July 11, 2016

Pedal4Possible recap

Gratitude #

The biggest headline from my P4P experience is the overwhelming generosity poured out by you, my friends and loved ones, in support of Craig Hospital. I was left without words as I witnessed the continued stream of gifting that came flooding in. In all, we raised over $20,000 in essentially 5 days time (final tally here). Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for rising to this occasion; you beautifully reflected how much I deeply appreciate the people and the great purpose of Craig Hospital.

Craig race video #

The Story #

At 8:30am on June 18th, my fearless & devoted compadre Isaiah and I launched into what was planned to be a 50K (31 mile) bike ride in the foothills of Boulder, CO. Isaiah had flown in from NYC for the ride, and at 10 weeks post-injury I had spent the better part of the last 4 weeks mildly training for what was to be a very big day. My longest ride to date was ~10miles, but the heroes of Craig in partnership with Top End had secured a sweet sweet ride for me to borrow; with the Force RX hand bike as my steed and Isaiah’s impeccable choice of morning pump up jams laying a strong pre-race foundation, we were ready. Bring on the 98 degrees, elevation, and all the hills on offer. Our team name, appropriately for the occasion: Giddy Up.

The early stages of the ride were mild. The temperate, mid-morning weather belied the lurking afternoon heat. As we cruised past the 1st aid station waving, I had a fairly serious-seeming thought: “I could do this all day.”

This, peeling away the delusion, was very very not true.

But once a distance runner, always a distance runner (certainly in spirit, if aspirationally in body as well). Through the steady rhythm of my arm strokes, my minds eye started to irresistibly play with the idea of passing the 50k turn off and charging out towards Left Hand Canyon and the 100k course. I felt that giddy tickle in my gut, all too familiar: recognizing the possibility for something spontaneous, for a launch out from the known into the unknown. The 50k, in the light breeze of 10:30am, seemed all but done. but the 100k…who knew? Was it even a thing that could be done?

[…]

A mile or so past the 50k/100k junction, Isaiah caught back up. He’d swung by the most recent aid station briefly to grab a map.

“Duude, where we goin?”

“You flew all the way out here, I figured we’d make a day of it.”

“Well, giddy up then.”

[…]

Around 30 miles in, with the afternoon sun fully ablaze and temperatures scratching at triple digits, the course began to show its real stripes. Deep undulations, with each climb grinding my momentum to a crawl, exposed the limitations of a hand bike’s mechanics, or, more to the point, of the force output of my triceps & biceps.

To maintain a decent cruising speed on flat ground in a hand bike takes the equivalent of something like a 5lb bicep curl repeated in pattern with tricep push downs of similar force. Especially with the ability to coast here and there, hand bikes are quite manageable in the flats, and their recumbent aerodynamics make the downhill grades a blast. However, the climbs. It is striking how much proportional force is required to handle even the most subtle increases in grade. The climbs I was now confronting in the hillier meat of the 100k course, still just a pre-amble to the 6-mile mountain pass known as Left Hand Canyon that lay await in the distant horizon, were wearing me down to a crawl. Even with momentum dropping down off the previous rise, I would find myself back in the lowest gear of my 27-gear ride, no more than 1/3 the way up the next climb, inching painstakingly forward. Each revolution was a 20+ lb bicep curl followed by a comparable tricep push down. Not a level of anaerobic prowess I could keep up for very long. Each hill was a series of sustained efforts: make it to that sign, rest. Now that fence post, rest. Ok, summit the damn thing. Longer rest.

And so it went, now cresting from noon, to 1pm, to 2pm. From 91 degrees, to 94, to 98.

With the goal of Pedal 4 Possible being to “redefine possible,” I finally decided we’d found that line. The infamous 6-mile mountain pass would have to wait ‘til next year. Or maybe next month. But for now, Left Hand’s minion foot hills had done enough damage, and to ensure I could ride across that finish line independently, I opted for a few extra miles of rolling hills as a bypass route, skipping the mountain climb.

[…]

Approaching the end of the race, with over 50 miles behind us and the sun now hanging low in the sky, we were met by a row of cheering supporters lining our way to the finish. Crossing the line, finally releasing the hand grips for the last time, a crowd of loved ones swarmed around me with enthusiasm. I was inundated with offers of water & beer, words of encouragement, and concerns for my bodily state after almost 9 hours on the bike (the latter being mostly from mom ?). In that moment, the immediate emotion was that of relief, of letting the fatigue truly set in, not trying to fight it any longer. But looking back, I see something bigger undercutting both that specific moment as well as the entire experience that day. I see the centrality of the love and support of others to what, classically, has been a very individualized experience.

In my athletic pursuits growing up, most of which were “individual sports,” the storyline as I saw it was something like this: I, the sole protagonist, faced the rigors of The Task. Loved ones were spectators, appreciated, but part of the background. The mano-a-mano feat centered entirely on reliance on my own faculties to best the challenge at hand.

But now in a chair, my approach to life more broadly, and to competitive endeavors like long-distance hand-cycle riding in specific, is inextricably woven together with a more prominent dependence on others. And this has actually brought a fullness rather than a sense of lack. In my dependence, I now so often find myself more connected to others, and in that connection, I have come upon a deepened understanding of humility. Claire helping me get from my chair into my recumbent bike; Isaiah, riding by my side, encouraging me when out in the hills I thought the effort futile; the Craig staff and loved ones who, at rides end, helped me ensure no undue damage was done to my body (and who so expeditiously procured good beer and barbecue for my famished self). The whole experience on June 18th, true to Craig Hospital’s motto, helped me to “redefine possible,” not just in the narrow sense of mileage and exertion, but also in terms of human connection and a more collective sense of accomplishment. As we drove back into Denver, the feeling in my chest was more than just a simplistic “I slayed the dragon” kind of pride. I swelled with expanded gratitude for what it is to be loved.