Rhythm anyone?

Have you ever been around someone who struggles with rhythm? I mean someone who really tries but, in spite of their efforts, it seems as if the beat they are following is one all their own? I was employed for years as a professional musician and so I probably have an overdeveloped sense of rhythm, although you would never know were you to observe me on a dance floor. Still, I have this anal ability to detect when someone is following a beat that is not quite in sync with the music.

I am learning a lot about rhythm right now. I am learning that there is a rhythm to life, one that includes sleeping and waking, working and resting, training and recovering. In my cycling, I have found the critical importance of recovery following periods of intense interval training. Recovery provides opportunity for the mind and body to rest and become stronger than it was before. In my life, I have become aware that the past three or four years I have been tapping my foot to the rhythm of my own drummer, as most of us do. My metronomic tendencies bring this into relief in the form of an unsettledness in my spirit; an intuitive urging deep in my gut.

The difficulty of it all is that I find myself wanting to follow the rhythm of our culture; a rhythm whose tempo is unsustainably fast. If I follow this for too long, I find myself weary with busyness, irritable to constant noise, resentful to incessant demands, and longing for simplicity. I can only follow this cadence for so long before I look like I am on the dance floor, completely awkward and out of place-an illustration to all observers that something is desperately wrong.

For me, this season is increasingly about finding the rhythm to which I was created to tap my foot.

in the starting gate

2-21-09 'What am I doing out here?' I ask myself in disgust. In my head are ringing words that Teelo (a fellow team mate) spoke to me a few days ago. 'If you see someone go off the front,' he said to me, a rookie bicycle racer, 'let them go. If several guys go after the attack, jump on their wheel and go with them. If you get out in front by yourself you will burn up too much energy.' So here I am, out here by myself, burning energy. Dumb. I saw a rider from a rival team attack the group and didn't want him to get away. Lack of self control. I let off the gas and let the group absorb me.

Fifteen minutes later the pace has increased. We are moving pretty good now. The 45 guys in our race have shaken the cold from their bones and are focusing on this final kilometer of racing. I am surprised and excited to find myself positioned in the top 10 or 15. My goal for this race is to place top 10. To be here, positioned where I am, looking at the '1km to go' sign gets my adrenaline pumping. Guys start jockeying for position. We are moving so fast now. My brain is fully engaged, having to watch the other riders around me. I cannot even look down to see how fast we are moving. Out of my periphery, I see three riders on the left of the group go off the front, sprinting toward the finish. Next thing I know, I am going off the front from the right side of the group, chasing after the three who are now about 10m in front of me. We are at around 100m from the finish .

The finish and the start are the same line. Nearly an hour before, I was positioned for the start at that very line, ready for the start of my first race. I don't know if I have ever been this cold. It is early, early in the morning in February and, in spite of all the gear I am wearing and the miles of riding I put in to warm up my body, I am shaking. I look around at the other guys and notice the guy in front of me is shaking worse than I.

It is said that race horses in the starting gate before gun goes off tremble with the expectation of the impending competition. Racing, competing, is something bred into them. It is a trait of character bestowed by their creator with intent that His design, cultivated by discipline, will bring about some unique fruit that brings some goodness in the world and a special communion between the creator and the created.

50m from the finish I hear the wheels of a rider coming up on my left. I have nothing left to prevent him from beating me to the line (thanks to my uninspired time a the front a few minutes ago). I cross the line in 6th, pleased with my finish, having been affirmed in my belief that my creator has placed in me that thing I am to develop that will bring goodness to the world and myself. It is a good start.

Welcome

Dilworth

May 2, 2009 at 8:00am. 'Wouldn't that be perfect. I train, recover, scout the course, am first to be registered, visualize, and have a strategy to win and I miss the start because I am riding the course one more time.'

I am on the other side of the race course but hear the call to the line for all Cat 5 racers 34 years old and under. Races are divided based on age and experience/success. I am a beginner this year, the Dilworth criterium marking only the third race I have done, the first circuit-race (also called a criterium). Hearing the call to the line, I turn around and high-tail it to the line where i find my tardiness has earned me a spot in the back row of starters, not where I want to be during this race.

Looking around, I see most riders are like me, solo guys who are likely trying, as I am, to get the points to move up to Cat 4 and race with our teams. The one departure in this race is that 4 guys from a local team pull up to the line together. In cycling, like most anything else, numbers count for something. It is much harder for a solo rider to win a race when other guys are working as a team. Seeing 4 guys from one team in my race was disconcerting.

The whistle blows and we start, fast and furious. I find myself in the middle of the group for the first several laps. Suddenly, one rider sprints away from us, smoking up the road. One look at the effort he puts out convinces me he is no threat to win. He will burn out and within one lap we will catch him. We catch him one lap later. After a few more laps, another rider, a junior (under 18) jumps off the front. I predict a similar fate for him and, although he put up a good effort, we caught him after a little over a lap.

As we pass the finish the official holds up a sign telling us that we have 3 laps to go, or is it 2 laps, I forgot to look. I was too concerned at waving at my daughter who was at the finish with her brother, sister, and mom. Shoot. That is great. Again, all the tactical plans in place but I forget to pay attention to what lap I am on. I've got to go on this lap, then, and hope I only have two to go. After the 90 degree turn at the bottom of the hill, I get out of the saddle and accelerate at a sustainable pace up the hill. I was sitting about 4th wheel when I turned it up a bit and after the .38mile climb, as I crossed the start/finish line, I look back and am shocked to see that the field is working hard to catch me but is 100m behind.

This new surge of adrenaline is difficult to control but I sit down and work at balancing my power output with my cadence (rpm) so that I am pushing it but only at a pace I can sustain for what I find out is two more laps. All goes to plan for one lap. The next lap I find I am maintaining my lead but am getting fatigued. A boy on the side of the road yells at me, 'they are catching you!' That is enough to bring about my focus for the last effort. I am hurting. My legs, my back, my gut, my lungs. The only comfort is that I know the guys trying to catch me are hurting even worse. One last turn. One last climb. I hit the climb, careful not to burn myself out but putting everything I have into it. There is the finish. I am in pain. 75m to go. I look back. A rider is 50m back. I stay aggressive and keep spinning. 'I am going to win this thing.' The awareness of the spectators gaze is heavy. I can feel their question, 'can he sustain this effort?' 20m to go. I am going to win. I realize I didn't practice the ceremonial victory salute. What am I going to do. I raise my right arm. It is the only victory salute I can muster. I cross the line as the winner.

Victory holds gratification in knowing I trained and recovered appropriately. It brings satisfaction knowing I visualized and executed perfectly on my strategy. It brings confirmation, in only my 3rd race, that I am in a sport that suits my physical and mental predisposition to push myself and suffer for the glory of the finish.

What this victory fails to bring is any contribution to my identity. It was fun. It is an accomplishment. I am the same person, win or loose.

This is growth for me and, perhaps, the greater victory of the day.

I am in indebted to Ronald Richardson http://www.cyclepix.photoreflect.com/ and my wife for these images.