What it felt like to not finish the PBP, Part 2

[rebeccmeister]

I have to think about what it was like to not finish pretty much every day. The handlebar palsy is still lingering. I have listened to the stories of R, S, and J, about their experiences with completing the whole ride: hallucinations for S, falling asleep on the bike for R, overall, success for J. Now back in Arizona, I have to get on my bike every single day (the Jolly Roger, though, not the road bike) to get myself back to Tempe. I remind myself that if I had pushed myself further, I would probably be stranded in Phoenix; it would not have been possible to collect up my cat to bring her up to S's house. I would not be able to go over to ASU to resume academic work. Buying (good) groceries would be difficult as well.

See, I tell myself, You still have these things. Remember your identity as a utility cyclist. You knew, going in, that your bike fit wasn't perfect. Remember finishing other brevets with sore knees. Remember trying to adjust your cleats, shoes, and bike saddle without knowing if they would be comfortable enough. Remember that you have been trying to complete a dissertation, move house, and prepare for an endurance cycling event. You've said yourself that it's too much to expect of one person.

I have to replay the earlier stages of the ride to myself as well, before things started to fall apart at Brest. The beginning stages were incredible; there's no other sight like the view of hundreds of rear bike lights and reflective vests lit up in the distance, cresting over hills as we all ride through the darkness. The people who were out in every single town, shouting "Bonne route! Bon courage!" The rolling hills, riding through fields and pastures. The feeling of riding all the way through the night for the first time without feeling completely exhausted the next morning. All of the delicious foods we got to eat. Picking up time while drafting behind a group of great Danes. Learning how (and why) the European riders approach hill-climbing as groups: first, stand and pedal (rest your butt, put your hands in a different position). Then, transition to sitting and spinning the rest of the way up. That uses a different group of leg muscles. Then, cresting the hill, coast on the way down to rest the legs completely. Next hill, start the cycle over again. It was a beautiful way to ride, if only I had had the proper cycling shoes and previous experience with the technique.

Encountering SA, as I wrote below, was also fantastic. All of the RUSA (American) riders were issued tags with our names on them, to attach to our bicycles. On a ride like the PBP, you are bicycling with 5,499 friends. When we encountered SA, he recognized us as Arizona riders in part because he'd seen us out on our training rides - especially S's distinctive LED-lit helmet (everywhere, people commented, laughed, and took photos of S's outfit - the black petticoat plus the helmet stood out among all of the lycra).

At the finish line, walking around and seeing the other people and bicycles who managed to complete the ride, was difficult. I could not help thinking, Wow, it's possible to finish the ride on THAT bike?! And yet I wasn't able to finish the ride?. I was aware that things weren't quite right with my bike, but it was difficult to predict how wrong they got. When the time came to make and test any final changes, during the Grand Canyon 600k, I was unable to go on the ride and had to stay at school to work.

And one other thing that I believe more strongly is difficult for me to write about: I feel like I spent the entire first 400k battling to ride my own ride. S kept wanting to pick up more speed on the downhills; when I looked around at other riders, they pretty much all universally rested their legs on the downhills. S got edged out by another rider while I was comfortably drafting behind the Danes, and felt like he was going too slowly. I felt like I was conserving energy effectively without any net loss of speed. S felt like we weren't banking enough time quickly enough at the controls; I was riding faster than I felt like I should be riding. I don't like feeling anxious when I ride because it feels counterproductive and I don't want to waste energy on anxiety.

I can't help but think about all of the other brevets where R and S have ridden ahead of me on the hills. The worst possible place for someone to ride is 50 feet in front of me - close enough that it seems like it should be easy for me to catch up, but the extra energy it takes to close that gap is pretty much always costly further down the line. The PBP is entirely hills; I should ride up them with other riders who ride similarly to me, not those who are inclined to sprint. The strongest conclusion, for me, is that I must ride on my own on brevets. I must ride my own ride and focus my energies on myself, not others, if I am to ride them successfully and happily. That does not mean I will be *completely* alone at all times, just that I need to make decisions on my own about the ebbs and flows of my energy levels, without having to explain myself to anybody else. They provide feedback that does not lie, and I know I am capable of amazing things if I can focus on myself.

This was still the longest ride I've ever done in my life, 500 miles. There are a lot of other long-distance (>600k) brevets that are organized and held in different places around the US in the interim between this PBP and the next (they occur every four years). Every single brevet is a different experience, and an opportunity to learn and improve. I know I will continue to ride in brevets, and I still want to prepare for and complete the full PBP because it is such an incredible ride. If I do so, it will be on different terms.

