Break Your Limits

Fellow blog reader(s). I am afraid I have had another one of my ‘writing moments’. After getting home from training today, I sat down in front of the computer and spewed out this lengthy collection of words. Take it as you like and please ignore it you choose. I do not mind. It is what it is. Something I wrote quickly to capture my emotions of the time and something that comes straight from the heart.

After 4 hours on the bike we come across a fork in the road. The sign pointing left is as simple and plain as any other street sign in France. It reads ‘Lagarde d’Apt 12′. No more, no less. We make the turn and the road begrudgingly starts to rise skyward.

Today, we is Nico, Francois and myself. Outings with these guys are a gift to me and it is for this that they come with a sense of excitement but it is an excitement that is mixed the heavy scent of fear. Their class on the bike is second to none and their strength is beyond anything I have ever witnessed first hand.

Now the three of us face the 12 kilometre ascent of Lagarde d’Apt.

Lagarde d’Apt has no history that I am aware of. It is not the scene of some epic Tour battle, not the stage to a deciding moment in an athlete’s life, nor of a star’s fall from grace. Almost fittingly it is not a mountain with a name that carries with it some sense of giant foreboding – it is no Galibier, Tourmalet or Hautacam.

Not one inch of its 12 kilomtres wears any cycling related graffiti, not even from amateur races – no arrows; no words of encouragement stencilled to the road by loved ones; not even a line signifying ‘Grand Prix Montagne’ as is so common in these parts. It is nothing and it has nothing. But somehow this makes it everything.

Today was my second time up Lagarde. My first outing was also with Nico and some boys from the local cycling club. It was a day that left my ego in tatters. On that day I was schooled on the art of riding a bike. Unfortunately for me, I had until then thought that I knew a thing or two about riding bikes – but, it seems not. Today however, I felt better, happier, stronger and most importantly aware of what lie ahead.

What did lie ahead is unremarkable as all else to do with this mountain. Lagarde d’Apt climbs at the relatively gentle gradient of about 7 per cent. The problem however is this: The 7 per cent gradient is an absolute CONSTANT.

It is hands down the single most unrelenting climb that I have ever ridden. Even the much mystified and feared mountain known as Alpe d’huez has parts that are relatively benign. Sections where you shift down a few cogs so as to give your legs a different tune to dance to and likewise some steep parts that force you out of the saddle thus providing a much-needed change in pace and rythym. Even if you are unware of it at the time, such changes do wonders. This I now know. As they say, ‘you never miss your water til its dry’.

I stay with Nico for one, maybe two kilometres. Not more. The last words I say to him are, ‘Nico, you look too comfortable!’ ‘No!’ he replies with a smile as he rides off in front of me. The real climbing has started and I am hurting already. Damn this place – I have an unwelcome feeling of dejavu. Not again.

The climb continues but the gradient never changes. Francois is behind me somewhere. But this is little comfort. He probably has his chain steadfast in the big chain ring while doing some stregth work….most likely with one leg (his weak leg). Me on the other hand, I keep glancing to my rear casette in search of another gear – but there is none. Deep down I have always known this but sometimes hope is all you have.

The climb continues and my strength fades. Pretty soon, it is no longer about gracefully riding a bike. Instead I am in the midst of an ugly battle of desparation as I give all I can just to push each pedal down. Mu legs burn in mad protest with each grindingly slow revolution.

I dig deep inside of myself and I think of a woman I know. Her strength gives me hope and reason to fight.

It is not long before Francois passes me. He can see I am not in a good way.

‘Ca va Bill?!’

‘Oui ca va’ – I lie as big as any I ever told but it is all the french that I can muster.

‘Seulment deux kilometres!’ he yells encouragingly as he passes.

I am nearly broken. I stare at my shadow and together we climb, inch by painful inch. The weather is mild by Australian standards but sweat pours from my body. Salt stains my shorts and has formed a grisly white powder on my bike frame. In the distance, Francois looks strong and in control.

The dream of being a pro triathlete sounds glamourous but I am quickly learning just how hard it can be. As an amateur, it is easy to hide. I know because I did it all the time. Protecting my ego from truths that might sting. The amateur always has a ready arsenal of ‘could haves’ and ‘would haves’ but ‘did nots’: ‘work has been busy’, ‘I am too tired to train today’, ‘well I would have gone better you know, it is only a race’.

Now it is different.

There are no excuses. That eternal triathlon dream of being able to train all day is in my grasp but this brings with it a whole new set of challenges, and none of them are easy.

The gulf between me and the pros often seems impassable. Today is one of those days. Hell, Nico who is up the road somewhere is not even racing any more, let alone training. These guys have more race wins than I have race starts! Getting my mind to believe that I SHOULD BE and CAN BE riding and racing in the company of these guys is a big a challenge as any, and one that I have not worked out how to overcome yet.

I push on though because there is not much else to do. The guys will be waiting for me at the top. And the thought of one of them having to come back to collect me does not sit well. I try to stand on the pedals, in a vain effort to break the monotony of the climb, but my legs cannot support me and my bum crashes back into the saddle. I can think of many times when I have given my heart and soul to go fast on a bicyle but this climb has reached out and taken hold of my liver, kidney and spleen as well. What’s worse is that it is the second time it has done so. ‘I hate this place!’ I curse.

Eventually, I stop. Dead set in the middle of the road. I never done this before. Not in Alps, not in the Pyrenees, not in the climbs of Switzerland, Italy and definately not France. My brain snapped. It had had enough. I had given it an inch and it had taken a mile. It told my legs to stop working. ‘After all this was stupid, right?’ My legs agreed wholeheartedly.

As a salary man, I had always dreamed of being a professional athlete but now the thought of deadlines, phone calls, long days and nights in front of the computer seem almost attractive. At least I could do normal things with normal people. I could talk about the football, wives and girlfriends and social plans for the weekend. I could be done with this pain and sacrifice.

The woman I know tells me to get on with it.

She is not a cyclist but if she had of been one, she would have kicked this climb in the teeth by now and given it a word or two to get on with.

She has the type of courage and bravery that makes riding a bike seem like child’s play. And in all reality – it is. Like nobody else I know, she knows how to suffer; how to endure; and how to face the fears that stare you directly in the eyes. She is nothing short of remarkable and she is an inspiration to me. For in a life that dealt her a cruel, cruel hand – she never gave up, never looked back and never stopped loving.

I start moving again and eventually I drag my weary bones toward the top of the climb. I see Nico and Francois sitting on the grass leaning against a fence. Two bikes lie casually beside them. The only thing missing from the picture is picnic rug and a round of sandwiches, and maybe a cigar or two.

I reach the peak and look to the skies.

Today you have given me strength. A strength to continue to chase my dream no matter how far off it may seem. A strength to live life to the best of my ability and a strength to never forget just how lucky I am to be where I am today.

Thank you mum. I love and I miss you.

And happy birthday.