Event: cycling time trial
Distance: 20K (12.5 miles)
Date: 5/1/05
Location: Hebron, IL

In January 2004 I eased into the wide world of exercise in an effort to simultaneously conquer a thyroid problem and pump new life into my faltering thirty-something self-esteem. About five years ago my husband and I bought bikes to give us something to do that didn’t involve the remote, so it was natural for cycling to make an appearance in my fledgling cardio regimen.

Now, before I go any farther let me put things into context… I know the words “cycling” and “cardio regimen” are evocative of a sleek athlete grinding through a tough tempo ride. Not so much the case with me. When I say I introduced cycling into my cardio regimen, I mean that, at 5’ 2”, I was 150 pounds overweight after a decade of living with an undiagnosed thyroid condition, and was sucking wind after riding four blocks on my affordable, comfort-style bike.

I’m fortunate to live near a great recreational trail and a stone’s throw from the state line. Inspired by a friend, I set a goal to bike to Wisconsin by the end of that summer. An evening ride in mid-July found me high-fiving my riding partner just over the border and then racing the sunset back to the van. The round trip was 16 miles – double my personal best at the time. While I was ecstatic, I also realized blowing away my PR so easily and meeting my goal so far ahead of schedule meant I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough. But the real revelation was that I wanted to push harder.

My friend informed me I’d officially conquered the bike leg of a sprint distance triathlon and suggested I think about doing one. What I thought was that she’d lost her mind. But I’m the kind of girl that likes to dream big, and I realized training for a triathlon would be a lot more motivational than staring down a series of endless workouts for a torturously slow weight loss journey. So, I officially had a new plan.

Obviously I knew that cycling was an element of triathlon, but I didn’t give it much thought beyond being glad I had a bike and could handle the distance. Then my friend showed me her road bike. My gut reaction was that it was a scary machine on which athletic people performed formidable feats of physical fitness. I wondered why there was a medieval gynecological torture device in place of the seat. And what the heck were those little metal things where the pedals should be? I couldn’t imagine what that bike had to do with me.

But a funny thing happened on the way to fitness… after many months of regular exercise my strength and stamina increased to the point that my comfy bike was actually holding me back. Suddenly that road bike didn’t seem so scary. I did a lot of research, and shortly thereafter became the proud owner of a Trek 1500 WSD. Seventy-two hours after that, a cage-induced wipeout sent me running to the LBS for clipless pedals. Now that, in my mind, I was equipped like a “real” cyclist, I couldn’t wait to see what I could accomplish with my new toys.

As luck would have it, the same day I went clipless a cyclist friend invited me to participate in a 20K time trial. I was thrilled. But I’m not a complete fool, this was early spring in the upper Midwest – the land where Easter egg hunts are sometimes called on account of snow. I checked the forecast before accepting the invite. I was really looking forward to seeing what would happen when obligated to shut up and ride hard.

For the record, the weather forecast for race day was sunny and sixty.

The big day arrived. Not a morning person at the best of times, I dragged my sorry self out of bed with absolute dismay, checking weather.com to confirm what I could plainly see through the window. It was 37 degrees with a stiff wind: 15 gusting to 20, with a “feels like 32” wind chill. Imagine my joy.

As I walked out the door at 7:30 it started to rain. I called my friend, hoping she’d wave me off before I left the driveway, but she was halfway there and it wasn’t raining at her end.

So, I went.

Just before our start times the sun peeked out to lull us into a false sense of security. We got out of the van, lied to ourselves that it was warmer now, and headed for the starting line (conveniently located 2.5 miles from the parking lot). By the time we arrived the sun was again hidden, and I became increasingly grateful I’d indulged in the purchase of what my husband had deemed an extravagance: cold weather tights. The starts were running 20 minutes behind, so we did our best to keep warm in the oh-so-cozy atmosphere of a country cemetery on an icy cold Sunday morning.

Just as I noted the time I'd normally be rolling out of bed, a very friendly guy held my back end while politely not laughing at my struggle to clip into the pedals I’d had for a grand total of six days. Then I was on my way.

It became immediately apparent I was in for quite a ride - the headwind was brutal, roaring across the cornfields; it was like riding into a wall. About three miles in it started to rain. Not hard, but when it's already cold and windy it doesn't take much in the rain department to hurt the ol' morale. Around mile 5 it started to hail. Seriously. By the time I’d searched the horizon for tornados, the hail ended and rain kicked back in, just past mile 6. Oh, what fun!

Around mile 8, when my jacket was soaked through and I was questioning my own sanity, I got far enough back through the course loop that the headwind became a tailwind and I knew I'd make it. Flying down the one hill, hanging on for dear life as I briefly touched 33 mph on the wet road, I started to enjoy myself in spite of imminent hypothermia.

I must admit that I obsessively noted the race numbers of all the riders who passed me, knowing it didn’t matter, but still doing a lot of quick “X-87” calculations. It was tempting to be discouraged when I got passed by #109. Going uphill. At what I swear was twice my speed. But these folks there were die-hard roadies, most of whom got times under 40 minutes even with the weather, so I was determined not to worry about it. My goals for this, my first time trial, were modest. I had hoped to finish in about an hour, not have to walk up any hills aaaaaaand… oh yeah, don't wipe out. And I met them! So I’m a happy camper.

The best part wasn’t that I raced on my shiny new bike, or that I did something few folks in their right mind would do, or that I boosted my confidence before my first triathlon. The best part was the people. I was proud to be the only casual cyclist with the balls to show up that day, but it was painfully obvious I was a rank amateur. My beloved bike might as well have had training wheels compared to the custom machines I saw that day. But, I guess the fact that I showed up mattered more than my entry-level equipment, because to a person the other cyclists were absolutely wonderful to me.

There was the woman who said she could tell it was my first race because I wasn’t wearing my number right, and took the pins off her own to fix it. There was the guy at the start who not only didn’t laugh at me, he also cheered me across the finish line. And there were many participants who passed me, both coming and going, that shouted encouragement as they sped by. I went home cold and wet and thoroughly happy. Some of my friends can’t believe I paid money for this experience. I can’t wait to do it again.

Race Results:
Time: 65 minutes
Place: dead last

Michelle Wood
May 2005