Why Suffer?

A year ago this past weekend I learned a lesson. It is one I have been learning in ever area of life over the past several years but one whose importance was demonstrated in the mountains of North Carolina a year ago. It was my first 'century' (a 100+ mile bike ride/race). I had enjoyed cycling as a hobby for years but decided to stick my toe in the water of competitive cycling by racing in the appropriately titled 'Blood, Sweat, and Gears.'

Standing amidst 1200 people and bicycles at the starting line, the early morning rays of sun provided an ethereal glow to the mist still lingering in the valley. Five weeks of intense training and anticipation, at times leaning toward the obsessive category, had left me with a confidence I was soon to test in the 13000+ feet of climbing that lay before me. The first 50 miles went by relatively quickly; my body feeling good, my mind feeling sharp. I was on target to finish inside of the 6 hour mark, my target for the day. I spent the first part of the day unsuccessfully looking for a group of people with which to work. I found a group that I rode with for 4 miles that had promise. I could stay with them and reach my goal!

Mile 53 our group overcame a much slower group and, in the confusion, I fell and tumbled across the concrete into the ditch at the side of the road. The adrenaline took over and I began shaking. My body was hurt with what turned out only to be a bit of road rash. My mind was shot and my confidence shattered. I collected my water bottles from the weeds, got back on my bike and continued ahead. I was alone. I was hurting. I was trying to catch my group who was now strung out on a big climb in front of me. I pushed myself too hard and, for the first time on a bike, I felt the crippling pain of leg cramps. For the next 50 miles I experienced a personal hell that was produced by dehydration, isolation, self-doubt, and cramps in every conceivable leg muscle I had. It was agony. Alone I carried this cross along the endless valley roads. Constantly looking behind me for another rider, all that was in me cried out for another person for company; someone to help with the physical suffering and emotional torture in which I was mired. No one came. Four hours passed until, alone, I crossed the finish line.

The mountains taught me what I have been learning in other areas of life; to venture alone is to struggle more than is necessary. I have been pushing myself this year to earn the right to race with my team, my community. They are all more experienced with me so there are hoops that must be jumped in order to reach them. They are worth pursuing. The team is worth suffering for. Early Friday morning I received notification that I have been recognized by the USAC as a Cat 4 racer. It is an improvement over my Cat 5 designation and the major goal of my season. I have earned the right to race with my team and look forward to being there for the guys; together avoiding the needless solo suffering that characterized this weekend one year ago.

NC State Games

Racing should be fun, right? I had a bit of fun on Sunday at the NC State Games. I had my fan club out (see the happy, flushed faces to the right). I gave a kid a five mid-way through the race. I won a pair of socks by winning a 'preim lap' (kind of like a race within a race. FYI, I left without the socks and remembered about them at the pool later that day-slightly frustrating). Me and one other guy led pretty much the whole race but I beat him in the sprint at the end, winning the race. I had a judge call me to the judges booth overlooking the finish line and show me the photo finish. I won by 6 inches. It was a very cool shot and I should have taken a picture of it so I could post it here, again, I didn't think about it until after the race was over. I stepped up on a podium and had someone put a gold medal around my neck. It was a pretty cool day...not in temperature, mind you-it was crazy hot. Anyway, it was a nice father's day afternoon. Now I set my sights on Greenville SC this Thursday evening. One more...

Wanting

When I was 11 or 12 I wanted a remote control car. I remember the car exactly. It was called a 'Turbo Hopper,' had knobby tires, and a body like a Baja racing vehicle. Here was the commercial that hooked me. Looking at it now I know why.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUh5YTcQIgg
Believe it or not, this ridiculous toy was $50 which, to a kid with no concept of a job, was an insurmountable amount. I entered into a dark compact with my parents and grandparents where I became what was, under modern labor laws, probably indentured child servitude. I agreed to do any dirty job I could to begin earning my right to turn the corny tire and pull the ridiculous 'turbo' button that would control the dream machine. I earned that right 6 months later and, as I walked out of Toys'R'Us that afternoon vigilantly guarding the plastic bag that housed the dream realized, I experienced the first taste of hard work's fruit.

