CalE. is traveling back with the warden, Lucia, and their puppy. She has something important to tell me, so she asked me to call her.
d.: Hello. How are you doing Cal.E.?
C.: Memories, bittersweet, water colored memories of my wayward fur
d.: Why are you singing that song, Cal.E.? (and I think the last words of that line are "The Way We Were" { since it is also the name of the song}).
C.: Because, d.c. Mom and Dad signed my emancipation papers. I do not have time to look up lyrics to sad songs, but I am now free to live with Lucia, the puppy, and the warden. I guess that Mom and Dad do not love me anymore!
d.: I don't think that is it, Cal.E. Your mom and dad just want you to be happy. They told me that, if living with Lucia and the warden made you happy, they would sign the papers. They do wish that you would continue your rehabilitation, though.
C.: I am through with that. I do NOT want to be isolated for twelve to sixteen hours a day. I would rather put up with a puppy and sit in Lucia's lap. That is all I need to do. I haven't had any catnip for over a month. I am doing well.
d.: Well, if you're sure this is what you want to do, you may want to call your mom and dad and, at least, tell them goodbye.
C.: I will do that, d.c. I will still talk to you, though. You had nothing to do with this emancipation process. Please keep in touch, my friend.
d.: Okay, my fine, fickle feline friend. I will look forward to talking to you, on occasion. I wish you well.
And now, Chapter twenty of "Beyond the Thirteenth Mile; The Iron Man Chronicles"
CHAPTER 20: A BLUE LEMOND
Run course; Mile nineteen: Man; I AM TIRED. This run course is not easy. It is not as brutal as the bike course, though. I never would have finished THIS bike leg with any of my old bikes. It is a good thing that I found that Blue Lemond on sale. It certainly helped me conserve a small amount of energy for the run…
********************************************************************
"You're born alone, you live alone, and you die alone. If, in your life, you make three real friends along the way, you can consider yourself truly blessed."
********************************************************************
I awoke one horrible morning with these words on my mind. They were from a television interview with Yule Brenner that I just happened to see, about three months before he died.
Letting a migraine headache, fatigue, and frustration, in general, get the better of me, I looked at my prize possession, my blue Lemond bicycle, and started to cry.
"That bike," I thought, “represents everything that is wrong with my life." With many, many apologies to Lance Armstrong, life is not about the bike.
After having been coached for two years, I'm a decent swimmer and an okay runner by nature, but my first training priority has always been about the bike. When I first started swimming in a master's program, my coach looked at me and said, "You know,
Jed, all you want to do is get out of the water, and get on that bike." This is no accident. When I first started competing in triathlons, I was told that to be really good, I needed to have a strong bicycling base. I took those words to heart. The bike leg of a triathlon is where competitors either gain or lose the most time and distance. It is also the best place to eat and hydrate in the longer races. My bike is fairly nice, with a racing cassette and racing wheels on it, it is built for speed. I do have some friends who are almost as obsessive about their Treks or Giants, but, other than a bicycle mechanic or a volunteer at a particularly long race, only two people touch my bike-Nicole, and me.
For someone who isn't very vocal, I've never had much trouble making friends, all of the way from grade school through college. It seemed that now, however, that all of my friendships were built around that bike. There is a reason for that. I enjoy cycling more than most people do, and, when I get on my blue Lemond, people notice me. I usually get to be the lead rider on all of my training rides with my friends (at least, on the ones that Luke doesn't ride in), and, being on that bike seems to bring instant respect. That is, unless I happen to be one of nine thousand riders in a faceless crowd.
Last weekend I did the Lone Star chapter's version of the M.S. 150. This is a two-day 175-mile (plus) ride from Houston to Austin. This is the largest M.S. ride in the country (out of several hundred). This year's was the largest ever.
On a pretty spring day in April, 8,999 of my "closest friends'' and I set off on our bikes for a Saturday morning ride. 8000 of these people," I thought, one- half of the way through the second day, "act as if they have never been on a bicycle before." (This was after Adam and I had to fend off several riders to protect a rider that had fallen on day one until the ride marshal arrived. WE stopped to help the fallen rider, even though we had to stop and run back to the rider who started behind us. No one else bothered to do so, even though the rider fell only several hundred yards from the starting line.)