Comments

[dichroic.livejournal.com]

The problem with riding your own ride is something you may be dealing with the rest of your life. This is something I've been dealing with for two decades, but it's probably easier for me because the differences between my capabilities and T's are so obvious: we may have comparable skills in some sports but he's a foot taller, way stronger and has much better natural endurance. The height difference is far from the only reason we rarely row doubles together. It's also the reason why, when we've been doing a lot of hiking together I need to get off and do a solo hike now and then, just to enjoy going at my own pace. (Normally when I go hiking with Big People, they get way out in front of me, then they stop and wait for me to catch up, getting all rested while they wait, and then want to go on right away while I'm still tired from the effort to catch up.)

I think since your capabilities are much more similar to those of the people you ride with, you won't have to make many changes (in some cases you'll have to gear *down* for other people) but you'll have to think about it more.

[rebeccmeister.livejournal.com]

The problem with riding your own ride is something you may be dealing with the rest of your life.

I am still spending a lot of time thinking this point over, and I am sure you are correct. Recently I have been thinking about what it was like to run a marathon "with" friends who ran way faster than me (I think the difference is comparable to the difference between you and T, and I am certainly sympathetic to your situation).

Only 5% of the people riding in the PBP are women; this is another point I have been pondering a lot. I suspect most of the women are from the US, and are tough, independent-minded women. Not your average woman cyclist. Part of the business of riding my own ride came from things that happened before the ride. Two nights before the ride, I only got four hours of sleep because I was upset about something I couldn't articulate to those around me. Cried myself to sleep, cried when I woke up, and you probably know I don't cry much.

That thing had to do with paying attention to the needs of others over my own needs; making sure we all got where we needed to go, making sure that grocery shopping and food preparation were taken care of, walking an extra 4 miles to get keys to the house where we were staying. Ignoring the fact that my body was exhausted and hungry.

I know I wasn't the only one who felt frustrated by that aspect of the trip; I wasn't the only one trying to take care of other people as well as myself - leeches. That task fell out along very clear gender lines on this trip, and I suspect that it prevents a lot of women from doing things like long-distance endurance cycling. I also suspect that my male cycling companions are oblivious or in denial about these points. Or perhaps they recognize them and don't know/don't care about what to do about them. To which I say, fine. Just, for my own sake I need to stop dealing with them so I can focus on myself.

It's really hard for me to write about this. I don't like to write about situations that might be perceived as putting blame on other people. I know I wrote about my misgivings to some extent before the ride, and in some ways that has made it even harder to write about how things played out.

[dichroic.livejournal.com]

Interestingly, when we've had the problem with leeches in rowing it hasn't fallen out along gender lines at all (odd, because I think it very often does in other situations). Some of this may be because I'm usually with T, who is Mr. Organizer. Some of what we've encountered isn't about people being leeches so much as being either thoughtless and unprepared or else indecisive. For those situations we often found it useful to say, "We are going to X place for dinner at Y o'clock; you're welcome to come along if you want," or "By the way, we are do Z preparation for this trip for ourselves." One of the worst leeches was female and in that case I think it was mostly obliviousness because she did eventually improve a lot (though as you have reason to know, not entirely).

I think I am more prone to tears than you are in general, but I rarely get hormonal weepiness. Therefore it always surprises me and takes a while to realize what's going on when it does happen. I wouldn't be surprised if that's what hit you. One thing I do know, though, if when hormones do hit, I *never* get upset about something that wouldn't bother me normally; it just bothers me a bit more than it might otherwise and my reactions may be more dramatic. And sometimes you (I mean, I) react to things I could normally shrug off just because they've been piling up and piling up. I've had times when I couldn't convince myself to do the work of getting ready for a camping weekend I'd done many times before just because I was so stressed out and tired that it just seemed like one bit of work too much - even though I knew the net effect of the trip would be relaxing. So how much more so when you're facing one of your biggest challenges?

You're an amazing athlete, but you're also dealing with huge dramatic changes in your life - I'm sure you've seen that list of life stresses and moving, changing jobs, and getting a new roommate are definitely on the list. It's not surprising your body and brain are reacting to stress, in addition to the stressors of the ride itself. This is one thing I like about rowing, though, and it applies here as well: each race may be unique, but the same race is comparable year to year, and if you don't get to do a race this time there's always another shot.

[scrottie.livejournal.com]

There was really only one person asking to be taken care of on this trip, and this fact was discussed often before the trip. I kept citing it as one of the major misgivings I had about the trip. Anyway, that person also paid for your airfare from Boston to Amsterdam and back. I don't know if it's a fair deal and it certainly wasn't an explicit one, but "mooch" might be a bit strong.

As for dinners, The Extreme Picnicking Society is far from helpless. Hot meals are nice and people were grateful for your cooking, but no one asked you to do it. J was reluctant to even partake and said that the situation felt uncomfortable.

