28.2 - This number recalled before, during, and after every ride. Compared and contrasted. The average speed needed, and not that fast, if you can ride faster than that - forever. This new currency then will wait though.
Where was the beginning of the end?? Possibly several hundred yards after the turnoff from SH2 as you begin along the Akatarawa Road, where I was turned inside out for reasons still unknown. Maybe in the snow that was ridden through with great excitement, and later left me sick again. Perhaps on Paekakariki Hill, where I turned back early from a ride for the first time ever. More likely somewhere along the way though, like any moment of any day where my body refused to recover. Or couldn't, if wouldn't seems a little harsh.
Pushing on though, with the support of some, the silence of many, and the cutting comments of a few. Negative souls were seldom encountered, but they always seemed to appear when I needed them the least. I suspect one lesson I learned this year, among the many, is to cut my loses on those would see me go up in flames on the bridges they chose to burn. Diplomatic comments have their uses, but I have finally learnt that a simple "clear off" (in one of the many subtle - and not so subtle - guises it can come in), is the tool best employed for those who do not stand in your way, so much as actively build walls to stop you. Or try to in any case.
And then there was the track. Taupo's velodrome is not 333.3 meters long. Nor is it lap after lap. The velodrome is an endless road. Always flat, which contrasts beautifully with the mountains of my mind. Adventures on the bike pursued in an arena - Both figuratively and literally. With food and drink only ever one short lap away. And there are never those pesky cars to contend with, with their agendas often seen as more important as yours, simply because they are bigger. Potholes conspicuous by their absence also. Likewise, even the groups of cyclists, never sure whether to acknowledge a cyclist on a time trial bike. "How can they be a roadie on a bike designed to be ridden away from others??" they possibly ask themselves.
As the days grew longer, the weeks grew shorter. Until one day I rode with my son. A two hour ride with a boy of just ten. He was full of vigour on this epic outing - At his pace. We returned home and he went to play at a friends house, and took with him both his youth and his 'sore legs'. I simply took the opportunity to have a sleep, and knew that all was not right in the world that day. Or many leading up to it. For me at least.
In a world of 9/11's, famines, earthquakes, wars, and recessions...which collectively seem to have shrunken our 'global village', I make no apology for striving to gain a competitive edge within a sporting context. It has always seemed a little more relevant than dreams of flying to the moon or making my 'first million dollars', and perhaps striving towards the finish line is more exciting too, if you happen to finish first.
But no. Sports is two things only - Winning and losing. Nothing more. Nothing less. You can explain away the inches that made the difference in any game, but they are simply words. Even emotion is a yard stick for how you fair. Just two outcomes exist.
Amongst this uncertainty has been support. Firstly, the unwavering friendship and support from Rachael Verry at Hammer Nutrition. Through Enduro's, Maxi Enduro's, the Ironman, and multiple Graperide Ultimate's I have carried on with my sanity and self belief tested - But never my fuelling. Secondly, the support crew. A personal thanks to a number of people who wanted to help, wanted to be a part of the Record Ride 2011, and possibly feel that they didn't end up helping. They did. A lot. On many crisp cold mornings and later through the clammy chilly evenings I carried on. Riding. Sometimes thinking there was a blur between one day and the next - perhaps because there was - and those who wanted to give up their time, to help me, would be thought of. A sincere thank you to Chris Downs, Murray Downs, Paul Rawlinson, Bronwyn Jones, Matthew Oliver, Tim Neal, and Lis Gibbs. Thank you also to the Kapiti Cycling Club, for offering to loan me the timing equipment that would ensure that my ride would be one of integrity. Lastly, the biggest gratitude is reserved for my wife - Who puts up with my endless chats about the adventures to be had…and then the journeys that follow.
So no tapering, or racing, or highlights on the endless day. But recovery needed just the same. How odd that seems. To reach the end without the journey somehow completed. For now at least. So, it would seem that 28.2 will need to wait. That average speed, which is not that fast - if you can go faster than that forever. That would have been quite some battle. The race to the finish. The race of my life. Fittingly, against no one but myself.
