My physical therapist is working on getting me back to running, and the going is slow. Four weeks until Boston and my hope is dwindling, but I do my exercises and get my workouts elsewhere: the bike, the pool, the gym. My therapist is concerned with me becoming deconditioned, and I am too. Yesterday I saw exactly how deconditioned I had become.
I rode toward Hicks from my house, about 12 miles away. By the time I got there my legs were already a little tired. I tackled the first "warm-up" climb and was surprised how quickly I ran out of gears. I've been noticing that lately and wondered if there was something wrong with my bike. I cleaned and lubed my chain Friday night and took it through all the gears to make sure they shifted smoothly.
I hit the drainage that signaled the start of the major climb and shifted gears. Right away I ran out of gears and ran out of gas. I pulled over and took a look at my chain, making sure it had made it into the easiest gear. It had. No flat tire. Something must be wrong with my bike. Or something's wrong with your legs. I wondered how hard I should push it, since I wasn't completely healed. I decided maybe this wasn't a good idea. I turned around to head back down the hill.
I crossed the road and stared downhill. I looked uphill. Carrie, we are not quitters. We do not quit, get your butt up that hill. I crossed back over to the other side of the road and started back up the mountain. It wasn't long before my legs couldn't take it anymore. What the hell?! You were so strong just two weeks ago!
I held back tears on my way down the hill, forcing a smile when I met other cyclists coming up the hill. Carrie, this is temporary. You've been here before and you made it back just fine. You just quit. You're a quitter. Turn around and go back up that hill.
I almost turned around. But I was defeated. I went over and over it in my head on the way home. Was your hamstring hurting? Or did you just quit because it got too hard?
I know why I quit. I've spent the last 5 weeks backing off and backing down. I've backed off at every hint of stress or strain, trying desperately to heal in time for the Boston Marathon. But did you need to back down from Hicks Road? I wasn't sure.
I went home and uploaded my data to Strava and compared it to the last time I had gone up Hicks. I had made it one quarter of the way up that climb. It's about 1.3 miles of climbing and I had made it .3 miles. The rest of the day it bugged me. I toyed with the idea of returning to Hicks, but driving closer so my legs were fresher before the climb. It's ok to take breaks, but you need to make it up the hill. You need to beat those demons.
I'm sure everyone faces their demons on Hicks Road. But Hicks Road was not the demon. The demon was everything that led up to me backing down, quitting. I was angry, I was disappointed with myself, I hated myself. My mind was made up.
After an early morning "walk/jog" to help rehab my hamstring, I loaded up my bike and drove to the light rail station to start my ride. It was a cool, cloudy morning and I was bundled up in long tights and a jacket. Keeping myself calm and cool, I rode out towards Hicks. It's ok to take breaks. You have all day to get up this hill.
I hit the warm-up hill and pushed through, making sure my legs were ready to exert some force on the pedals. I relaxed on the flats and downhills, then saw the drainage up ahead. You will get up this hill, no matter how long it takes you. You will crawl, but you will get to the top. You will not quit. Unless you blow out your hamstring and I guess then that's ok.
Again, right away I ran out of gears. Keep going. I pushed with all my might until my quads screamed and lungs burned. I took a break. I pulled out my camera and tried to capture the steepness of the climb. I was one quarter of the way up that part of the mountain, exactly where I quit yesterday. Looking up the hill:
Looking back down the hill:
As I looked down, I noticed a bright orange vest coming up the hill. Great, here it is, swallow your pride. I watched as the cyclist came toward me, said good morning to him and watched as he trudged by. It occurred to me how incredibly slow he was going. See Carrie, this shit's tough! No big deal, you got this, just take a break when you need to and then continue on, we're going to make it up this hill.
I went a little further until I could take no more, and pulled over again.
It wasn't long until I completely lost sight of the orange vest. Just as well. I didn't want to have to face explaining myself to him when I made it to the parking lot up at the top. I pushed on.
I knew eventually there was a sign on the side of the road, just after a fairly flat section, that said "Stop ahead". That stop sign was the end of the climb. I made it around the turn above and pulled over again at a wide spot, one last rest stop before the top.
I started back up again, pushing the pedals and pulling on the handlebars. By now I was wheezing and knew the top had to be there soon. I reached the spot where I had taken a break the last time I had climbed it all the way. I knew there was a little more hill around the corner, and then that "stop ahead" sign would be there.
I rounded the corner the slugged my way up that last section of climbing...and then there it was. "Stop ahead". Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I pulled over at the parking lot and took a break.
Yeah, Mt. Umunhum is up that way, and I guess some people ride it. I don't know, I'll have to consult Strava. Legend has it it's even steeper than Hicks. Mt. Umunhum would have to wait another day. I still had the descent to live through, and I'm not quite fond of descents. I would relax when I hit the road at the bottom of the other side of Hicks.
And finally, the road appeared. The reservoir on the other side of Hicks:
Looking back towards Hicks, which is lost in the clouds:
I could relax the rest of the ride, and do some sight seeing. I rode through New Almaden, home to the some old quicksilver (mercury) mining.
Back to the start, Lake Almaden with Mt. Umunhum and Hicks Road nestled behind the clouds.
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