In large groups of people like this, I find things generally get done faster when I don't try to help navigate. When I do, often what happens is I have to yell at people to get myself involved enough to find out the details of what their plan is so I can even take it into account. You'll be amazed how much is left out of the simplified versions of things that get passed to me in the back. It's frustrating not knowing what the plan is and don't delight in endlessly tagging along. When Guzy and I got in after the checkpoint and you gave me a kiss then immediately pushed past me and talked to Guzy all of the way from where the bikes were parked until until where we got our stamps, even shushing me when I tried to tell a mini-story, I hated that, but I generally put up with this as preferable to the mess made when too many people try to involve themselves in planning. I didn't really get to do the things beside the ride that I wanted to, but I never thought I might have a chance. You wanted to have dinner in every night and with one exception I can think of, people went along with what you wanted. I was also forward about the fact that, working long days, I didn't have time to adequately get ready for the trip. I was picking up the replacement wheel for the one that was rubbing the frame and moving running trailer loads from the Framer house the day before my flight, and I packed the day of.

As for ride pace, when I went in front of the Danes, I did only that. I didn't pick up a faster speed. When you said it felt good to ride in the pack, I suggested dropping back in but you set a faster pace after that. You do need to go at a pace you know you can sustain. We've talked about this many times and I completely agree with this. Like I keep saying, it's really a lucky accident that the three of us, you, G, and I, all have had such similar paces for so long and I was sad to see our different training programs bring and end to that and the picnics. After you stopped, I had one last sad picnic by myself.

I know it's easier for one person to ride slower than they'd like than for another person to ride faster than they know they can. All but three legs of the trip, I rode at someone else's pace and did it without complaint, just like I always do on these things (though wishing for more sleep at the same time). I like to ride these socially. But yes, in retrospect, as I said, it was wrong of me to try to make agreements with other people to satisfy my desire here.

Sorry to call you out here, but a lot of this stuff was discussed before and after the ride and I feel I have to go on record here now.

[rebeccmeister.livejournal.com]

I do not expect to have reconcilable accounts of what happened over the course of the trip. That has factored in to my decisions about what to write, including hesitations about writing or saying anything at all. I don't seek to tell this story in a way that reflects the experiences of anybody else who went on this trip. Just my own feelings and perceptions.

You and I spent the first 400k of the brevet either arguing or discussing riding strategy, including your desire to pedal more while riding downhill, and your frustration when I continued to drop behind riders at the very beginning of the ride because I wanted to steer clear of big bunches of riders. Plus the entire topic of how holding such discussions in the midst of a brevet takes a lot of energy/effort/focus away from riding. I don't see any benefit from analyzing what happened in terms of blame, nor do I expect the behavior of others to change.

[scrottie.livejournal.com]

Nope, I don't expect agreement of accounts either, but you're right, the first part of the brevet was uncomfortable. Still, I felt the need to contradict you here -- I don't like blame either.

[rebeccmeister.livejournal.com]

I keep thinking about the Seattle Randonneur I met at the Montparnasse train station (who had to quit because his ankles swelled up). He asked me a bit about riding brevets with one's significant other. He'd convinced his wife to do the Seattle 100k (I forget exactly what they're called, but they're supposed to be an introduction to randonneuring - oh, populaire). The 100k route, however, is far from inviting for new riders - it involves a lot of the major Seattle-area hills, and the day of the ride, there were snowflakes the size of dinner plates. He said he was able to finish the ride, but his wife quit after 60k.

Sometime soon here I'll get in touch with the guy. My feeling is, his wife has to decide she wants to do brevets on her own terms, and has to come up with her own way of doing them. There's a lot of potential for resentment to develop. I also hope he's read the chapter in Bike for Life on riding with one's significant other.

[annikusrex.livejournal.com]

WOW! No shame about not making it--I've said before I can't believe you've managed to do so many things during grad school, and this definitely seems like the most punishing/amazing stretch yet. Wrapping up school and the dissertation, finding a job, moving to a new state (not to mention being between apartments for a while, always stressful), AND riding an insane amount of miles in a foreign country after too little sleep and such a busy travel schedule? Like I said, wow. Long distance stuff is always hard on everyone's body, and it takes a lot of courage to recognize when yours is telling you enough. And with all the testosterone on a ride like that--whew. I will probably never ride brevets, much less in France, where when I rode around Normandy I barely did 35 km a day and STILL felt like I had too little time to wander about and eat cheese. But I admire you a ton for making the attempt, and you'll definitely have an easier time with a better bike, riding buddies who are more on your strategic wavelength, and a bit less life intensity during the training period. Congratulations on making it so far, seriously.