Saturday's race was brutal. I was pretty demoralized after my legs cramped and even more so as I pulled across the finish line after everyone else. As it turns out I placed 19th in my age group. Sunday was a miraculous race in the sense that I was able to finish. Thanks to Saturday's beating, Sunday was spent just barely hanging on. I was on the edge of cramping the entire race to the point that I couldn't even warm up. By some freak act of nature I finished in 3rd. I face a criterium on Sunday and another crit a week from today in Greenville SC.

In some ways I feel like I did as I was working so hard for my Turbo Hopper. I frequently ask myself, 'why am i putting myself through this?' I push my body 6 to 7 days a week, watch what I eat, and pay to suffer like I did this weekend. Why? As strange as it sounds coming from my mouth, the answer is community. I will expound on this in another blog post. This week, I focus on the solitary work of suffering to gain the prize.

State Championships-Sat

Move along

Horse farms dot the way (left)



I have to deal with some traffic (below)

Downtown Huntersville (left)

Another kind of road (below)

Horses, goats, corn, wheat all within
1 mile of this spot. One of my
favorite stretches of road (left)

I like to camp. Not the car-camping type mind you, although I will do it if it is the only kind available. I like to follow a trail leading somewhere I have never been and enjoy the views along the way. When I find a spot with water and a beautiful view I will sometimes decide to stay for the night. I am one of these people who is easily overtaken by the beauty of creation so when an opportunity comes along that affords me the option of staying and drinking in the beauty, I will take it.

As much as I like to camp, it is important for me to remember that it is not the end-state. I find much truth in the cliche, 'life is about the journey and not the destination.' As I look back over some of the biggest disappointments in life and some of the most challenging times it is typically because I became so absorbed in the beauty of what was around me I wanted to camp out longer than I was supposed to. I easily forget the concept of pilgrimage.

Whether literally or metaphorically, my life is about following roads. On two wheels or on four, in darkness or in light, by myself or surrounded by a group of people journeying the same direction, I follow roads and pay special attention to the landscape I am passing through as it has much to teach me about life and myself. These pictures are a few of my favorite spots on some roads that I ride several times a week.

This week my road leads me to the NC state road race championships. I have a race on Saturday, 80 miles that I hope to simply finish with the main group, and a race on Sunday, 41 miles that I pray I will have not worn myself out for during the race on Saturday. I am simply passing through these spots and am not sure what to expect. I know the next big camp site is just beyond. I hope to move from Cat 5 to Cat 4 by the end of the month. I will camp there for a while and then go in search of what is next.

The meaning of it all

Ever been around someone who takes something way too seriously? Of course you have and, if you are honest, you tend to head down that road on occasion yourself. I have a nose for people like this, probably because I live on that street myself. It is always an interesting moment when I catch myself there. It is kind of a mixture of embarrassment and self-loathing, like when you were in high school and your friends caught you in a lie. Man, it is awkward.

Last week I was on a ride with about 50 people, most of whom I do not know. It was a leisurely ride down one of Charlotte's busiest corridors at rush hour. There were several people who clearly took themselves way too seriously. One guy started getting on my case because I was riding too hard. That is always funny to me; funny, at least, in a way that ticked me off. I responded by trying my best to point out that I was a stronger rider (as if that is something of great significance). The whole ride builds to one grand moment when the whole field sprints for the same line, the NC/SC state line. The first person to cross that line is able to wear the mantle of being the bad boy of the day on that ride. My team worked hard to get me across that line first and I blew it. I felt horrible about myself afterward. I had the emotion of a kid caught in his lies. For what it is worth, I still beat the mouthy guy.

Such a strong reaction over something as insignificant as a bike ride prompts the question, "What is wrong with this picture?" I like to read a lot and something I read last week poses a painfully clear answer to this question. In the book, the author states "'Performance' - in art or sports, for example - creates the illusion of meaning for a magical moment, if the performance is successful." This is why it is so appealing. When people have a void of significant meaning in their life, they try to create it by performing. The cruelty of this reality is no matter how often or successful a performer you happen to be, any meaning created by your success fades before you are able to extract satisfaction from it. It is like eating a side salad when you are ravenously hungry; it tastes good but serves only as an appetiser until the real food arrives.

So there I was, clad in spandex, pedaling away, chasing after meaning to fill my life but finding that I ended up with not even a side salad instead. I get cranky when I'm hungry. It is funny what we consume to fill our belly.