069 – A March to Transcendence

I did something truly difficult yesterday. I rode in a race not many attempt, in conditions many wouldn’t approach, over a time and distance that fewer still could handle. I was bested by hundreds, but beat dozens of others. And more than all that, I pushed myself to a place I never knew I could go.

I’ve done a lot of races over the past few years. Last year alone, I completed over thirty races on foot and mountain bike, of widely varied distances and types. Normally, I don’t get nervous for races too much, except maybe for a few minutes just before the start. But then, normally I’m pretty sure I can do it. Normally, I’ll have trained to the distance beforehand. Normally, I know what the course will be like, and have some idea where it goes. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider signing up for something like the Sub 9 Death March.

But what do we learn about ourselves from only doing “normal?”

The Death March is a cycling checkpoint race. All of the checkpoints are old cemeteries in and around the Hoosier National Forest. There are five mandatory checkpoints, three of which you know beforehand and two they draw from a hat right before the race starts. How you get to those checkpoints, and any optional checkpoints (worth varying time bonuses) is all up to you.

I was a ball of nerves the night before. I’ve never ridden so far, up so many hills, with so little idea where I was going, or what was between here and there. I knew that even though I had been training, the furthest I’d covered leading up to the race was 20 miles, and that all on pavement.I spent the evening fiddling with the bike, adjusting things that didn’t need adjusted, checking and rechecking pressures. I slept for only a few hours, and fitfully.

Morning was no better. We drove to Bloomington in search of a place that was open for breakfast that early, and the trip set us behind schedule. We got to the race start with barely enough time to get registered and suited up before the start. This set the butterflies into a frenzy, since I wasn’t able to go through my normal pre-race rituals, stretching and warming up, setting my mind for the task at hand. Thankfully, much cooler heads were in charge of our little group, and so we lingered in the start area for a few minutes, finalizing our route plan and strategy.

Did I mention that the bridge over Hunter Creek was out? And that the creek, swollen from the recent snow melt, is between the start/finish area and the main road leading to the checkpoints? That was a major source of anxiety for me, all morning and up to the time we rolled out. It represented a very early point of no return, in some ways, and so many potential problems. What if your feet get wet, and you have to ride that way the rest of the day? What if you miss a soft spot or a big rock in the water and crash? What if you reach the other side and biff it going up the bank? What if….?

But there was nothing for it but to just do it. My team saddled up, clipped in, and nosed down the creek side into the water, picking our way through to a gravel bar on the far bank, and then up the other side. By the time I got to the road, all my nerves had calmed, my mood had brightened, and we were on our way!

To be continued…