One More Time

I remember the year 2000. A couple of things stand out: Sydney Olympics, me starting my first proper job, quitting basketball, and spending a few weird mornings being re-told my activities from the previous evening, thanks to too many drinking bouts.

I don't recall who was Miss North Carolina was though. I now know where she came from:

Topsail Island is the last breath of land between North Carolina and the Titanic. Its a narrow island, although its composition is largely made up of blown-in sand, and it feels like we are standing on borrowed time. But arriving post Tornado-weather in the region, I think the wind was a little more up than usual. Still, an interesting place with great views and a definite beach vibe.

Looking back towards the mainland:

This afternoon, and against all common sense, I headed out into the wind for some efforts. Maybe three, maybe four. Probably not five - the recommended amount. I am sick, afterall. And its windy.

I finish the first effort and turn into the tailwind to recover. My breathing during the first opener is hard and shallow. I can't use my nose at all. Then again, I tend not to use my nose anyway. Why am I complaining about it now? Just breathe and shut up. Get a drink, recover.

One more time.

I have packed my i-pod but decide not to use it. My mind is wandering enough. I am far from bored. I need to get through this next effort but keep thinking about how this would feel in a race: closing a gap, riding solo off the front, doing a Cancellara. Its starting to hurt again. One more time. This is what it feels like on RAAM. Ahh, I remember now. Sometimes it hurt like this and we had yelling from the follow car behind to help us get through it. But other times, there was no noise. It was just me and my mind, forcing me to push harder. And harder again. Like now. Still, two minutes left of the effort. Get it done, don't drop off now.

After all, what am I doing here? I have just been chatting online to Ewin. He is in bed: it is early morning in Melbourne. I could be there too, we'd sleep in a bit and then I'd accompany him down to watch the racing at Phillip Island. Maybe race myself. Its a great course and privilege to race the Moto GP circuit. I'd be able to check out his new kit. He has sent me pictures, including efforts to record that indeed, his socks now match his kit. I should be there with him.

One minute left.

He'd be telling me its only one minute left. Not to let my mind wander now. I better concentrate then. Make it to the next sign and then turn back into the tailwind to recover.

One more time.

I really miss him. This week has been a lot harder. Getting disenchanted with being sick and all hasn't helped. I check my blood sugar on the Nav: 4.6 (83) and an arrow pointing down on a 45o angle. Time to get out the Pop Tarts. One Pop Tart contains 38g of carb. I have two mushed together in a pocket. I scoop out some crumbs and scoff enough down. Grab a drink, check the time. Time to turn around again. Here we go.

One more time.

The heart rate rises quickly then settles into the mid range. It takes a fair bit of effort to make it rise again to where I need it to be. The wind is sapping the resolve. I try to focus on the legs, powering up and down. I don't do that enough. A minute goes by. Four more to go. I pass more houses perched scarily close to the savage Atlantic ocean, their four-storeys a brave attempt to stand up to the ferocious weather. I can see real damage coming through this area. One day. Not today, its just windy as all hell. All the homes are on stilts. How much does it flood here? How much does it cost to have an internal lift in each beach house? Bloody hell these much cost a bit.

Turn around again, recover into the tailwind. The Nav is showing 4.1 (74) and another arrow downward. I polish off the rest of the Pop Tarts. Yum. More drink, more easy spinning on the legs. The heart rate is taking longer to settle down now.

One more time

I am back again, for one more time. One more chance to make a move on the US racing scene. One more chance to conquer RAAM. One more time to face the demons that still haunt me from 2007. One more time to raise the heart rate, push the boundaries. Set a goal and hit it. Not settle for pass/fail road racing. Get this effort done with! Arrrgghh.

Blood sugar is now 3.8 (64) but the decline has settled. Pop Tarts are kicking in. I am at the point of where I was happy to wrap it up early: this is enough, that'll do. But something in me is itchy: I have another in me. I can actually complete what I was supposed to do. No excuses. Each effort has actually made me feel better. Ewin would be proud. This is what I am here for. I turn around again...