Le Tour de Menlo

I woke up at 5:45 this morning and put on my cycling gear. The new black bicycle shorts, obscenely gripping my mid section, the thick center padding feeling like I was wearing a diaper, the blue gloves with gel padding to keep my hands from going numb after several hours of riding, the borrowed jersey with the zipper pulled down a fashionable few inches, the gleaming yellow helmet. I filled my water bottles, one with Gatorade and the other with water. At 6:15, I mounted my borrowed road bike and set off for the starting line a few miles south of my house, feeling strong, with just enough daylight to guide my way. The streets were empty - the sound of my bike and my breathing relaxed me, put me in the zone. I was ready for what I knew would challenge my mental and physical endurance - the 50 mile Le Tour de Menlo, featuring 5,000 feet of climbs.

I met up with my buddy JLO (José Luis Orduña), an avid cyclist who had persuaded me to enter and had let me borrow the jersey and the bike, and we checked in and got our maps and such, and at 6:58, we were off! Those first 20 minutes or so were invigorating - mostly because I had ditched my sweatshirt at the starting line and the thin, short sleeved jersey offered little protection from the cold wind as we zoomed through the streets of Menlo Park on our way to the first big climb - plus the road was still flat, my back wasn't killing me, and my crotch did not yet feel like it had swelled to 5 times its normal size.

And so, entering the first big climb, the real race began. JLO, who is a very strong cyclist, and I parted ways as the ascent began, and for the rest of the race, I was mostly on my own. Soon disaster struck! Listen!

So I had missed a turn. The 50 mile course markers were red, and for me they easily got lost in the sea of dark pavement. I was a few miles off course (I know, I know - big surprise). I now had a dilemma. Dare I go back, retrace my steps, and get back on track? I would have to go back several miles to the missed turn, a lot of it uphill. Or, should I take the easy way out, cut my losses, and continue on? It took but a moment to make my decision - I had promised myself I would finish the race, and that meant finishing the race, the WHOLE race, so I went back, cursing myself and my horrible sense of direction.

The turn I had missed led to about a 10 mile loop with two steep hills. One of them, Parrott Road, was so steep that, literally, with each push of my pedals my front tire would lift a bit off the ground. It was agonizing. I made my way back down and eventually got back to where I had been previously. I was not in good shape, mentally or physically - I had to will my legs to move and sitting on that bicycle seat hurt.

But I kept going. I knew that only two big hills remained, and I was about 3/4 of the way done. I had promised myself that I would finish, and by golly, I was going to finish!

So I got back on my bike and off I went. Somehow my legs loosened up again and my crotch, which by now felt like it had become something altogether foreign to the rest of my body, mercifully became numb enough that I could pedal without grimacing. I made it up the final and worst of the hills, knowing that I had but to get to the top and then would effectively be done with a final 6 miles or so of relatively flat riding.

The end in my mind's eye, a vision of crossing the finish line floating like Frodo's wheel of fire, my pace picked up. I was going to finish - I was really going to finish.

I approached the finish line alone, no riders in sight ahead of me nor behind me, and I celebrated in solitude, raising my fist into the air and pumping it in a Tiger-esque fashion. I crossed at approximately 1:48, a full 6 hours and 50 minutes after I had begun (in comparison, JLO finished at 10:50!).

So 6 bottles of water and 4 cookies later, I had traveled something like 60 miles, taking into account the ride from my house to the starting line and my little off course shenanigans. And I didn't walk one step of it! Granted, yes, I did stop to rest many times, but I didn't walk - not one step.

And now, brief teacher commentary: Some schools think that self-esteem in children can be fomented by chanting over and over again, every morning, "I am somebody! I am special! I'm important!" Some teachers think that self-esteem comes from recognizing everyone as winners, or by treating everyone exactly the same. But I think the truth is that self-esteem, really holding yourself in esteem, having a resiliently positive view of yourself, comes from real accomplishment. And this was real - I dug deep and found myself not wanting but capable.