as my friend, Lynn Roberts told me, as you get older it is harder to be mean to yourself), and how much is physical.  It bothers me, this slowness, more than I thought it would, but I try to remind myself to be happy that I am healthy enough to swing my leg over a bicycle and ride 60 miles.  I try to remind myself that I am truly blessed having little pain.  When I try to talk to others about it, they  normally try to assure me that I am strong, but I don't FEEL strong very often anymore.  And I do miss it.  I worry that the ride will not be enjoyable for Jon at this slow pace, but it is the best I can manage right now.

 

I think about the saying that age brings wisdom, but I don't feel very wise.    I suppose I thought I would be smarter about things by now.  Instead I find myself using the wrong words, having to pause to grasp the right word, using the wrong spelling or the wrong punctuation.  I have heard them described by others as "brain farts," so I know I am not alone, but I don't like it.  It is scary sometimes. And I don't feel wise.  Maybe because there is no solution to aging.  When you stop, you die.  Maybe wisdom is accepting that life is a gift, no matter your age, so long as you are not in pain and can still do most, if not all, of the things you once did. And so I will try to send my mind in that direction.  And I suspect there will be more things that the afternoon shows me that I never suspected.  Hopefully I will learn my lessons gracefully and gratefully for all I have been given.