Now that the big event you've been reading about has passed, it's time to look back and recap the weekend, put some perspective on it, and to show my gratitude for all of you who have believed in me.
First, to my family, who graciously posted the couple of updates on my facebook page to let everyone know how I was doing, a huge thank you. You may not have believed it to be very much, but it meant a lot to me. Secondly (in alphabetical order), to Mr. Ahlers, Mr. Creasy, Mr. Walther, and Mr. Wehler - thanks guys. You made the weekend worthwhile in so many ways. Particular thanks for the aid with my mishap (more later on this). Thirdly, to all those who supported my fundraising monetarily, no matter what the amount, you have my very humble thanks. Your generosity is amazing, your hearts huge. I am in awe of you. Lastly, to all my friends and family who have been supporting me throughout this process - I am grateful to you all. Your kind words and gestures have served to give me the strength and stamina needed to accomplish this task. I don't know if I could have done it on my own. Out there on the road, I knew I was NOT alone, all because of you.
But enough of the sappy stuff - you all want to know what happened, right? I thought so!
Saturday morning, I arrived at the starting gate at about 5:30 AM. The campground was quiet, and a heavy fog was settled over the field where I parked. Generators were running several stands of lights around the area, the registration tent was up and filled with volunteers helping riders get settled in. I quickly found my team leader and got things situated. I handed in my envelope of checks, cash, etc, received my packet o' materials, and all I had to do was get my luggage on the truck and get ready to ride. I had breakfasted, hydrated, had my food ready to go...so I had plenty of time to relax and go about the business of the morning.
As other riders began to arrive (yeah, I was one of the first there, so the parking spot was truly choice) a spirit began to infect the grounds. Laughter rang out clearly at every moment. This was going to be more than a ride...it was going to be a two-day party!! Teams showed up in their jerseys, Xfinity, Roadkill Warriors, Thick Bikes, Champions for MS (my team), Fort Couch Potatoes, and a myriad of other teams, all sporting company logos or special team names - and the miscellaneous masses who just showed up to ride one at a time, or in small groups of friends. I estimate there were about 700 riders in all - from every walk of life, from every fitness level. The DJ started cranking music as teams got together for photos, and the lines for the port-a-potties grew long (as happens with EVERY bike event, I think).
Finally, the sun came up and began to burn off the fog, and we lined up at the starting gate. At 7:30, we were off - a half hour late due to too much fog! The mass of riders went out, each of us trying to make sure we didn't crash and look really foolish right off! Seriously, you'd be surprised how fast one small crash/stoppage can back up when you're just starting out on the ride. I found out fairly quickly, as we approached the first rise of the day about 1.5 miles into the ride. Two riders in front of me, a girl misjudged the hill, and stopped dead in her tracks, forcing those of us immediately surrounding her to stop, too. No momentum left, and the hill being fairly steep (but very short) I was forced to walk the 25 feet up the little rise! At this point, I knew I was in for a world of pain, if I had to walk this early in the day!!!
My friends were ahead of me, and I had to catch up! So at the top of the hill, I managed to shift into top gear and started again, and by the time 5 miles were done, I'd caught my friends again, after a couple of easy descents on back roads at almost 30 mph. We settled into a pace and began to ride. We met up with a couple of ladies from the Xfinity team, and chit-chatted our way through the winding roads. Up and over small hills we went, and I was surprised at something: I was strong. After the first 30 miles, I found myself feeling great, not in the least bit hungry at the second pit stop of the day, having not even had anything to drink. That was at 9:09 AM. Alarms sounded in my head, but my body was telling me I was fine. I sipped some water and gatorade anyway, and ate some. There was more than plenty of food. Fruits, pb&j sandwiches, drinks, protein bars, granola bars, fruit chews - tons of food was there at the support stations. One rider lost a spoke on his wheel and had to get a ride from the "Sag Wagon" to this rest stop, where a bike mechanic was quickly repairing the problem. My friends and I were still doing well, and I felt as fresh as a spring daisy. And I can't believe I just used that term. But, I digress.
The next stop was lunch at 44.5 miles in, and if I thought they had plenty of food before - well THIS blew me away. I rarely get too hungry while I ride anyway, but this was almost too much! I forced myself to eat a banana, drink some lemonade and some water, chow on a protein bar and half a chicken sandwich before I just couldn't do any more...and I took way less than what was offered! It was back on the road shortly thereafter. I was ahead of my two friends I'd been riding with, and the ladies had gone on ahead of me when I rounded the corner thanking the marshalls for their traffic duties and saw a very intimidating hill. You all know how I feel about hills by now, but just in case you missed it, I will borrow a line from Mr. Weird Al Yankovic: "I'd rather dive into a swimming pool filled with double-edged razor blades than" climb hills! Seriously. I got not quite halfway up it and had to pull off to the side to allow my legs to recouperate. It's a bit humiliating....especially when there are other people scampering up at an unbelievable rate. One of my friends passed me.
From somewhere - and I couldn't tell you where it is - my legs pull some very strange strength, and after a brief rest in the middle (2, maybe 3 minutes) I was able to make it up the hill. It was slow, painful, and agonizing, but I was not going to let the hill beat me, nor was I going to take a ride in the sag wagon. I eventually gained the top, and found something amazing: my legs recovered their strength ON THE RIDE UP. WHAT? Yep, you heard me. It's about something called "cadence"and it's one of the hardest things to force your muscles to do, in my humble opinion. A friend told me not too long ago, "if you can keep it at about 85 rpms, there's nothing you can't ride." Well, guess what? I found that zone between 75-90 rpms and was able to keep that going up the rest of that climb, and then at the top, too. Sometimes, it means dropping the gears down and going slower, but if you can keep it there, well, maybe even I can ride anything.
