5,280 feet. That’s how many feet are in a mile. It seems like such a high number. Even higher are the number of inches in a mile: 63,360. When you compare it to those numbers, one mile doesn’t seem so far.
Its not even that far to begin with. And hell, I already have 63 miles behind me. This final one should be a breeze. But before I cover the last stretch, I should probably tell you how I got here…or more importantly WHY I am here. Pedaling away like a man possessed, sweat beading off my body and hitting the pavement. Drip. Drip. Drip.
I’m on the last mile of the Ride for Roswell, an annual bike ride to raise funds for the cancer research center Roswell Park. This is my fifth year in the event and my third as team captain of Beanz Brigade, a team I formed in honor of my wife a breast cancer survivor. Its been a long crazy trip since that day in 2010 when we got the news of her diagnosis.
In that time she’s had surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, Herceptin injections, countless body scans and a 12-day hospital stay. Needless to say, it was hell. Pure fucking hell. But Sarah is a fighter, one of the toughest people I know. Her unflinching resolve and never give up attitude is evident in her two word motto: “Be relentless.”
To us, it is more than just a mission statement, it is a battle cry. And I’ve learned to apply it to my daily routine.
She has been an inspiration; to myself and to others. Those who know her know what I’m talking about. This is why I’m here. This is why I’m riding.
I am one mile in. I am feeling good. And that’s when it hits me: “You think you feel good now? Come back to me when you’re 40 miles in. Come back to me when you’re out there in the middle of nowhere and can’t turn back. Of course you feel good now you idiot, you’ve only just begun.” My legs instantly started to buckle.
“It’s going to be a long day,” I thought to myself.
“Of course it is you moron, you signed on to do 65 miles. Now pedal. PEDAL!”
This type of internal dialogue is nothing new to me.
Out on the road I had a lot of time to reflect on how far we’ve come. The first year I did the team for her she was deep into her treatments and sporting a pink wig and a huge smile (cancer be damned, Sarah will always have the biggest smile ever). I was overcome with emotion as I crossed the finish line when I saw her standing there. The following year things were already on the upswing, and this year things were even better.
The open road leaves you with little to keep you company, especially when you don’t have your trusty iPod. You have nothing but your thoughts and the rhythmic sound of your pedaling, the switching of gears and the occasional cyclist calling out: “On your left!”
You are alone out there. Sometimes there isn’t a soul in sight. Out on the Alabama Swamps I was quietly contemplating things and taking stock of life when a group of cyclists whizzed on by at breakneck speed. SWOOSH. SWOOSH. SWOOSH. A frenzy of jersey colors breezed on by. There they went into the horizon. I watched as they became further and further until they appeared to just drop off the face of the earth. Foolishly I tried to pedal quickly to catch up, but it was a losing battle. They were long gone. And I was alone again.
I watched along the way as I seen cyclists fall victim to the road, casualties of war so to speak. Falls, breakdowns, flats. I was lucky enough to be spared that fate, not that I wasn’t prepared.
Half way through the ride and I was making record time. I was also seeing parts of Western New York that I had never seen before. I was also eating a ton of food because my body was rapidly burning up every calorie and carb I put into it. I kept hydrated. My cadence was at its best. I was a machine. And it’s because I had a purpose. I had a drive. I had inspiration. Nothing was going to slow me down and believe me there would be things that would try to do just that.
The miles ticked away. 40 down. 50 down. 60 down. When I hit the sign that said: “Baird Point: 4.5 miles” I grinned a sick, sadistic smile. I was beat. And by all accounts not done yet. But I forged on even harder. Pedaling with steadfast determination. I channeled every bit of energy, every bit of anger at what my wife had to go through. This was for her.
Before I knew it I was rounding a corner and on the last bit of the ride. “ONE MORE MILE!” a volunteer belted out as she slapped me on the back. It was at this point that I started to feel it. The feeling that every cyclist has at some point: the dreaded bonk.
The bonk is a term for when your legs and the rest of your body want to give out on you. Your legs are rubbery. Useless. You find it hard to even steady yourself. Picture your first time on a bike…it’s that unstable. A bonk leaves you with two options: refuel and rest or forge through it until total failure. It happens to the best of us. And it certainly wouldn’t be my first time. And you can be damn sure it won’t be my last.
Maybe it’s fitting that I hit this point right at the exact same spot I had that internal dialogue. The place where I began to doubt myself. Fate is a sick and twisted bitch sometimes.
I had to inspire myself. Find that drive to bring me the final 5,280 feet.
“Dig deep, Bryan.” I mumbled
I looked down and I found the inspiration in the two word motto I have tattooed on my arm: “Be relentless.”
I pedaled quickly, weaving in and out of the groups of cyclists who were bottlenecking at the final turn. I could hear the roar of the crowd. Some kid was holding up a sign: “You are our heroes!” And through all the faces of the supporters I saw my hero, the reason I formed this team and the reason I ride.
I make my way over to her and we embrace.
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