I've never sprinted. Not once. Until Sunday. 400 meters (or .262 miles). On pavement. Downtown, in the heat. In my minimal running shoes (which was a stupid idea). Pacing myself against a kid (a 9 year old). Also in the race? A local Olympic hopeful (I won't mention his name).
The "gun" sounded to start the race, and I took off like a bat out of hell, the little kid of front of me. Twenty seconds into my mad dash and I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing? You don't sprint!" I slowed my pace to a neutral jog/run (I'm not 18...or 9 anymore).
The Olympic hopeful won the race of course, but there was beer at the finish line, and I was running for the joy of running.
This was my first, and most likely, my last sprint (I say that now, but I have a year to change my mind), but hey, it's one more 'book' I've added to my "ignoring fear and self-doubt offers up a happy life" shelf....custom designed and built by me.
The 9 year old? He beat me, but it's not like he totally kicked my ass. I came in 74th. He came in 61st. I'll take that.
"You can endure anything for 30 seconds!" so said Julia, personal trainer/fit camp instructor/all-around bad-ass. During the summer of 2008, in Nashville, my sister talked me into attending a fitness 'boot camp' that she had just completed and enjoyed. I signed up for the next session. 6:00 am, Monday through Thursday for 4 weeks.
Wednesday of each week was "leg day." Julia took pride in torturing us on leg days. As we held wall squats (this fit camp was outside, so our wall squats were actually fence squats), legs shaking, 2 seconds from buckling, and 5 seconds away from vomiting, Julia liked to yell, "You can do it! Come on! 30 more seconds. You can do anything for 30 seconds!" Turns out, Julia was right. You can endure anything for 30 seconds if you really want to.
Fast forward 6 years to this past Saturday. Julia's 30 second rule was my mantra during our bike trip. You see, there is one particularly steep, nasty hill that has been my Achilles heel on our bike rides. I just cannot make it to the top without getting off and walking my bike. That walk of shame ended Saturday.
As I started the climb, I focused my gaze downward, to the ground just in front of me. I didn't want to see the hill. I wanted to keep the steepness of it out of my mind. I just needed to feel the incline, and switch gears accordingly, and as I did so, I repeated to myself, "You can do anything for 30 seconds." I began counting, "1 and 2 and 3..." At 30, I was in 1st gear and struggling. "See, you can survive anything for 30 seconds!" But damn, I was still only 1/3 of the way up that hill. I started over, "1 and 2 and 3...you can survive anything for 30 seconds. You can do this" I made it to 30, and I didn't die! Wait, double damn. I still haven't reached the top. So, again, I counted to 30. I did it! A minute and a half, and I made it to the top of the hill without having to get off and walk my bike. I made it to the top without dying! I kicked my Achilles heel's ass.
There was no containing my ego after that. I was on fire. Fierce! Poseidon and I stopped off for lunch, then biked around NCSU campus for an hour or so. I took him to the tunnels on campus. My inflated ego decided I could recreate a photo of me from 1996, holding myself up in one of the tunnels. I tried. Poseidon snapped a picture. I wasn't able to get my 2nd arm up without a nagging feeling that a face plant was imminent (I did have my bike helmet on though), so I aborted the mission. My goal, before the end of the summer, is to work on my arm strength and nail that pose from 18 years ago. Not only nail it, but hold it for 30 seconds.
There is nothing like biking in hot temperatures; humidity so high even the 1970s-style sweatbands I wear on my wrists won't help. But as Isak Dinesen wrote, “The cure for anything is salt water - tears, sweat, or the sea.”
Sunday was one of those days. We biked to the North Carolina Museum of Art, and thanks to the miles and miles of amazing bike trails, courtesy of our city (which can sometimes be a big, dumb city), Poseidon and I can bike from our driveway all the way to the museum, without having to rack up the bikes and drive.
The museum trail isn't an easy trail, and we get a crazy mad workout, but it's scenic (except for the pedestrian bridge over the belt line...traffic isn't a pretty thing to see from any height). Oh, and shortly after pedaling over the bridge, my front bike tire got up close and personal with a black snake. Fortunately, he was faster, so no harm done to either one of us. I had expected to implode when I first saw the slithering thing. Poseidon didn't even see it! He was busy tree-gawking and I was busy ground-watching.
When we arrived at destination NCMA, we decided we hadn't had enough torture from the sun, so we continued on to Reedy Creek. Our inaugural Reedy Creek trail ride! After a confusing start, we got it in gear (pun intended), and made it to Umstead Park where we took a breather, meaning, we drank the hell out of some water.
Our return trip was outstanding (except for that excursion down Edward's Mill Rd...we won't be doing that again). We stopped to snap pictures of some horses (I can never resist a horse), and one was curious enough to walk over and say, "Howdy." We stopped for a beer and a late lunch at a tavern on our route, then we began our winding trek through the woods back home, when we spotted the blue heron. My friend T and I saw him several weeks ago on a bike ride. Blue herons don't usually get this far from the coast, so I'm hoping he isn't hurt and unable to fly east.
Horsies, a heron, and humidity. Fantastic summer ahead!