The rest of the way was mostly easy going for a while. I caught up to the ladies, and I knew my friend who passed me went on to the century option that was offered (later found out it was a very hilly course, so I'm glad I didn't do it). Afew hills later (we're now into the 60-ish mile range, by the way - the longest distance I had ever done in a day) and one of my other friends caught up to me on a hill. We kept going, and rode most of the rest of the trip together. At the end, the long descent into Edinboro, PA, saw us crossing the day's finish line together. 79.3+ miles done.
THe party continued. Each team had pavilions erected, and we all sat around, meeting one another, congratulating one another, sharing the joys of fellowship, our cause, and of course, a few well-earned treats like beer, snacks, and more beer...unless you were sipping scotch, like me (special thanks to Mr. Irving for that flask!) I set up the tent, grabbed a shower, put my bike away in the gymnasium, and set about relaxing for the evening. I had been through the tough part, now it was time to recouperate for the next day. Dinner, a beer garden, general hooliganism and hanging out with my buddies for a while, and eventually, back to the tenting area for some fun and much-needed sleep.
Innevitably, it rained all night. I snored, driving one friend into the student union, and the tent leaked a little - nothing too serious, but a pain, none the less (guess it's time for more protective coating, huh?) After a semi-restless evening, it was time to get up and do it all again. Breakfast began at 5. I was out of bed by 4:50. All three of us barely made it to the starting line by 7:30, and thus began day two.
Sunday was supposed to be easier than Saturday. The distance was shorter, and supposedly the hills were simpler. But heading into a strong wind is never easy. I managed to find the "sweet spot" in a couple of trains of people, thus avoiding some of the wind for a while as I attempted to catch up with my friends who were ahead of me in the first group of riders. I barely had caught onto this group in the beginning of the day. I eventually did catch them, and we bagan riding together, when it happened. Road construction. Well, a small drainage issue, really. We saw it coming, we were warned about it by the course marshals, and when it came and we slowed down for it, I was a little too close to my friend's back tire, and when he braked a little more than I thought he was going to, a slammed on the brakes and flipped over my handlebars. The most common injuries to cyclists are broken wrists (from trying to catch yourself on the ground) and broken collarbones (from equally messing up your shoudlers as you fall). Somehow, I had a deathgrip on the bike, and it flipped with me (YAY! saved the bike!) My helmet hit thr gound, along with a little bit of my forehead, and the backside of my shoulder as I flipped end-over-end. I finished in a sitting position, somehow, not too much the worse for wear. A contact lens popped out, and was caught in my sunglasses, so I put that back in. My waterbottle was screwed up and worthless. I don't know how or why it happened, but I somehow managed to dodge anything more serious that a bruised ego and some "road rash."
The next 20 or so miles was painful. my back was hurting, my shoulder was hurting. My head started off throbbing, but that quickly went away. The next rest stop (mile 122) was out of biofreeze for my back. Luckily, the lady in charge of the med kit had some other oitnment that I rubbed into my back, and it was all good. I was furnished with a new waterbottle by Chaz of Pittsburgh Pro Bikes (visit their site, please http://www.probikesllc.com/) and I was on my way again. 10 miles left to go, we were told.
The day got colder, the closer we got to the lake, and the winds picked up. But there I was, feeling barely able to hold on, and when the roads eased out. We had been rolling through eastern OH, along freshly chipped and tarred roads, which were taking their toll on me. The roads smoothed out to better surfaces, and I was able to find my cadence again. Shoulder sore, my legs started working as I came into the village of Caunneaut, OH. Policemen, firemen, volunteers, and people sitting on their front porches waved us on, cheered us all, congratulated us, and thanked us as we rode past them. I was smiling. I was happy. I know now how it must feel for the pro racers to come into the finish line, crowds of people yelling and screaming for them. There were a bunch of us stretched out along the route. It would have been just fine to all roll in together. But I had been on the road by myself for most of two days, catching small groups, watching a few others roll by me on hills. Largely, I spent my time just the way I trained: just me and the road. I wanted to finish it that way. I was strong. I still had legs left for this. As I passed one of the last guys in front of me, I told him to "finish like a pro" and invited him to grab onto my wheel (lingo for falling into line and drafting, for the non-cyclists) if he could. My hands on the drops, back bent over, riding in high gear, I pedaled through the last turn and onto a straightaway.
We had joked about finishing with a pose like the pros do: Fleccha with his archery, Cavendish with his cell phone, Contador with his pistol. We joked about posing like these guys as we crossed the finish line. I couldn't take my hands off the bars - Fleccha was out. Cavendish's phone - I never really liked that one. I hate Contador, and besides, it was a cop directing me into the park. I couldn't shoot the cop! That would be bad form! And then I saw him: the photographer. I was alone on the road, the way I wanted. Solo finish. People on both sides of the road...my chance to get a taste of what it might feel like to win a race. I raised my finger, "shot the cop" as the camera started clicking away, the crowd laughing, me smiling wide. Somewhere out there, there's a photo of it.
Thanks once again for coming on this ride with me, everyone. It has been worth it in so many different ways for me, and I hope you've gotten some enjoyment out of it, too. I'm looking forward to doing this again next year. Who knows?? I might do the century option next year...I may even try and do one of these in another city as well!! the National MS Society hosts a lot of these events all over the country - if there's one near you, I ask you to consider riding it. If riding isn't your thing, that's cool. Please consider volunteering for it. But maybe there's not one near you. In that case, find a charity ride, walk, run - whatever...and get involved. Take part. You'll be glad you did. And maybe next time, we'll take turns pulling through a headwind.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
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