But the day arrived when I knew the time had passed. Without recovery there would be no gains, and I pulled the pin on this ride that means so much. The impending house of cards did not come tumbling down around me however. Instead, I felt a great weight was lifted, and knew the right choice had been made. But 'yes', there also existed a nagging feeling...and it wasn't winning. But motivation is a tool, and I would have ample supplies once I had gotten through this drunken stupor that is fatigue.
Life's journey will continue, and with it I will no doubt pick new challenges that will have my full attention while I strive towards them. A lesson I have learned from this year is that on any given day I am any mans equal. This realisation took a number of years for me to fully grasp, but has left me with peace of mind. It has also left me knowing what I can achieve, with good health and a support network fitting the outing being embraced. But not this year.
So with all of this behind me I found myself driving home from work. No commute by bike on this day. No sea breeze filling all my senses. No unexpected moments of bliss coming to me like small wrapped presents, meaning nothing 'til thought of later. Driving home then, and seeing the setting sun, orange and puffy, behind the clouds. And lingering. Not diving from the sky to sea. Instead drowning, almost. As if hanging onto this day with all its strength. This day that had been thought about so much. This day that had been named. But this day was done, and the sun had lived it's day - regardless of how long its light had gotten through the darkened clouds and mists, that covered this spring day. A false spring if winter was anything to go by.
The sun's glow would be gone soon enough then, and with it the night's arrival. Rest would follow. And then - then dawn. Clean and bright and fresh and crisp and new. I didn't linger on the sunset, but I gave thought to the morning that would follow. The morning to follow my rest.
Where was the beginning of the end?? Possibly several hundred yards after the turnoff from SH2 as you begin along the Akatarawa Road, where I was turned inside out for reasons still unknown. Maybe in the snow that was ridden through with great excitement, and later left me sick again. Perhaps on Paekakariki Hill, where I turned back early from a ride for the first time ever. More likely somewhere along the way though, like any moment of any day where my body refused to recover. Or couldn't, if wouldn't seems a little harsh.
Pushing on though, with the support of some, the silence of many, and the cutting comments of a few. Negative souls were seldom encountered, but they always seemed to appear when I needed them the least. I suspect one lesson I learned this year, among the many, is to cut my loses on those would see me go up in flames on the bridges they chose to burn. Diplomatic comments have their uses, but I have finally learnt that a simple "clear off" (in one of the many subtle - and not so subtle - guises it can come in), is the tool best employed for those who do not stand in your way, so much as actively build walls to stop you. Or try to in any case.
And then there was the track. Taupo's velodrome is not 333.3 meters long. Nor is it lap after lap. The velodrome is an endless road. Always flat, which contrasts beautifully with the mountains of my mind. Adventures on the bike pursued in an arena - Both figuratively and literally. With food and drink only ever one short lap away. And there are never those pesky cars to contend with, with their agendas often seen as more important as yours, simply because they are bigger. Potholes conspicuous by their absence also. Likewise, even the groups of cyclists, never sure whether to acknowledge a cyclist on a time trial bike. "How can they be a roadie on a bike designed to be ridden away from others??" they possibly ask themselves.
As the days grew longer, the weeks grew shorter. Until one day I rode with my son. A two hour ride with a boy of just ten. He was full of vigour on this epic outing - At his pace. We returned home and he went to play at a friends house, and took with him both his youth and his 'sore legs'. I simply took the opportunity to have a sleep, and knew that all was not right in the world that day. Or many leading up to it. For me at least.
In a world of 9/11's, famines, earthquakes, wars, and recessions...which collectively seem to have shrunken our 'global village', I make no apology for striving to gain a competitive edge within a sporting context. It has always seemed a little more relevant than dreams of flying to the moon or making my 'first million dollars', and perhaps striving towards the finish line is more exciting too, if you happen to finish first.