I didn't enjoy this year's ride as much as I had the previous two year's rides, mainly because of the overabundance of "Yahoos," my borrowed term for overly aggressive riders who are not particularly concerned with safety. They make an appearance in almost every ride, and, as a rule, I just try to stay away from them as much as possible. However, when there are 9,000 people all trying to ride to the same place at the same time, it is impossible to stay away from all of the "Yahoos."
Even the "Yahoos," however, are riding for a worthy cause, to raise money for research to fight Multiple Sclerosis. Some riders even have the disease and still are able to complete the ride. One father pulled his twenty-eight-year-old daughter, an M.S. sufferer, in a cart behind his bicycle the whole way. This reminded me of Rick and Dick Hoyt at the 1999 Hawaiian Ironman. (The father is an avid triathlete who competes in the Hawaiian Iron Man every year. The son is a professor at an Ivy League institution. He suffers from M.S., but his father lets him enjoy the race by pulling him in a cart behind his bicycle and pushing him in a cart during the run.)
This Dad, however, (unlike Rick Hoyt) had a little help from his new family. Each took a turn pulling the unfortunate family member in his cart.
Perhaps I did not enjoy this particular charity ride because there were more riders, period attempting the ride (many of them were severely undertrained for the ride. This added to my aggravation because it makes for an uncomfortable situation for those of us trying to avoid injury. I was only a few months away from attempting my first IronMan distance triathlon, and I desperately wanted to avoid injury).
I emerged from the pack of riders relatively unscathed, save for my flat (which is easily fixable), and having to pull myself and another rider away from a panicked ride marshal. The Ride Marshal had, unfortunately, taken a bad spill while trying to help another rider (perhaps God had a reason for Adam and me doing this ride?)
One of the riders in my group had elected not to ride at all, having bumped into a car the week before while trying to complete a training ride. (I did see one rider who elected to do the ride with a broken arm, having to prop up his wounded wing with a stick that extended from his cast to his leg. His leg supported the weight of his arm.)
Adelina had decided to try the ride for the first time, but she succumbed to a sinus infection and fatigue after the first day. Even Millie, one of the most athletic females that I have ever known, elected not to ride the second day, admitting that she hadn't trained sufficiently.
I, however, was having none of it. Come sinus infection, flat, hell, or high water, I would finish the ride!
My original plan was to finish the ride in one day, reasoning that it would be a really good training ride for the IronMan distance triathlon that I was planning on attempting at the end of the season. This would have been doable, provided that I could average around 18 miles per hour (my normal average for this ride) and didn't stop over three times.
Many problems, though, prevented me from attempting this. Aside from feeling that I had not sufficiently trained for doing this, I had no support crew beyond the campsite at the end of the first day's ride. The temperature had climbed into the mid-80s, making hydrating and keeping electrolytes in balance a tricky situation, even for a veteran rider.
I'm not sure if anyone decided to attempt doing that this particular year, given the less than ideal weather conditions, as well as the fact that some of the roads were under construction. However, I do know of people who have completed the entire ride in one day. Many people rollerblade the entire course, an impressive feat. The most impressive participants, however, are a few military personnel running the whole distance. My hat is off to these individuals.
There is a common misconception about a ride like this, that being, "anyone can do it." Yes, anyone can do it if he/she has trained sufficiently, doesn't expect to go any faster than is realistic for him/her, and is well-versed enough in nutrition and hydration to keep him/herself out of danger during adverse (hot) conditions. Anyone can do it, but it isn't easy. It isn't pleasant, either, if one is not properly trained and prepared.
My own personal belief is that cycling clubs should not only offer training rides for new riders, but they should also offer classes in nutrition and how to hydrate properly during an endurance ride. I believe that this would make these rides much more enjoyable for everyone involved, both the riders and the volunteers.
コメント