At 3:15 AM on Sunday morning my alarm clock went off. I have the radio set to NPR, so my first thought when it came on was that my neighbors were having a raucus party with Diane Reams. As I gradually became coherent, I realized that I had done this to myself. On purpose. Thinking that it would be fun. You see, several weeks ago, in a fit of post-Triathlon madness, I signed up for a few events that are slightly to more-than-slightly out of my athletic reach. Sunday's event was one of the latter.
My friend Jill, who trained with me for St. Anthony's, is a very strong biker. She zoomed past me a few minutes into the bike and I never saw her again on the course. I say all of this to try to explain that it was not completely ridiculous for Jill to suggest doing a Century Ride (a nice way of a 100 mile bike ride). It was, however, completely ridiculous for me to say I would go with her.
I am not a strong biker, and I do not own a bike that is shiny or meant for racing or capable of moving fast. I have a hybrid that weighs about as much as a baby elephant and moves with comparable speed. I'm not saying I don't love my bike, I'm just saying I don't want to spend an extended amount of time actually riding it. For all of these reasons, when Jill suggested signing up for the Montauk Century, I accepted immediately.
I began my trek into the city at 3:30 AM. While on the subway, I met one of those cyclists that whizzes around Prospect Park on weekday mornings. The kind that rides 100 miles in a day for "training". He, obviously, was totally jealous of my dope ride. We arrived at Penn Station to find around 1,000 other cyclists checking in for the ride. I never cease to be surprised by the number of people in NYC who will give up their weekends to wake up early in the morning and hurt themselves. I found Jill among the mass of crazies.
After several LIRR trains (a breakdown and a transfer), we arrived in Babylon and got our bikes. About 25 miles into the ride we had our first experience with what cycling is really all about: Food. Each rest area (there were 4 along the course) was chock full of Nutella, pretzels, Gatorade, water, ice cream, chips, hummus, candy, and various other highly refined carbohydrates. Between the Gu I had on my bike and the amount I ate when we stopped, I don't think I burned a single one of my own calories on this ride. This clarifies the mystery behind "biker body", which seems to be "super cut legs and a puffy midsection." It was truly amazing, and right up my alley. 
The whole thing took us about 7 and a half hours (counting about a half hour at each rest area to chow down and an EXTRA stop for lobster rolls in Amagansett). I learned a lot of things during this extended period of bike-butt contact. I learned that Long Island is lovely and houses a disproportionate number of rich people with a penchant for landscaping. I learned that a fluid pedal stroke makes biking easier and faster. I learned that, with practice, I can clip out of my pedals and lean forward on my bike and stop WITHOUT falling over into oncoming traffic. Most importantly, I learned that my slow bike time in the triathlon had less to do with the fact that I have a crappy bike and more to do with the fact that I am a crappy biker. I am glad I figured this out, because it taught me to stop blaming my inabilities on improper equipment. This was a lesson I learned for almost an entire hour. I SO need a new bike.
No comments:
Post a Comment