The Road to PBP (and other stuff)

It is amazing how fast a wall can be built in front of you.  One minute your strongly riding or running, and the next it takes everything you have to go just one more step.  Time actually slows down and distances become longer.  You try and force yourself to not look at your computer or watch, knowing the additional disappointment which will be felt at the lack of progress.  A battle rages in your head between the enemy trying to stop you only held back by your desire to succeed.  These are defining moments – true, raw, and genuine.  This where I am at mile 80 of the 200K.

A quick refresher.  Somehow Justin and Peko (emphasis on Peko) talked me into trying for the PBP, which began with the first 200k berveat.  I arrived in Boston (from San Diego) 1 hour before the race started at 6 am to ride a 200k cold turkey.  More like frozen turkey.  I hadn’t rode a bike for at least 6 months, never rode a road bike, and my longest prior distance….20 miles.

??:?? Boston Time (??:??:?? Miles Remaining 45)

BAMMMM!!! I metaphorically crashed into a wall.  The infamous wall I’d heard so much about, but had never experienced.  My body had enough and with 45 miles to go my mind started to let doubt creep in.  Knees, both shot and in severe pain with each pedal stroke.  Left shoulder muscle, cramped, numb, and shooting pains.  Ass, tender.  Feet, in and out of numbness with pin prickly pain with each transition.  It all culminated at once.  I’d been feeling these growing, but independently.  Needless to say our pace slowed to a crawl.  The next checkpoint was 10 miles away.  Earlier in the day meant 30-45 minutes.  Now 1-2 hours away.  Doing the math of distance/time was a bad idea.  Between this point and making it to the checkpoint is a little hazy for me.  I pulled my mind together determined to make it to the checkpoint one mile at a time.  After a true mind vs. body battle I reach checkpoint 3.  

I love the check points…pure guilt free eating of anything you can get your hands on (see “Cookin with Dave”), my favorite of that trip was bannanas doused in salt.  Strange things taste good after 90 miles.  With the added fuel and advil starting to kick I began to feel ready to charge again.

Back on the road my enthusiasm quickly diminished, but I pressed on getting back into the mile by mile routine.  I also fired up the ipod and was soon back into rhythm riding Justins tire with Nickelback blaring.  Again I don’t remember much of the rest of the trip, but at some point realized I was going to finish, I think it was where Justin wiped out, or where he took us on a 3 mile de-tour.  Rounding a corner I realized the end was just down the hill.  I rolled in pretty amazed at what I just did.

Our cheering section (Peko) and support Team Extreme (Peko) was there anxiously waiting and welcomed us with loud cheers.  Team Extreme took us back home and filled our bellys with pasta, followed by relaxing on the couch to watch the new Bond movie….I didn’t even make it through the opening credits and was out. 

I was sore as hell the next day, but it was welcomed by the sense of accomplishment and worth the self exploration into pain.  Little did I know this would be just the beginning.