Humble pie tastes like crap!

I learned two lessons yesterday.

Lesson #1: 60 miles is a lot more than 45.

Lesson #2: I am not as tough as I thought.

Yesterday at about 6:30, Randy and I set forth on our exciting 60-mile bike adventure. He warned me it would be hard; I ignored him. He told me 60 miles was a long way to ride; I poo-pooed him.

As we set out, the sky was cloudy and heavy, like it was about to rain. It never did really let go, but the wind sure was blowing. For the whole ride, there was a heavy wind and there were only a few miles when that heavy wind was at our back.

But we were feeling good and the first 20 miles were awesome.

At the 20-mile mark, we stopped for some water and gels and I checked our average: 17.2. Pretty good.

The next 15 miles were good, too. Around the 35-mile mark, I noticed that my quads were feeling a little crampy. I just shook it off and resolved to get some Gatorade at the little store we were planning to hit at the 40-mile mark.

We got to the store, I got my Gatorade and a Nutrigrain bar. I sucked them down too fast and suddenly felt kind of queasy. But I figured it would get better once we got moving, so back on our bikes we went. I checked our average again: 16.2. Not great, but not bad, considering we'd been fighting the wind for 40 miles.

It was okay for the next 10 miles. A little rough, but no big deal.

Once we hit 50 miles, though, It was all over. My quads, which had earlier felt a little achy, suddenly went into full-on screaming cramp mode. Both legs, from my knee to my hip, just HURT, like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

I kept pedaling as fast as I could: 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12.5 mph.

Randy pointed out that, finally, finally we had the tailwind we'd been looking for all morning. I was too miserable to notice.

For the last eight miles, every pedal stroke was a battle. I was riding an inch from Randy's tire, letting him pull me up the hills. Hell, I let him pull me along the flats and down the hills.

Randy's definition of a bonk goes something like this: "When you bonk, you don't even want to go DOWNHILL it hurts so bad." I'd say I fulfilled that definition and then some.

A couple times, Randy asked me if I wanted him to ride home and get the car, while I waited on the side of the road. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!" I yelled. It might take me 400 hours to get home, I might not be there until Sunday, but I'd be damned if I was going to be shipped home in the car.

But it was not a pretty sight. I was quite the multi-tasker during those last eight miles: pedaling, trying to rub the cramps out of my quads, and crying my fool head off all at the same time.

That's right, I cried like a baby on my bike. Partly because I was hurting, but more because I was so damn angry with myself. Angry for feeling weak, angry for going out too hard at the start, angry for thinking it would be so easy, angry for being wrong, angry for going from the rush of my first triathlon to one of the most humbling experiences I've ever had, just in the space of seven days.

The saddest thing is that I would be riding and massaging and crying and cursing, but the second I saw another cyclist coming from tbe other direction, I would put it all away. Head down, sniffle sniffle, bite down the pain and frustration, because lord forbid that other person see me having a hard time.

At one point during the last 5 miles, Randy tried to get in front to pull me up a hill. "NOO!!!" I yelled. "I CAN DO IT!!!"

"Baby," he replied. "Stop being so damn prideful and let me help you."

Chastened, I backed off and let him pull me home. And I realized that he was right. I AM too prideful. My pride is what got me into this situation in the first place. And rather than fall apart at the first sign of weakness, the truly strong response to the challenge was to eat my humble pie and savor it, chew it slowly and let it nourish me for next time, to learn what I could from my mistakes and apply that learning so something like this will never happen again.

We got home and I creaked off my bike and hobbled up the stairs. The only thing I could think of as I came in was "BATHTUB BATHTUB BATHTUB." I hobbled straight into the bathroom and started the water in the tub. And without even waiting for it to fill up more than an inch or two, without taking the time to wipe out the hairs and soap bits I usually clean off before I take a bath, I plopped my ass into the tub.

And it was heaven. Immediately on contact with the hot water (as hot as I could get it), my quads finally loosened up and I took the first deep breath I'd had in an hour.

Randy came in and brought me some Endurox. And sitting in the bathtub, waiting for the water to actually rise enough to cover me, enjoying my recovery drink, I could finally laugh at myself.

8/4 @ 6:30a: Biking, 60 miles, 15.6mph avg.