Inside the back cover of LIVESTRONG Challenge Event Guide, there's a Nike ad featuring Lance. It reads: "Why would anyone ride seven hours in the rain up and down the mountains? TO FEEL ALIVE. For me, that's a good enough reason to do just about anything." Well, I hope he had a blast riding with us yesterday -- because with the temperature in the 40s and non-stop "liquid sunshine" over our heads, it was one of the most brutal conditions I've ever ridden in.
Making my way
The day began just before 5 AM, as I woke up minutes before the alarm clock was set to go off. I walked up to the bedroom window and took a peak outside -- yup, it's raining. I scarfed down a bowl of brown rice, grabbed my gears, and made my way out of the hotel. Outside at the parking lot, I saw several people loading up their bikes as well...it was a nice reminder that I wasn't the only one crazy enough to go for a ride in this miserable weather.
As I made my way toward the Nike campus, I could tell this event was far bigger than the LA event I did last year. There were local news vans lined up by the front entrance to cover the event, and cars were backed up for several blocks trying to enter the staging area. When I finally found myself a spot to park, I was amazed by just how many people were here to participate in this ride.
The Start
After a quick trip to the porta-pottie and last-minute carbo-loading at a bagel stand, I made my way toward the starting line. There I met a guy who pre-rode the mountain section of the 100-mile course earlier in the week, and he told me that there were some very steep sections on the climb where you had to stand up on your pedals. "I see why they chose to close that portion of the course" he said, "there's now way we could get any traction in this rain to make it up that climb." 24 hours ago I was bummed that the event organizer had canceled the 100-mile option -- now I was definitely glad that we "only" had to last 70 miles in this condition.
At 7:30 AM, the LIVESTRONG Challenge Portland was officially underway -- led by Lance and group of riders who were top-fundraisers for this event. As I clipped in to take my first pedal stroke, I heard someone yell my name. I turned around to see who the heck here would know me, and I saw a big guy with even bigger smile on his face -- it was Paul! We've been following each other's training blog, so it was great to finally see him. Before I could yell back "good luck" though, I was already moving toward the open road -- with a pack of 1700 cyclists ready to face this incredible challenge.
Misery
Going into this event, I was fully aware that I'd be wet throughout the ride -- but I never realized just how miserable a rain can make you feel until yesterday. After just few miles on the road, my face and hands started to feel numb from the cold...and when I reached down to the water bottle to grab my first sip of water, I was shocked; my hands were so cold that I could hardly squeeze the water out of the bottle, and my face was already so numb from the wind chill that it was an effort to open my mouth up wide.
Panic started to set in -- how am I suppose to complete 70 miles when I'm already feeling this miserable? Despite logging thousands of miles and climbing countless mountains to prepare for this event, I never once trained in this kind of condition -- and I was now paying the price for it with less than 10 miles into the ride.
By the time I reached the first rest-stop, I was already freezing to the bone. My hands and feet were soaked in icy rain water despite so-called waterproof gear I had on, and I was shivering so hard that a volunteer looking at me worried. Clearly I wasn't prepared to ride in this kind of weather -- so I made up my mind right then that I would just complete the 40-mile course. After all, there was no shame in quiting in this kind of condition...
The split
Knowing that I now had less than 30 miles to go, I willed myself out of rest-stop 1 and got back onto the wet pavement. I started to think about all the things that would be waiting for me when I get back -- dry cloth, hot shower, warm bed -- and at this point these thoughts were the only things that kept me going.
As I made my approach to the 40/70-mile course split though, I overheard three guys ahead of me discussing whether or not they should cut the ride short as well.
"What do you think guys, wanna just head home?"
"Well, we signed up for 70...so mind as well go for it".
"Aright then, let's do it!"
Good for them, I thought to myself as they began turning left toward the 70-mile route -- you guys are far braver than I. But just then, I noticed something about one of the riders; he only had one leg. And in that very instance, the thought of quitting suddenly vanished from my mind.
I hit the brake, made a sharp left, and started chasing after them.
Jarem
"It's your fault!" I jokingly yelled out as I approached the three guys ahead of me. "You guys made me go through with the 70-mile ride!" They smiled, and with that we began riding together as we made our way around Haag Lake. Their names were Jarem, Russ, and Logan -- and they were riding for Jarem who's a cancer survivor and an Above Knee (AK) amputee. He told me he lost his leg to cancer when he was 14, and he now designs knee prosthetic for highly active AK amputees like himself.
The sight of Jarem pushing himself to the limit in this brutal condition totally inspired me to say the least, but it was his attitude that really made my meeting with him memorable. "Being a cancer survivor isn't all it's cracked up to be," I remember him saying. "You deal with it the best you can, and then you just go on with your life." And what an exciting life he's living -- he told me just started his own business, recently had a baby with his wife, and is looking to qualify for Paralympic cross-country skiing team in the future.
Riding with Jarem and his friends, I learned more about cancer survivorship and the challenges that AK amputee athletes face than I ever have before. The rain continued to fall on us and my body was just as cold as before, but in that moment there was no other place I wanted to be.
Going the distance
Once we made our way around the Haag lake, there was only about 20 miles left to go -- but I still encountered more obstacles on the way to the finish.
For one there was a fatigue factor. At first I thought it was just the cold weather sapping the energy out of me...but then I realized I haven't been fueling myself enough. You see, since my hands were so numb from the cold, I didn't have the dexterity required to reach behind me, pull up my rain jacket, and access my back jersey pockets. So because of this I hadn't eaten any of the energy bars I had with me...meaning zero on-bike refueling since the start of the ride. Knowing that I was on the edge of bonking, I pulled into the next rest stop and forced down as much food I can.
Then in the last 10 mile or so, my legs began camping up -- first the quads then the inner-thighs. Even though there's been very little climbing on the course, the cold temperature seemed to have pushed my muscles to the limit -- and they began locking up on every pedal stroke. But seeing that everyone around me was suffering as well, I just ignored the pain and kept on pedaling as smoothly as I can.
The finish
Contrary to the grand-scale start of this event, the finish line was very low-key. There were no huge banners or crowds like I remembered from last year's ride, nor did I hear anyone announcing my arrival over the speaker. But the thing is, I didn't care about any of that stuff because on this day I was truly inspired by all the riders & volunteers that I had pleasure of meeting. Jarem, Russ, Logan -- it was a privilege to ride with you guys.
LIVESTRONG
As I got back to the car to peel off my drenched clothing, I noticed a quote written on my bib number: "LIVESTRONG MEANS recognizing not all heroes wear capes". That's certainly true, because out on the wet pavement today my hero was wearing a prosthetic leg.
All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
