Monday, June 8, 2015

Adventures in Weakness - Setting the hook

Continuing in my adventures -

Coming home from my visit over the 4th of July with my old bike in tow, I knew I wanted to start riding more, to get in shape, to keep up with and eventually beat my brother, and to find an activity where I could start to "invest."

At the same time (and I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason), I reached out to my good friend Bill.  Bill is one hell of an athlete and a "unique" creature.  He's one of those guys who you only run into a few times, if you're lucky, in your life.  He's a Marine Corps Veteran, a Corpsman no less,  of the Vietnam War, a successful entrepreneur, a 100x+ Marathoner, a motivator, a coach, and a nice guy.  His energy can fill up a room which for some, is intimidating and overwhelming yet for others, a magnet.  For me, it was a magnet.

I also knew Bill was a big cyclist and I thought I would use him as a resource for setting me in the right direction for the kind of bike I should get, a training regimen and someone who could ride with me when was in town.  So I reached out to Bill and I was perplexed.

Bill, after 35 years of marriage, found himself in the unenviable position of going through a divorce he didn't want, wasn't expecting and was not prepared to manage through.  Having gone through a similar situation 6 years prior, I knew where he was and I offered my ear, and my home.

A few weeks passed and Bill reached out to see if I was serious about opening up my home to him.  Of course I was and my daughters were as well and we began to prepare for Bill's arrival.  The girls agreed to share a room and give up one to Bill.  We cleaned it out and awaited his arrival.

Bill showed up and settled in, as best as he could, in this temporary respite.  He also brought his bike.  It was an older Salsa Mukluk fatbike.  I was just getting back into biking and had not been aware of the different types of bikes in some time so this "new" huge-tire bike was fascinating.  He explained how he had been riding this type of bike for the last five years and it had become his only bike.

Bill is no riding slouch.  He's completed 15 Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Races out of 18 he's raced.  He rode a fatbike in five.  He successfully finished three on his Mukluk.  For those of you who aren't aware of the Leadville 100, it is a very difficult, 100 mile mountain bike race in Leadville, Colorado.  Leadville is situated at an elevation of 10,152 feet.  The race is grueling and involves roughly 12,000 feet of elevation gain.

This is its elevation profile:




In order to successfully complete this race, you must finish within 12 hours.  That's right.  100 miles, mountain bike, 12,000+ elevation gain while starting at 10,000 feet elevation and finishing in 12 hours.

Bill has done this 15 times, three on a 45 pound fatbike.  He's 67.  Maybe I shouldn't be taking my guidance and direction from this crazy, crazy man.  He enjoys riding uphill into a headwind.  He often says, with a damned smile on his face "pain in weakness leaving the body."  All the warning signs about Bill were everywhere.

So Bill arrives in Minnesota, homeless in his home state and staying with me and brings his infernal bike.  I had a great idea - let's go riding.

Off we go.  In an effort to impress (what the hell was I thinking), we started off fast, or so I thought, and after a mile I was ready to stop.  Bill strolled up next to me and told me to start spinning at an easier resistance and not worry about speed and power.  He said that would come "in due time."  I'm an impatient person and wondered why I couldn't have that by the end of a ride or three!

So we rode - me on my 26 year old Trek hybrid with skinny "fast" tires and Bill on his monster-truck bike with the huge wheels.  Bill looked he was out on a casual stroll.  I felt light headed and that I was ready to stroke out.  Then we completed the third mile.  Once again, I was thinking - what in the hell am I doing??

As we rode up and down what HAD to be MOUNTAINS (47' of elevation gain), Bill was encouraging me, talking to me about my biking, about the scenery, reminding me to take in the beauty around me.  I was swearing at him...in my mind.

"Screw you Bill. I don't give a damn about the beautiful rolling hills and lush landscape.  Screw your motviation Bill.  How can you be so happy when I feel like absolute shit??  Whatever you crazy old man."

Perhaps sensing my need for a break and some additional motivation, Bill stopped and said "Why don't you try my bike."

Greeeeeaaat.  I've been doing some reading.  Bike weight is apparently really critical.  Weight-wienies - as I now affectionately refer to them, focus on removing every ounce of weight from a bike and here I am, getting to switch to a Monster truck with pedals.  It had big handle bars, huge heavy tires, a ballsack on the back and a parrot on the front and 16 water bottle holders!

It's the Dodge Caravan of biking.  Sure, it's practical and comfortable but this will NOT look cool if I'm trying to impress single women.  But, nothing ventured - nothing gained.

I started riding Bill's bike.  It was really, really enjoyable.  It was easier to pedal.  It was more comfortable.  I was smiling.  Something was seriously wrong here.  My mind could not get around this shift in the polarity of the earth.

I *wanted* a road bike that a three-month old baby could lift with one hand.  I wanted to go really, really fast, look cool, blow by people thinking about how "slow" they are.  I pictured rolling past my brother, laughing, as I, barely exerting myself, pedaled lightly with one leg while pointing out scenery with my other leg.

And I was riding a fatbike.  I *wanted* Britney Spears and ended up with Aretha Franklin.  Sure the voice is a heck of a lot better and the career longer and the talent much better but it wasn't who I was picturing myself with in Napa Valley at a vineyard on a getaway weekend.

I didn't see others on fatbikes.  I saw them ALL on thin road bikes or cool mountain bikes with shocks in the seat, on each fork in the handle bars and on the helmets.  This big clunker had....a squeaky parrot.

As we finished that ride that day, a 21 mile journey of epic proportions, I was mentally questioning everything.  Why was this activity, miserable at its lowest point, reeling me into its wake?  How in the heck did the hook get set?  Why was I even considering a motorcycle without a motor?  Why oh why does this old man BARELY break a sweat while I'm almost ready to puke?

Why was I, a strong young guy, so......damn.......weak?

"Humility is to make a right estimate of oneself."
— Charles H. Spurgeon



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