We were somewhere around the halfway point for our century, having dropped off the wheels of the recumbent cyclists.
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From left, Paul, Bob, Allen (front) and Willem wait at a stop
sign on Arbuckle Creek Road at Power Line Road while Miguel
retrieves a water bottle that jumped for its life over some rough
railroad tracks. This was early in the ride, and I already knew
it was going to be a tough day for me.
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I was contemplating calling it a day as we approached Arbuckle Creek Road, the point at which we turn left into a stiff crosswind for the 10-or-so miles into Lorida. Or, I could turn right; get some relief from a slight tailwind and be back to my vehicle in 30 relatively short minutes.
But Miguel wouldn't hear it.
He took a long pull while we still had a helpful push from the brisk Northeast wind. We used the fair winds to recover and when push came to shove, we went left toward Lorida.
I'm glad we did.
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Willem and the recumbent crew, plus Bob on the tri bike,
enjoyed a 12-minute respite at the Lorida gas station waiting
for the Poker Run motorcyclists to get their cards.
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We caught up to the four guys ahead of us at the gas station in Lorida...about 12 minutes after they got there.
Willem didn't expect to see us any more than we expected to see him, Bob, Paul or Allen again before reaching the parking lot in Sebring, where the ride started at 7:30 a.m.
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Paul and Bob talk while refueling. A friend saw this pic and
pointed out that it looks like a coke deal is going down. Can
you see why he said that? It's a bit of a pun, if you ask me.
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By the time we returned to Kenilworth Lodge I had 85 miles. I didn't reach my century goal but I was pleased nonetheless.
The recumbent guys had us riding hard early on, which meant I rode sans my usual (and necessary) warmup. My legs felt like as if they had done the full 100 miles.
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When I was in the weeds, feeling the effects of 50+ miles into a cold & honking headwind, quitting certainly was an option.
I'm just thankful that Miguel didn't allow to turn down that road of regret.
Quitting is always an option, and I despise the motivational posters, quotes and speakers who beat their chest and tell us otherwise. I know first hand that quitting is an option. I've done it many times. Sometimes for the better: such as smoking, or drinking to excess. Sometimes to my chagrin, when not quitting would have been more rewarding than the temporary relief that accompanies stopping the pain of a tough training session.
I think it's important that we remind ourselves that quitting is an option, even if it's not the desirable option most of the time. That said, sometimes one must know when to quit, and I don't mean quitting something that is harmful. Rather, we need to know that quitting a particular training regime at a given point might be exactly what one needs to do to preserve their body for another day.
Endurance athletes approaching a race know that tapering (reducing intensity and/or duration) leading up to competition is most beneficial to their performance yet they fight an internal demon that persists in telling them that they shouldn't quit.
For me, knowing that I can in fact quit but instead choosing to do the exact opposite is the greater accomplishment. Not quitting the extremely hard (read: too fast for me) ride on Saturday, opened the door to my not sleeping in Sunday morning, when I started the ride 10-degrees colder than the day prior.
Not quitting eventually becomes habit forming. I hope.
Unfortunately, despite Miguel being the hero of this ride and the focus of this post, I didn't get any pictures of him during this ride.
