For a newbie like me, I was used to hopping on my bike, pedaling for a bit and coasting for a little while before starting to pedal again. In fact, on flat surfaces and with a road bike or hybrid, you can coast along pretty well.
With a five inch tire, 37 pounds and in the snow, there is no such thing as coasting. Two hours of biking in the winter means two hours of churning and constant pedaling. THAT was a new, and invaluable experience. I was shocked. In order to keep moving, you have to be powering that bike.
As winter went on, I was able to bike across Lake Minnetonka quite a few times. Here, with our little group of grinders, we stopped for a break at Lord Fletchers.
I was always lagging behind but my new group of friends waited for me, encouraged me and offered me helpful "safety checks" involving concoctions to warm your soul through the generous application of alcohol.
Usually, at the end of our adventures, we assembled at a fatbike favorite, Excelsior Brewery.
I could see this group, this collection of merry misfits, was a bit of a family. Fatbikers tend to be social, kind, outgoing, and a slight bit crazy. I could identify. There is "definition" of a fatbiker. But you can tell when you meet us. We'll welcome you into the fold and we generally don't care about speed, capability, drafting experience, or the weight of your bike.
Okay - maybe we do care about the weight of our bikes....but I digress.
As the weeks carried on, I could feel a draw. I wanted to be on my bike more. My first lake ride was 11 miles in four, yes FOUR hours, and I was very happy to see a calorie burn of 4800 calories. THIS was something I could get behind. The weather became NO factor. I've spent my whole life in the upper midwest with snow and cold. But now, I see it more as an opportunity for a new experience and some fun rather than anything negative. Having the need to travel frequently for work ALSO allows me a respite that many natives are not able to share.
I started to ride more and with the encouragement of this group, Bill and others, I continued to ride. I even decided to sign up for my first ride/race - the "Iditaride" in Excelsior, Minnesota. I had no idea what to expect. I knew it was 15 miles, across Lake Minnetonka, around and over "Big Island", through that loop again and then to the finish at Excelsior Brewery. Bill encouraged me to start, letting me know I can stop at any time but it would be good to experience the social aspects of the ride and to have fun. I went for it.
Saturday came and I arrived in Excelsior to find it buzzing with fatbikes and riders. I immediately realized this was no fad and there people of all shapes, sizes, colors and personalities. Yet, 98% were smiling and having fun. The last 2% were there to win. I met many new people and we assembled at the starting line. 300 people on fatbikes intent on racing across Lake Minnetonka in the quest to finish and have a beer - a worthy goal.
Here we were at the start:
As we started I knew I wouldn't be first and I assumed I would be a "tailgunner" or someone that rode at the back of the pack. Off we went. I felt great and realized there were other bikers still behind me - a new phenomenon. Within a month of starting this adventure, I wasn't last anymore among 300. I took that as a positive sign. Sure, they were riding unicycles in bikinis - BUT I WAS NOT LAST.
As we continued across the lake to the encouragement of the throngs of fans, okay about 20-30 people cheering us on, it was a sight to be seen.
Coming around the island, we were hit with a 25 MPH headwind and I felt like I was coming to a screeching halt. I was pedaling as hard as I could and going about 4 MPH. I least I knew there were 300 other slightly insane people in the same situation. Reaching the back side of Big Island, I rode on to the Island and through the woods, a fun little jaunt full of new experiences.
I reached the other side of the island and Bill and one other rider were waiting for me, cheering me on, and providing guidance down an enbankment of icy rocks. As we took off onto the lake, I thought we were heading back to the brewery. I had done my commitment - one loop, and I could now call it a day.
Nope. Bill lead me around the loop again, into the massive wind slowing my biking to a walking pace once again. I really hoped I wasn't inconveniencing the race organizers by my infernally slow speed. Would they have to bring cars out to light up the path as I finished in a few hours?
Around and over the island we went and now, we were headed back into Excelsior and the finish. The second loop didn't feel as bad as I thought. I realized I was going to finish the whole damn thing. Just a few weeks prior, I had finished 11 miles in four hours in heavier snow. I estimated I would be finishing somewhere in the 2 - 2.5 hour timeframe.
I thought it was a timing error or I had missed a portion of the race when I rode across the line.
1 HOUR 25 MINUTES! No way! I never thought I would be able to finish 15 winter miles in 1:25. I was shocked at the time and I quickly became aware of the huge mental limitations we put upon ourselves. Those mental limits hold us back from trying new experiences - whether its a new food, a new conversation with strangers, exercising, or riding a bike across snow.
The mental hurdles we build for ourselves are fascinating. Think about the barrier-breakers. Whether it was Felix Baumgartner freefalling from space or George Dantzig solving two "un-solvable" math problems over a weekend, we are surrounded with barrier breakers.
Yet, due to our own insecurities, the fear of the unknown, the discomfort or other factors, we become comfortable in our own limitations and rarely go beyond. Or at least that has been MY experience.
With just a little commitment, much encouragement, and a willingness to see it through, I had already achieved goals I didn't know I had and overcome limitations I had not let my mind think as a possibility.
The name of this blog, and a constant theme in my business life has been "Pervasive Curiosity." Yet, in my personal life, I often set false limitations in order to feel "comfortable." Starting to commit isn't just about a commitment to riding a bike, but to a commitment to stop setting illusory limitations.
"Argue for your limitations, and sure enough they're yours."
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