Racing?

Yesterday I took part in my first bicycle race, a 40-mile ride consisting of four loops around a ten-mile circuit at Camp Sumatanga in Gallant, AL. I read about the race the night before, and even though I hadn’t ridden my bike much over the last few weeks because of the cold and wet, I thought it might be fun to go give it a shot. I had to rush to get to Sumatanga in time for the start because I had a couple of meetings after worship at Church. I made it in time to get registered and threw on my clothes and had a chance to “warm up” by riding about a quarter of a mile before it was time to get started. Wearing my heart rate monitor, I looked down and realized that my heart was racing as I prepared for the start. No matter what I tried to do I couldn’t get it to slow down and relax. Finally, the USA cycling official gave us a go, and we took off, and I mean, we really took off! My heart pounded and my lungs began to burn as we tore down the opening stretch of the course up over 20 miles per hour, and closed in on 30. I looked down at my heart rate monitor to see my heart rate soar higher and higher. I heard a woman behind me exclaim, “Good grief,” as she quit pedaling and turned around to head back to the start. I thought to myself, “this is ridiculous, I could die here!” After what seemed like a lifetime, but turned out to be only 1.1 miles, I slowed down and settled in for what would turn out to be a nice training ride, realizing I have work to do before I do any more racing.

I finished the race/ride… dead last, and sufficiently humbled. My lungs are still mad at me today, and the 2600 calories I burned on my ride leave me a little sluggish, but somehow crazily tempted to do it all again once I get into better shape.