Why Am I Doing This? Or: I think I Need An Inhaler.

I have been obsessed with checking the weather forecast, quite compulsively, for several years now. Based on my peek at the 3 sites I stalk regularly, it was supposed to rain at some point today which led me to my decision to take a day off and just sleep in and chill out with my kiddos. I woke at 5am, read a few chapters of "The Uses of Haiti", got more depressed and fell back asleep until 830am, which never, ever, ever happens. When I woke, my 9 year old was asleep next to me and I snuck to my computer to yes, check the weather along with my email. My Yahoo inbox had a message from NorCal Bike Sport's Jen Toland about this morning's ladies ride to Oakmont and since the rain had yet to fall on my sleepy little street, I figured I would get my ass in gear and join them. After all, Jim Keane had taken me to Oakmont on my first ride and it was a piece of cake. I had even rode out that way last weekend with my friend, Amy Brush and again felt that I would do just fine on what I expected to be a leisurely ride, full of chitchat with some potential new cycling buddies. What I failed to take into account was that Jen is totally hardcore and knows I need to be pushed a bit to meet the goals I've set for myself. I was in for some serious ass-kicking.

I arrived at NorCal just as the ladies were preparing to leave the shop, poked my head in to say "hi" to Jim and was off with the group. This ride included five of us and started out much as I expected: mildly paced through Santa Rosa toward Spring Lake and around the lake to Channel Drive. Though I was setting my pace and my body felt good, I was having a hard time breathing, again. Also, I was riding at a much slower pace than the rest of the women, who barreled down the trail ahead of me. Noticing my slower pace and knowing that I was training and not just out for fun, Jen lagged back next to me and immediately started boot camp on my wimpy ass.

"Switch into a harder gear," she suggested.

I complied.

"Another one," she said. "Try another... or two more," she said, while still watching my legs battle with peddling up a slight incline.

"How's you're heart rate now?" She asked, smiling at me while I struggled for air.

We continued east on Channel Drive, Jen's eyes watching me like a hawk. I paused my embarrassingly weak peddling for a split second to catch my breath and Jen reminded me why I was out riding, "Don't stop peddling. You're training and you can't stop moving your body."

Though I appreciated the encouragement, I started panicking about the lack of air I was inhaling. Fuck, maybe I do have asthma. Or worse yet, emphysema!

Suddenly, we were taking a left turn off of the paved trail down toward a creek. This wasn't the same route to Oakmont that I had ridden before and I was hoping that we would just turn around so I could spare myself the embarrassment of not being up to par with these women. As we approached a road with steep climbs in every direction, I mustered up the deepest breath my old haggard lungs could hold and proceeded along with the group with Jen's promise of a coffee break motivating me along the way.

Now, I have been humiliated many times, in many ways throughout my life and felt a definitive and significant slice of humble pie being warmed and ready to be served up as I approached the climb. I started the climb by standing and was quickly shot down to the saddle of my bike, desperately clicking my bike into the lowest of low gears I had to choose from. Jen, suddenly appearing saintly and unlike the drill sergeant I started off with, remained at my side, explaining posture and breathing techniques that would surely assist me in my uphill fiasco. Though her encouragement was sincere and her advice immensely helpful, I hated myself and wanted to stop and throw in the towel for good.

"What in the fuck is wrong with me?" I kept thinking over and over in my downward spiral of self-defeat. I know how to breathe- I have been dabbling in Vipassana meditation for years, have been practicing yoga along with yogic breathing for even more years! I even managed to crank out two babies with the help of my controlled breathing and here I was, on a bike going about .00325 miles an hour on a beautiful day and I felt like I was drowning in goose down. Fuckity Fudge Fuuuck!

I was so close to crying, so close to giving up when I suddenly found myself descending down the other side of the hill, watching a little Benji-like dog chase the other riders into the street. I did it! Now, I prayed, can we just get some damn coffee and get home?

Although I was proud of myself and had a wee bit more faith in my body than I had while I was half-way up that hill, I wanted to quit. I am much better at yoga. Maybe I should just sign up for a yoga-a-thon instead of a 100 mile ride, followed by a 545 mile ride. My asshole ex boyfriend's voice even entered for a second, reminding me I was naive and out of shape and today, I sort of believed it. Long gone are my happy cardio days of dancing all night, or partaking in sex-a-thons with lovers. I am not in my twenties anymore and have done too much damage to my body by spiraling downward into depressions and forcing my adrenals go on strike from years of stress. I was bummed and felt defeated. And shit. I couldn't even head out for a beer to whine about it with friends because the medication I am on will basically make me die a slow painful death if I drink. My life sucked on that ride.

We looped around Oakmont and finally headed to the coffee shop where I was prepared to hand over my bike, call a ride and be on my merry way when I got a text from my friend, Lila:

"I've been following your bloggy blarg. Its super great.
Don't give up! Cuz the devil will be pissed if you do.."

Well, shit. There you have it. Another person having more faith in me than I have in myself.

As we wrapped up our conversations in the cafe and headed back out into the cold Sonoma County morning, I somehow managed to pull my head out of my self-pitying ass and actually started to enjoy myself- and managed to have a great conversation with Annie, one of the women on the ride- without huffing and puffing my way into a coma. Jen demanded, er, uh... encouraged me to continue the Saturday morning ladies rides as I parted ways to head home to my hot bath, Epsom salts and a hot cup of tea. Apparently, I am a glutton for punishment because I willfully and happily agreed.