Today I met the normal gang (most of it) for our typical Saturday AM ride. Normally, I wouldn't spend much time thinking or writing about this kind of ride because it is on the schedule every week. Mostly its simply a good workout and a fun group to ride with - but it's normally just a typical ride, no biggie. But this ride often takes me to what I think of as my dark place - that's what I want to talk about.
To catch up, this ride is lovingly referred to by the Cville Tri Club as the Saturday Chipolte Ride. I have no idea why Chipolte - especially since we usually go to Bodo's Bagels afterwards for sustenance and entertainment. Anyway, it's roughly a 54 mile loop through the rolling hills southeast of Charlottesville. The ride is done fast - usually the group finishes in about 2.5 hours.
Most of the riders in this group are quite a bit stronger than I. No real surprise there - I'm not a terribly strong rider. So for me, the goal is typically to hang with the group for as much of the ride as possible. Then with persistence, I hang on a little bit further every week. But let there be no doubt, I often experience what can only be described as epic meltdowns, sometimes with quite a few miles to go. I know plenty of folks more knowledgable than I would tell me to cut it out - the meltdown part that is. And that is something I'm working on.
But what is so great about the ride is that it helps force me into that zone of that combines both fatigue and intensity at the same time. I simply call this zone my dark place. Here's how my dark place feels. The legs are aching bad, but they are still strong enough to keep the pace. The lungs are working hard, breathing is difficult, but I'm not quite gasping for air. Half my brain knows that this pain will go away almost instantly, simply by dropping the cadence, or by lifting, ever so slightly the contant pressure to the pedals. The other half, refusing for the moment to admit surrender, pushes on for a few more precious seconds. I'm not ready to give in to the hurt just yet. Those seconds extend into minutes with agonizing slowness, but I push on.
After about 20 to 30 minutes of this, your perception begins to change in odd ways. The sun, which shone brightly just an hour ago, begins to lose its lustre. The Virginia countryside seems to fade away to a dull grey nothingness and the color fades slowly away. The only sounds are the rythmic spinning of cranks, chain, wheels and the labored breaths. Peripheral visions begins to fade away, reality becomes simple - person, bike, road. And I push on.
I am aware of my surroundings, but only enough to steer the bike and remain upright. My brain is solely focused on a set of fairly simple tasks - breathe in, breathe out, right leg push, left leg push, steer. I am enveloped in the darkness. I find it comforting in many ways - reality to reduced to a set of basic physic equations.
Finally - and for me this inevitably comes on some hill climb - the legs give way. The power that seemed to be there just 10 minutes ago has been claimed by the road. The matches are burned - there's nothing left. I am finally betrayed by my own human limitation. I press on to stay with the group a little longer, but for me it's over. I am, as they say, cooked.
The ride of course isn't over at this point, am I make it back to the car in reasonable order. Sometimes I am with the pack, sometimes a few minutes behind. Either way it's been a good ride. I got visit my dark place - it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there!
Here's a map of the ride:
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