I Walked A Lot Yesterday

Me, struggling through
a beautiful landscape

I walked a lot more yesterday than I do on a normal and regular day. Interestingly, most of the walking I did yesterday was while pushing a bicycle.

See, what happened was that The Rift (the gravel bike ride I signed up for months ago) was yesterday. On the one hand, I didn’t train nearly enough for a ride of this length. And also, this ride beat me up quite a bit more than I expected it would. Some of the reason was simply that I was moving through this course for 12 hours; some of the reason was that the terrain was considerably more difficult, and more consistently difficult, than I anticipated. 

Everyone had the option to choose between the 200k course or the 140k course. I registered for the longer course, and expected that if I could make it to the first rest station before the cut-off time, that would indicate that I could probably finish the whole course. However, thankfully, I didn’t make it in time.

When I rolled in to the check point late, the course bouncer walked up to my bike with a knife before I’d had a chance to stop, and literally cut my race number off my bike. I got cut off. And then he gave me the option to either turn around and backtrack the 50k to the start, or to keep going but ride the 140k instead. I was really tempted to turn around and take the shortest route back to where I could rest. And I’m really glad to have finished the shorter course. I’m also glad for my new friend Lavan, who suggested when I got cut off that we ride together for the last 90k (and who took the above photo of me walking my bike up a hill).

The Icelanders have a sense of humor,
which can be poignant and timely 

There was a moment, when I was riding alone and before the cut off checkpoint, where I really wasn’t having any fun at all, and was ready to just throw in the towel. I was struggling physically, and I knew that there was a lot more physical struggle to come … and those things added to the mental struggle.

I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, but I have to admit that I wasn’t actually glad to still be out on the course 100% of the time I was out there riding – and especially not when I was walking. I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, because I was able to prove to myself that I’m still at least somewhat capable.

I haven’t decided that I want to do The Rift again. Also, I haven’t decided that I don’t want to.

It's Gonna Be Ugly, and it's Gonna Be Beautiful

 I signed up for it all on my own. I signed up, all on my own, to ride my bike farther in one day than I've ever ridden before. And the ride I signed up for is on gravel. 

First Post-Accident Gravel Ride

Before, long ago, I didn't think twice about signing up for a long bike ride. Before, long ago, I rode my bike a lot more than I do now, and I was in significantly better physical shape then compared to now. So I could sign up for a long ride, and then just go and do it. But I haven't gotten my cardio fitness back. And while I was never really all that strong - since the accident, I certainly haven't been able to regain especially my leg strength. 

I'm worried that I won't be successful in completing this ride in a couple days. If I am able to finish, it's gonna be a struggle. 

The ride is in Iceland. It goes up into the highlands lava fields, to the general area where earth is separating from earth and magma bubbles up becoming lava, then cooling to become rock. The scenery on this ride promises to be surreal and amazing. 

So it seems like I'll get to suffer in the midst of a wondrous landscape. I have a feeling it's gonna be ugly. And it's gonna be beautiful. 

Betrayed

When the snow is good, and the slope isn't too steep, I can kinda keep up. 

I went skiing last week. I was at a theological conference where we study early in the morning, we study later in the evening, we pray together morning and night, and we have free time during the day. This conference happens near a ski area, so many of us spend our free time on the slopes. 

I had gone to this conference, and skied with some of the regular attendees, before I broke my back and injured my spinal cord six years ago. The vertebrae have healed. The spinal cord injury, though, is something I’ll be affected by for the rest of my life. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to. 

All things considered, my spinal cord injury is relatively mild. I can walk without crutches or a cane. I can ride the bikes I was riding before the injury. I can ski on the same gear I was using when I was injured. But I don’t ski as well now as I used to be able to do. 

Beautiful snow conditions

When I ski on powder or on snow that isn’t entirely packed down, I have more control over my skis. I can turn where I want, and I can ski a little faster because that right ski tracks where I want it to go and I feel like I’m in control. In those conditions, I am in control. I can kinda keep up.

By contrast, when I ski on snow that’s packed and rutted by other skiers or that’s icy, I have no problem turning right. I feel secure, confident, and in control. But when I turn left in those same conditions, my right ski and boot and foot and leg and butt chatter around, and I feel like I’m not in control. I’m not in control. So I ski really slowly on those slopes. 

Before the injury, I was a decent skier. I wasn’t super fast, and I wasn’t great on the most challenging slopes. But I could mostly keep up, and I almost always felt like I could control my body; I felt like I could make my muscles do what I asked them to do. 

Now, by contrast, I feel betrayed by my body. And it’s not just on the ski slope. Church pews, icy sidewalks, flights of stairs, automobiles, and curbs are a few of the obstacles I encountered over the past week when I wasn’t able to make my muscles do what they were supposed to do. 

The thing is, my injury isn’t a humungous problem. I feel a little embarrassed writing this post, because I worry that some of my seven readers will think I’m complaining about something that isn’t noticeable, and so isn’t actually an issue. 

But I notice. My movement is hindered. My confidence is limited. I feel betrayed by my own body.