Team Revolution Blog + Events

I’m back at work today and for our Monday morning meeting I gave my what will become weekly Team Revolution Race Team announcement. Scott, manager of the office here in STL, casually asked: “Didn’t you guys have a race or something this weekend?”

“Training. 175 miles. Up and down 3 mountains. 100 miles on Saturday. Up and down, from both sides; one mountain on Sunday to make 75 miles.”

A few raised eyebrows, but I didn’t dwell too much on it. It was really cool. More than that. But too much to me, personally, to try and convince others of it’s full emotional and physical impact. I wanted to say it was the hardest thing I’d ever done; but I feel I’m losing credibility there as I’ve got a handful of things in the last year that have fallen into that category. It was hard. As Jessi reported, (much to my personal dismay!) I did cry.

I cried. Out of a personal astonishment. I tried to do so quietly because I wanted it to be my moment–but I ended up sounding like I had a furious case of the hiccups and laughter all at once. It was a supremely happy and embarrassed cry. It was a crying about setting out to do something I didn’t know I would be able to do until I was really done. It was wishing I could have called my dad to tell him about this very tangible accomplishment. 100 miles! In Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama mountains!

Racing is sometimes an intangible joy–work hard, be strategic, finish as well as you can. But, when you don’t have a win to give it firm context for the obsession, it can be hard for someone who’s never seen a race to wrap their head around. But this, this is marathon-esque; it’s an accomplishment in itself. It’s complete exhaustion and sublime satisfaction. And I wanted to share it with Dad. And I did, not-so-quietly sobbing happy tears. (And later, I called my mom, too, for the record.)

For me, the weekend was:

Not worrying about the course, but riding. Keep pedaling. Bri and Harry’s constant, helpful comments about what was left–in no particular urgency, but in matter-of-fact confidence that it would be manageable. Rollers, 20-30 minute climbs, descents that pushed my comfort zone, staring at Harry’s ass all the way up Lookout, the feeling of whole body throbbing from effort, recovering from said effort knowing I likely had another ahead, breaking my rear derailleur cable near the top of the very last hill (mile 90, day one), descending and finishing my first century with two gears–hard and really hard, Carrie matching my gear ratio out of support for that last 10 miles, seeing Harry pedal furiously down the descents and turn into a small white dot as he cornered obscenely fast out of site, watching Bri and Carrie chase him and chasing to keep up with Bri, Carrie, Katie, Louise.

But mostly, what I’ll not soon forget was seeing my speedometer read 4mph on Lookout Mountain–sure that I could not have possibly been going that fast, wondering what it would feel like to literally fall over from lack of momentum or if it might actually be faster to walk up, the absolute urgency with which my legs and mind were yelling at me to quit with 1/4 mile left to go. Quit! Quit! Quit! And then, from some unknown corner came unreasonable reason: Pedal! You can do this! I heard Stephanie recounting this climb, “Once you stop, you will not start again.” There was no stopping. There was a brief bit of sobbing-while-pedaling that was taking too much energy and oxygen. I didn’t quit. I went into constant sit or stand debates in my head (too early, can’t turn it over, can’t stand for this long). I turned it over, painful revolution after painful revolution; constantly surprised I continued to give enough not to fall over.

Shit. I was going to keep this brief. Sorry. This was my mountain and here I am trying to push it on you. This was my “hardest thing I’ve done” to date. I continually set out to renew that statement. It’s an evolving target that doesn’t always have something to do with bike racing.

And, really, at the end of the day (or weekend) I didn’t intend to dwell. I have bigger fish to fry and this was a lower rung on that ladder (too many metaphors, but you get the idea). For too long I’ve admitted my longest ride was around the 70 mile range. I get to be done with that embarrassment. No huge production needed–sorry for the long-winded, gushy, self-impressed recap.

I had amazing support. I am lucky. I won’t go into further gushy, public gratitude; but know that my team, my club, my friends, my family, my coach give me the critical voices of unreasonable reason, of unsolicited encouragement and confidence.

We become who we surround ourselves with. Kristin Armstrong (the runner) says it best, “This has implications. It heightens my awareness of the people I spend my time with. It encourages me to gravitate towards people whose standards subconsciously raise my own. Just like the company of a particularly honest person elicits integrity, or a highly motivated person adds momentum, or a particularly funny person piques my sense of joy. Not only do I want to seek and nurture these kind of relationships, but also I am inspired to offer my gifts and perspectives more freely knowing how much I cherish the effect other people have on me.”

I guess I want to challenge everyone to find their mountain, their century, their marathon. Find it and then find your support. I hope I can be for someone, what so many have been and continue to be for me.