Originally Posted by jhan

I finally took the plunge today and tried to join my first group ride, the 10:00 Rock Creek Park Ride in DC. I decided to get into cycling a few months ago when my knees hurt too much from running. Four months ago, after much research, including endless hours on BF, I bought a Cannandale CAAD 8. I have been commuting to work 15 miles each way, twice a week. I read Lance Armstrong's books. I even read Floyd Landis' book. I felt in shape, I was comfortable on my bike, it was time to test my mettle against other riders.

We started at a nice easy pace through the park, about 16-18 miles slightly uphill. I was riding behind the slipstream of another rider and was thrilled with the ease, fall scenic beauty, and group effort of the ride. I can do this, I thought to myself. It was awesome! I looked to my right and examined an older rider, with a big white bushy mustash on a no-name bike. Well, at least I won't be the slowest rider, I reassured myself.

We hit the first hill and the group started to break apart with individual attacks to the crest. I kept up with them, but it took alot out of me. On the downhill, I tucked in with the others into a single file line as we shot through a 4 foot gap between the gates in the road at break-neck speed.

On the subsequent flat, the group stayed in a pace line cruising at over 27 miles per hour. I huffed and puffed, and . . . eventually blew up. I pulled to the side and let the other riders behind me pass and close the gap. "White Bushy mustash" flew by me on his no-name bike. Even in my humiliation, I thought to myself, that was awesome! I turned around and commenced the ride of shame back to my house. I got dropped even before I made it out of the park.

It has been a long time since the competitive juices of this decorated ex-high school athlete ran through my veins. I will train harder, ride longer, and endure the cold winter commute when the poser fair weather fans are tucked in their beds. I am envigorated by the thought of competition again, but not necessarily with the likes of "white bushy mustash." Rather my adversary is Father Time himself and his cruel joke of taking away the strength and speed and agility of my youth and replacing them with a 38 year old body with 6 knee surgeries, 3 wonderful little kids, and a honda minivan.

On this day, I vow...
I will endure . . . I will prevail... I will ride fast.