When my wish was granted, then it was time to actually consider what I had gotten myself into:
1) 100 miles = not too worried about this one. I'm pretty fit for the time of year, I've done a few 50-60 milers, and I did two centuries last season (albeit one accidentally).
2) The Group = this was where I was most nervous. Six guys, all local strong riders, some of them the strongest I know. While the pace was advertised as Winter a la 17/18mph, I had doubts. I so so so didn't want to be that girl who tagged along only to drag the whole pace down because the guys felt bad about leaving her behind.
3) My condition - this would have been the third day in a row riding for me, having already done hard intervals on Thursday and an endurance ride + run the day before. I wasn't going into it 100% fresh.
But. All of that aside, I was also curious, and excited. Could I "hang" with the big boys? Could I handle it?
Saturday morning, after a night of sleep cut short by a recent Netflix addiction, I awoke, downed a bowl of cereal, suited up, and met the group. We all said our good mornings, hit the start buttons on our Garmins, and were off.
The ride down for me wasn't tough at all. The pace was 18mph with a slight tailwind/no wind, riding in pairs, having pleasant conversations with whoever you happened to be riding next to. I took two longish pulls, and had high hopes for the ride being not as hard as I first thought.
We arrived at CH, ate at Panera, and once again suited up, this time for the ride back.
Things were not fine from the very start. My legs didn't want to respond. My heart rate didn't want to drop. I was at the end of the single file line, and thus subject to the constant yo-yo effect that comes with such a position. The wind was a brutal 10-20 mph.
I was in trouble, and we were only 10 miles into the 50+ mile ride home.
My inner monologue started to sound thusly: I'm not going to make it back with the guys. I can't keep up this pace. I can't ride up one more hill. My legs are not going to be able to keep going. I am out of my league. These guys are regretting that I came along. I am holding them back.
I told my friend that should I fall back, not to wait for me, that I was hurting and probably wouldn't make it.
The response? Encouragement.
So instead of giving up, I started digging deep. I took some advice on how to draft more aggressively, made sure that my placement in the pack was smart, made sure I ate, and didn't take any pulls. Was I still hurting? Yes. Did I want to throw in the towel? Sure. But something else told me to keep going, I was going to make it, I was going to finish the ride with room to spare.
Cycling is full of expressions, many of them stupid. One such stupid expression is the Suitcase of Courage. The thing that you pull out when you're ready to quit.
By the end of this ride, my suitcase of courage was so empty that I was finding old ticket stubs and mini hotel shampoo bottles. Does that matter? No. I still finished. I went into some not so great places, and came through them instead of giving into them.
Does all of this sound a bit melodramatic? Perhaps. But these are the same types of struggles, the same dark places that athletes at the elite and pro levels face. The deciding factor? They face them at elite and pro races, not on centuries to Chapel Hill.
I took doubts and trepidations and preconceived notions my fellow riders perceptions of me with me into this ride. I also used determination and strength and acceptance of help to get me out of this ride. The big picture outcome?
Some of my negative baggage has been left at the gate, while my suitcase of courage just got a matching carry on, so that the next time I'm in a dark place, I have more to dig into.
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