The Tortoise and the Hares

So I got the bicycle and have been riding. Put in eleven miles and seventy-five minutes yesterday. Paying for it today. Not feeling well at all. Will probably stay off the bike (probably not) and just do treadmill today.

Getting sick from riding too much reminded me of the one and only bike-a-thon I was part of. Did that back in the mid-70s. When I was nineteen or twenty.

It was Randy's idea to participate. He invited Stephen, who invited me. We met some others, including a co-worker of mine at the pizza shop, at the starting point and took off as a group of six or seven. Randy was in training. He wanted to do the 100-mile Ironman later that summer. This particular ride was fifty miles. For charity. You got people to pledge so much a mile. I didn't get many pledges. Asking people for anything is difficult for me, but asking them for money is a nightmare. So I would just make it known I was involved and let them offer to pledge. Think I got ten or fifteen dollars for the thing.

Anyway, being young and feeling "macho", we got into a competition before we even started. The deal was, who could go the longest before they had to get off their bike and walk, or just plain stop and take a rest? There were allowances. For instance, there were about a half dozen checkpoints for the bikers. These would typically be at fast-food restaurants or convenience store filling stations. Getting off one's bike to purchase food or drink, or to use the facilities didn't count. But between checkpoints did.

We started out together and reached the first checkpoint as a group. Same with the second. That was where we got food and drink. I avoided the food and went only with the drink. Didn't want to get sick.

On the third leg we began to spread out. And all but three of us got off their bikes to walk up the nightmare hill. I felt like I was biking straight up into the air. I had a Raleigh bike with ten speeds. Stephen's bike was even better. (I had got my Raleigh from Stephen. Traded a Chevy Vega for it. I got the best part of the deal.) I made it to the top without stopping going on sheer willpower and pride. You see, Stephen didn't stop either. Neither did my co-worker. Silly macho pride kept us going. After that hill I was convinced I would do not worse than tie for the longest ride.

After the final checkpoint we had several uninteresting miles to cover in order to finish. We had begun early in the morning and now it was late afternoon. I was wiped. The furthest I had ever biked in a single day before was maybe thirty miles. Randy, who was hoping to bike 100-miles in just a couple of months had to take several rests. So did nearly everyone else. Even my co-worker finally looked at me and gave up, conceding my willpower over his. That left just Stephen and me. I knew we would finish together.

Except by now we were spreading out into a long line separated by huge gaps. I had been in the middle or near the front all day, but I had fallen behind. Stephen decided he would rather finish first and I told him to go ahead and he was soon out of sight, too. I plodded.

Then, I passed my co-worker. He was laying on the ground beside his bicycle taking a nap. One by one I passed the others, including Randy. I planned on telling Stephen about it, but then I found Stephen laying beside the road, too. I had won.

Now I could have got off right then and taken a rest, but for whatever reason I decided I wouldn't. It was only five miles to finish and I was going to make it without stopping. I plodded.

Then Stephen passed me. Looking fresh. Not long after that Randy passed me. One-by-one they all did. My co-worker passed me with two miles to go.

I came into the last stretch ready to fall over and die. I had forgotten what things were like at the end. When we began it was fun. A long ride down a hill. Now it was reversed. A horrendous climb which lasted nearly a half mile. And it was sandy.

It was so tempting to give up at the end. Why is that? When the end was twenty, ten, or even five miles away I was determined to finish. Now, with the finish line in my sights, I wanted to give up and quit. Why?

I would have quit, too - except for Stephen, Randy, and the others. I saw them. They were standing at the finishing line cheering me on as though it were some big deal. I struggled with finding a suitable gear to climb a sandy hill but made it. I didn't stop until I was sure I had put the finish line behind me. I finished a half hour behind the one in front of me. But I had done something none of them had: never stopped.

I had to work that night. So did my co-worker. He lived three miles from work. I was more like fifteen. Stephen brought me home and I got dressed and hurried to the pizza place. I was late by an hour. When I got there the owner was there. He was not happy. What surprised me was that my co-worker was not there. The owner followed me to the back where I punched in and took an apron.

"You're late!" (as if I hadn't figured that out on my own)

"I know. It was the bike-a-thon. It took a lot longer than I thought."

"Jeff was late, too. I sent him home. Maybe I should send you home, like I did him."

I was too exhausted to argue or be afraid. I was fluffing out my apron to put it on (you know the way you do) and instead let it drap over the counter. I looked at him.

"Are you sending me home?"

He wanted to. I could tell that. But I was his best cook (next to his son, Rich). And he had already sent Jeff home. If he sent me home, too, that would mean he would have to stay and cook, and Norm just wasn't that good. He'd never be able to keep up with a supper rush. He knew that. So he just grumbled at me and left.

I wish he had sent me home. I could hardly move.

Eleven miles is a far cry from fifty, but at my age, weight, and general physical condition it will do. My blood just isn't used to having to move like that anymore. I'm dizzy when I stand up and I even had to bend over the toilet for a bit. But don't worry. This tortoise is going to keep plodding. I don't know how to do anything else. That's what we tortoises do.

Oh. And Randy did enter the Ironman later that summer. At seventy-five miles he stopped and called Stephen to come and bring him home. He didn't make it, and he was ever crabby after that. I could have told him he went farther than I had guessed, but some things you don't say to good friends. They must be a best friend, I guess. Stephen and I would have said.