Jul 4, 2012

What You're Made Of...

...sometimes you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone. See what you're made of. Especially when a mystery bronchial aliment that's apparently undiagnosable by doctors and pharmacists has you sipping breaths like you're trying to drink air through a straw. So after weeks of perennial grumpiness, shortness of breath and a bothersome cough, I said 'enough'. Actually, I said 'Fck this, if I already feel like a paper plate of microwaved crap, might as well work out anyway'. Grabbed my bike. Gloves, helmet, shuffle. My raspy cough.

Wife looked at me with worried apprehension as I made my way past her. Coughing. But like I said, when the going gets tough, the tough grind out a hacking cough like a fossilized barfly at last call. Game plan was start slow, build speed, finish strong. Cut my usual 25 mile ride in half. Knock out a quick 12 miler. By the time I made it to the stop sigh two blocks away I was exhausted. Not figuratively.

A fleeting image: me, laying next to my bike on the street while EMT's strap an oxygen mask over my face. I quickly deleted that image, turned up the volume on my shuffle to mask the loud barking sound that had suddenly replaced my regular breathing pattern.

1/2 hour into the ROD (ride of death) I was still in the game. Actually, feeling pretty good. All things being relative. A phrase that always cracks me up, because like, relative to what? Yes, I felt good relative to oh, a dying person. But relative to my normal state of health against which I was measuring my new lowered standard of expectations, I felt horrible.

But I refused to give up. I was also near hallucinatory and having a hard time remembering where I lived. So I decided to keep pedaling in the hopes maybe the Isley Brothers (who were on my shuffle) might drive by and pick me up. Which are the kind of recalibrated beliefs you entertain in the exhausted state of compromised thought.

Then, a familiar landmark. The Hill. Living up to the obviousness of its name, it is in fact, a hill. Good news is its not far from my house. So I knew the EMT's would probably only charge me for gas when they delivered me to my family. The Hill is maybe 800 yards long. The last of which are about 35 degrees. Uphill. My job at that point other than being grateful my lungs hadn't caved in on themselves, was to turn right. Towards home. And I planned to. Until I saw him.

Guy on a bike. Well, I suppose that described me. A more realistic and accurate description of him would be 'Serious cyclist. On a bad ass bike'. Had the whole matching outfit. And those special shoes that make them walk wobbly on flat ground like they're not meant to be on feet, just pedals. Lapping the less fortunate who must walk. And he just zipped through the four way stop. Past me. Past cars. Right up the first couple hundred yards of the Hill like he was a video game character immune to gravity.

And I envied him. Well, not so much him but the outfit. Very nice. And then, a thought. 'You can take him'. I realize now, I have to get the logic version of 'spellchecker'. If I'd had that, logicchecker would've done the math for me. And returned the sum of my flawed logic in an entirely rational formula: coughing guy on retail chain mountain bike, should not attempt to go up against seasoned cyclist on space bike'.

But probably because iphone and android are going mano y mano these days, no one's created the logicchecker app for me to download. Which explains why I turned left. He was already past the first 400 yds of the Hill, and into and smoothly handling the first 100 yds of the 35 degree pitch.

I shifted gears. Felt my feet suddenly turning in fast circles like a hamster on the wheel. I was 300 yds behind him. And eating up the flat(er) part of the Hill faster than a housewife and a bag of chips the day before a Weight watcher's weigh in. Pedaling fast wasn't a problem. Synchronizing my cough and my feet was another issue altogether. Faster I went, more I coughed. More I coughed, more it interrupted the timing of the foot thing.

But no way I was backing off now. Even though I'd hit the first 100 yds of the uphill part of the Hill and suddenly felt like I was in The Matrix. I was working hard, going nowhere. Cars passed me. Giant SUV's going 10mph passed me. The Wicked Witch in the tornado from The Wizard Of Oz glided past, cackled. Damn. But - I had closed the distance. Dude was only 200 yds ahead of me. If I could lean into it, really push hard, I could erase 100 yds, then go Tour on him and make my move.

Which is when I started wheezing. Imagine the sound of a giant garbage bag filled with air being backed over by a car. Which is also when I realized he actually was on a space bike. Because suddenly, he just disappeared. Looked back, saw me and just - vanished. I got to the top of the hill sometime later that day. Didn't see him anywhere. Turned around, glided back downhill.

Wondered how much those space bike's cost. If they came with like, a starter outfit?. Or was that separate? Enjoyed the ride home, even though I did the last mile or so in the back seat of a Cadillac El Dorado with the Isley Brothers, who by the way are pretty much as cool as one can imagine. We harmonized Who's That Lady? and Ernie Isley gave me a guitar pick to keep.

They dropped me off at home and my wife asked 'Who were you talking to in the driveway?'. But she's not really an Isley Bro's fan, so I was like 'Oh, just checking vm's on my phone'.

Yup, sometimes you have to knuckle down, man up and see what you're made of. I say, go for it. You may start out going one direction, but end up back at home in ways you never imaged.

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