Stepping Stones: That First Big Ride of the Year

Well, I'll be showering soon, then attempting my first cycle ride to work, in, what, two years?

It's a good ride. 12 km, lots of hills. Beautiful views. Sunny day.

I'm filled with a lot of apprehension and excitement, and I'm a little uneasy as a result. Cycling to work is a huge benchmark for me. When I first was able to do that, it was a pretty wild accomplishment for a doughy fatgirl, you know? And I failed to use that to propel me really, really far. I used it to change my life some, sure, but not as much as I know I need to now, after all I've learned about fitness and weight loss.

I've been gearing up, pun intended, to have a different kind of year. Climbing the stairs is really hard for me, for example, and kicks my ass every single time, and I keep upping the floors each week. I'm going to try to hit 30 floors next week.

I don't know. Something about this morning feels like it's a breaking point between who I was and who I want to be. Why the stairs, for example, are a major, major accomplishment for me is that, in a life lived without a lot of regrets, I know of two I'll always have.

One, that I didn't climb any mountains when I lived in the Yukon. Two, in 1991, when I went to England with my family, they climbed the bell tower at St. Paul's Cathedral, while I opted to stay in the nave, claiming I wanted to do some writing. Inside, I was simply scared of looking like an ass on the stairs. My vanity didn't want me all breathless and gasping. While I might still climb mountains, and I might still climb St. Paul's one day, I'll never again get to do it with my mother. She's dead. I blew that one, you know? And it angers me that it's because of something stupid like pride or fear.

Same thing with cycling in this city full of hardbodies. My 12 km ride to work is literally 6 kilometres uphill. Each way. When I'm on the lower elevations on the way to work I'll often add another 5 km of seaside flat terrain for additional cardio. The early part of the ride, the 6 km incline, is a steady not-too-steep incline... just long and constant.

The ride home is steeper and harder, the hill's a little shorter and has more flat spots in it, but some crazy fucking steep patches if you take certain hills. It took me 1 hour and 14 minutes the fiirst time I tried it a few years ago. I cut that down to 37 minutes by the end of the summer.

And when I've gone a long, long time without that challenge, being the morning of my first attempt in a long, long time, it's just bringing back a lot of the memories of that time when I was scared of challenges, scared of looking like a fool.

And this bike ride today is a benchmarking of sorts. Today, I will know beyond a shadow of doubt where I measure against the rest of my life. How fit am I today? How far can I take it this year? I want to do the ride home from work in 30 minutes this year. I want to get to the end and know I couldn't have been any faster.

I have a feeling I'm more fit than I've ever been for the start of an April. I would really hate to be wrong. Being right, though... will probably be a pretty emotional feeling when I'm out there in the sunshine, standing on the waterfront before I go to work, thinking about all the things I used to think I couldn't do, wondering what all the things are that might now be possible for me.

Between here and there, though, it's all about just getting it the fuck done. I'm scared of that moment at the end, though, the realisation and wondering I might be in for.

There're not a lot of times where we get the opportunity of knowing before things happen that it could be a big moment of proving things to ourselves. But that's what athletics are for. Real challenges, real measurable achievements.

I just hope this measures up like I'm wanting it to. And I'm really feeling uneasy about posting this, since it's a little too close to home today, but sometimes that's a good thing.

[sighs uneasily] Off I go, then.

About 14 hours later: I wound up cycling to and from work, instead of copping out and bussing the bike home, like I thought I might do. Just under 50 minutes each way, so that's 13 off my best time ever coming home... but an excellent starting point for the year. I'm thinking a world of hurt lies in wait for me tomorrow. A friend emailed me a "hope it fucking rocked" note, and my reply started out: "I'm taking two muscle relaxers with a shot of rye tonight, man." But it did rock. As did I. Never had to walk up a single hill. Love that. I already know what my new goals are for the riding now. Gonna be a fun summer if I'm doing well this soon.