The unpolished version: It was one of those perfect SoCal days today. We've been blessed this past week with warm weather, which was much different than last week's cold and wet stuff. I had 2 solid rides this week, with a day off yesterday, and I was really looking forward to today's ride. On weekends I often head out for longer, tougher rides than what I do during the week. When I woke up I didn't know exactly how far, or in what direction I would be going. Whatever I did, it would include at least 2800 feet of climbing, most of it between 6 and 8% gradient. I would know how far I'd be going once I got on the bike and went up the first 4 mile climb.
The not so good news is that I wasn't feeling right. Even after a solid evacuation before heading out, the oatmeal and fruit brunch just wasn't settling. The legs weren't popping either. I kept telling myself I'd come around. It wasn't a matter of not being able to climb or go whatever distance, but rather how much fun I'd have. Fun for me is not having to play games with my head trying to convince myself I was having fun. Ultimately, I decided on the shorter route, but one that included a final 4 mile slog up an 8% climb.
Because I wasn't "feeling it," I decided to see what the power of positive thinking would do to negate my mood. At the start of the climb is lengthy mellow section of maybe 5%, which I used to settle into a position and cadence, think of nothing but positive thoughts, and slowly ramp up the intensity as the gradient increased. Suddenly, I was passed by another roadie, (big guy, steel frame) who asked how I was doing. "Doing great," I lied. "See you at the top," I said as he zoomed past me. But once ahead of me some 100 feet, he settled into a pace that wasn't any different than my own. I decided to use him as motivation, with the goal being to not lose sight, if possible. And it worked! I kept within 100 feet for most of the way up, and even managed to pass him with less than a half mile to go. I gotta give him props for keeping a rather intense pace almost to the top. Pretty inspiring to see a big guy on a "heavy" bike do that!
My insides didn't feel any better while going up, but I'm sure the motivation to not get dropped was enough to push harder than if I didn't have someone in front of me. I ended up nearly beating my best time for the course and distance, finishing shy of the record by 13 seconds.
And now, the BF version: Suddenly, I was passed by another roadie riding a tank of a steel frame bike with downtube shifters. It was all clean and shiny like it hadn't been ridden in awhile. When he passed me he asked how I was doing. "Doing great," I lied. "See you at the top," I said as he zoomed past me. I guessed his weight around 200 lbs, and couldn't help but notice he was kind of large for the frame. As I watched him, I noticed he had that awkward humpty hump pedaling style where the shoulders bob up and down with each stroke. Oh, and his legs were a matt of thick black hair. Freaking gross! Fred City, here we come! But once past me some 100 feet, he settled into a pace that wasn't any different than my own. I decided to use him as motivation, with the goal being to not lose sight. I was also curious to see at what point in the climb he would "hit the wall." That's when I'd pass him and ask him how he was doing.
With that as a motivation, I kept within 100 feet for most of the way up, then within 50, then 30 feet. I told myself when I got within 20 feet I'd drope the hamer and pass him. Early on the climb he looked back, so he knew I was back there. When I got within 30 feet, I'm sure he heard me breathing and coughing. "Yeah, you can hear me Fred. How does it feel to be tailed? You went and passed me with flourish at the start, insulted me with that prod-like greeting, then faded once the grade kicked up! Steel ain't so real, is it!?," I said to him in my head.
With less than a half mile to go I was within 20 feet. Keeping to my plan of attack, I shifted up two gears, rose out of the saddle and sped past him, finishing well ahead of him. He didn't even try and match my speed. He didn't even stop at the top. He just rolled slowly past.
My insides didn't feel any better while I went up, but the motivation to ruin a Fred's day was obviously enough to push harder than if I didn't have someone's dreams to crush in front of me. I ended up nearly beating my best time for the course and distance.
Somewhere between the two versions is the truth.