But no. Sports is two things only - Winning and losing. Nothing more. Nothing less. You can explain away the inches that made the difference in any game, but they are simply words. Even emotion is a yard stick for how you fair. Just two outcomes exist.
Amongst this uncertainty has been support. Firstly, the unwavering friendship and support from Rachael Verry at Hammer Nutrition. Through Enduro's, Maxi Enduro's, the Ironman, and multiple Graperide Ultimate's I have carried on with my sanity and self belief tested - But never my fuelling. Secondly, the support crew. A personal thanks to a number of people who wanted to help, wanted to be a part of the Record Ride 2011, and possibly feel that they didn't end up helping. They did. A lot. On many crisp cold mornings and later through the clammy chilly evenings I carried on. Riding. Sometimes thinking there was a blur between one day and the next - perhaps because there was - and those who wanted to give up their time, to help me, would be thought of. A sincere thank you to Chris Downs, Murray Downs, Paul Rawlinson, Bronwyn Jones, Matthew Oliver, Tim Neal, and Lis Gibbs. Thank you also to the Kapiti Cycling Club, for offering to loan me the timing equipment that would ensure that my ride would be one of integrity. Lastly, the biggest gratitude is reserved for my wife - Who puts up with my endless chats about the adventures to be had…and then the journeys that follow.
So no tapering, or racing, or highlights on the endless day. But recovery needed just the same. How odd that seems. To reach the end without the journey somehow completed. For now at least. So, it would seem that 28.2 will need to wait. That average speed, which is not that fast - if you can go faster than that forever. That would have been quite some battle. The race to the finish. The race of my life. Fittingly, against no one but myself.
But the day arrived when I knew the time had passed. Without recovery there would be no gains, and I pulled the pin on this ride that means so much. The impending house of cards did not come tumbling down around me however. Instead, I felt a great weight was lifted, and knew the right choice had been made. But 'yes', there also existed a nagging feeling...and it wasn't winning. But motivation is a tool, and I would have ample supplies once I had gotten through this drunken stupor that is fatigue.
Life's journey will continue, and with it I will no doubt pick new challenges that will have my full attention while I strive towards them. A lesson I have learned from this year is that on any given day I am any mans equal. This realisation took a number of years for me to fully grasp, but has left me with peace of mind. It has also left me knowing what I can achieve, with good health and a support network fitting the outing being embraced. But not this year.
So with all of this behind me I found myself driving home from work. No commute by bike on this day. No sea breeze filling all my senses. No unexpected moments of bliss coming to me like small wrapped presents, meaning nothing 'til thought of later. Driving home then, and seeing the setting sun, orange and puffy, behind the clouds. And lingering. Not diving from the sky to sea. Instead drowning, almost. As if hanging onto this day with all its strength. This day that had been thought about so much. This day that had been named. But this day was done, and the sun had lived it's day - regardless of how long its light had gotten through the darkened clouds and mists, that covered this spring day. A false spring if winter was anything to go by.
The sun's glow would be gone soon enough then, and with it the night's arrival. Rest would follow. And then - then dawn. Clean and bright and fresh and crisp and new. I didn't linger on the sunset, but I gave thought to the morning that would follow. The morning to follow my rest.
2 comments:
cooked Stu,but not over done. I really feel for you and read to the end with mistiness of tears in the corner of my eye feeling your pain.
You thank us all for our support and belief, I thank you for the privilege of being invited to be part of the crew, and for writing about your journey to this point. As you call Colin a legend, and I can't but help agree, you to are my legend and my inspiration. One of those guys I want to be one day.
Be strong, and come back stronger as we all who know you, know you will.
Tim & Lis
Hi Stu, didn't seem like the year for the outdoor record with that breeze about. Sometimes things happen for a reason. You may find it an opportunity to come back stronger, fitter, more motivated and more prepared to take the record you are aiming for.
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