Climbing
Climbing stands as road cycling's largest appeal. It carries major bragging rights. 80% of the time, it necessitates anything epic. It hurts like a mother **cker. It makes you feel like a beast. It allows you to descend. Like ham and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, SRAM and noisy shifts, climbing is an inseparable part of the sport.
It is also one of the hardest parts of the sport.
In Greensboro, though there were climbing opportunities, I had other concerns and goals on the bike. Thus, my technique lacked tremendously when it came to going uphill. I never stood, both because I felt uncomfortable and because I didn't really grasp why it was necessary. I had little clue about gearing, or when/why to shift. I had the wrong ideas about both spinning and carrying my momentum.
Over the past month, I've had the opportunity to go up much more often. I've also had the chance to watch a lot of people ride who are fantastic at ascending (and descending).
I've also had the wake up call, twice now, that I am sooo much better at it after only a month.
Wake Up Call #1) My visit back to Greensboro last weekend.
While I was there, my awesome friend Jen let me borrow her bike so I could go on a little ride. Suddenly, the hills on Yanceyville and Dogget and Church, well, they weren't really hills anymore. They were more like speedbumps. I found myself instinctively standing when I NEEDED to, when it made SENSE. I also found myself choosing much better gearing, and shifting much more intuitively. Plus, my muscles were just better at it. Even the once "super steep" hill on Church before Air Harbor. I carried my momentum from the previous downhill, and just went right up. I arrived at the top barely winded.
Case in Point #2) Levi's King Ridge Gran Fondo
That ride was sick. While there were local NC rides that match it in terms of climbing (Tour de Gaps, for example), there isn't really a ride that matches it in terms of difficulty. Tour de Gaps is straight up, straight down, ride flat until you get to the next gap, then straight up again. You know exactly how far you're going to be climbing when you start, and once you get to the bottom again, there are no more surprise ups. Steep surprise ups. Had I not been so much better at climbing, there is no way I could have done this ride. I knew when AND how to stand so that your body weight does the work instead of your legs. I knew when to sit and spin it out. I knew when to shift, both before, while, and after standing, to keep my HR in check. I knew when to slide my butt back on the saddle and use my hamstrings and ass to save the day.
And I knew these things because, guess what? I'm becoming a better climber.
That being said, there is always room for improvement, and I'm not nearly as good of a climber as I hope to one day be.
But I also understand in a more nuanced way why it's such an important part of the sport. It's not just about the physical exertion of getting up the hill, it's also about how you get there. Better climbers do it with more grace and ease. They don't wander all over the road or grip the hoods while turning their lunch inside out, or try to do more than they know they can handle at any one stretch. They just go up. Effortlessly.
Which one could say is a metaphor for life.
Don't worry, I won't go into THAT one (yet). But it highlights yet ANOTHER reason why I love this sport so much: because it mirrors so many larger lessons.
Going up, for me in all senses, is still a lesson being learned.
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