Going The Distance

OK, I admit it. Squeezing into a tight black girdle, zipping up a neon yellow jersey that practically glows, securing fingerless gloves, and shoes that click when I walk make me feel just a little like a super-hero. Add the finishing touches of an aerodynamic, shiny grey helmet, a camelback full of chilled grape-flavored Gatorade, and an indestructible paper number fastened to my back to identify me in case I'm injured or lost in the battle, and I'm ready to conquer...conquer the coast.

It's been a year since one of my early posts about coming in last place for Conquer the Coast, one of Corpus Christi's growing popular sports events that features a 65 mile ride around the Bay of Corpus Christi. To refresh my followers' memories...I met my goals last year of safely getting over the Harbor Bridge, and making it to the halfway point of the ride in Port Aransas (where I learned of my last place standing). In addition to my goals I enjoyed the excitement of being picked up by the sag wagon, being dropped off 10 miles from the finish line, and finishing the ride...again, close to the last place.

This years ride was no less thrilling, and it started months ago when I needed to set a new goal to shoot for. At the risk of sounding too introspective, my goal was to "go the distance". To me that meant doing the best I could, and hopefully going further than last year. I honestly dreamed of finishing the ride, but doubted my ability to do so.

Like all special events marked on your calendar with a Sharpie, months, even years in advance, the time for Conquer the Coast arrived far more quickly than I anticipated, and it was a tempting time to ponder all the goals that went unmet in the last year. I never lost weight, never put my extra pennies aside for that really cool expensive bike, never joined that Saturday morning riding group, etc. I came very close to concluding that I had just waited too long to get ready, and skip the ride this year and hope to do better next year. Instead, I dug deep to remember all the lectures I've handed out to my children over the years and decided to "do the best I could with what I had."

I traded my expensive Trek hybrid for the $200 Schwinn from Target that my son bought with his own yard work money, and hit the neighborhood streets. My goal was to build endurance and my strategy was to ride my regular walking route over and over again until I was riding for two hours without stopping. This was not a scientific approach but amusing to the neighborhood yardmen and effective.

The day of the ride arrived, and like last year, I began the long day with my son, Holden, by my side. We were much calmer this year, not as nervous, and pleasantly relaxed as we went through the motions of gearing up for a day of riding. It wasn't until I emerged from the last minute Port-A-Pody stop at 7:29:30, with 30 seconds until the start that the adrenaline began to surge and keep me going for the rest of the ride. I quickly joined Holden who had found my dad among the other 800 riders, and the three of us eased into a long day of riding. A helicopter hovered overhead to watch the start, and Justin Temberlake's "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" thumped through loud speakers.

The next 6 1/2 hours were some of the most fun and memorable hours I've ever had. I was thrilled that the Schwinn was able to keep up with my dad's fancy Signature bike, and we spent the entire ride together. We rode close behind Holden and his buddies, and we enjoyed catching up to them at every water stop. The "toughest 18 miles in Texas" didn't seem so tough with my dad by my side, Holden just 1/2 a mile ahead of me, and Robert Earl Keen's, The Road Goes on Forever, And The Party Never Ends, playing in my head. I got over the JFK causeway (a much steeper and scarier bridge with small guardrails than the Harbor Bridge) out of sheer terror, pedalling harder and faster than I thought possible as I stared down at the pavement and prayed to get over the thing. I kept up with the guys pulling the ice chest with the stereo speakers. (Their song choices this year weren't as good as last year.) I pushed through leg cramps with two miles left to go, and burst out in embarrassing tears when I spotted the "One Mile Left!" sign.

65 miles, 6 1/2 hours later, I crossed the finish line. For you math enthusiasts that calculated that we went 10 miles per hour, I'd like to point out that we cruised at 12,14, even 16 m.p.h. (a thrill for me!) The seven water stops and ferry ride, (another thrill), ate up the rest of the time. I'm proud of myself for reaching my goal, and am already looking forward to next year's ride. My "new" goals for next year are to lose this weight, put my pennies aside for a new bike, and join that Saturday morning riding group. And "going the distance" isn't a bad goal to hang on to either.