Or, Ride, Rinse, Repeat

First song, first class – don’t go out too fast – yes, I know, your screen a window for this weekend’s event..

“Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads and you can’t help but to smile at your reflection because it’s David Byrne. And someone you love loves David Byrne.

Two hours and 34.19 miles later - and yes, those .19 miles count, may make the difference when your legs don’t feel so feather-light and it becomes difficult to stay upright – you give yourself a break to take in sustenance from the place where it’s their pleasure to serve. It’s my pleasure, too, yeah.

You’re wearing your socks with Birks, and a holy sweatshirt and you’re wholly unaffected by the sweat drying in your hair as you make your way. When “Take Your Time” comes on the radio. If you ever believed in happenstance, then you haven’t been paying attention. Twisting the knob nearly all the way up, singing and smiling, hoping for a red light so you can close your eyes and imagine. Just imagine…

Now you’re back, ready to clip in and attack every pedal stroke, looking forward to the next stack of classes, free passes into welcoming what musical signposts lie ahead on your road.

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Next up: a 2 hour bump in the road of your day. Right away, Coach says, “We’re here for two hours. Let’s. Get. Stuck. In.” Aww, FIIGs, that’s too easy. But it gives you a smirk, a little quirk on the corner of your mouth, anyway.

Anyway, a few thousand pedal strokes later, and Coach reminds you to please use electrolytes in your bevvie. Because, once again, it’s a two hour ride, and “We don’t want anyone bonking.” Or maybe we do, I think, and just then he gives a wink, and says, “The Britts would call it hitting the wall. Bonking is something else.” Aww, c’mon coach, just when I was being good.

4 hours in, on my little spin and we’re at 67.97 miles. I say we, because, you see, through this post I’m bringing you with me.

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Speaking of bringing you with me, our latest stack took us to Iceland and East London sequentially, of course, on course through marshes in both. Hour five saw my pace fade precipitously as it drizzled on my screen. So what’s a FIGGie to do when your sticks are like kindling ready to ignite?

You fight back with the almighty power of a daydream, or two. Dreams of seeing the Northern Lights and visiting a chippie holding your hand got my legs to land at a respectable cadence. And off we went. I’m nearly spent for today with 98.12 miles.

But there’s a personal tradition to uphold for the last ride of the first day. An entire ride dedicated to Chris Cornell whom no one sings like anymore. We’ll pedal and smile, and cross one hundred miles, and say hello to heaven, too.

….. Until tomorrow,

Xoxo, FIIGMO

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…… Or Three. Bloody. Fucking. Weeks. Later.

That’s what my inner critic has reminded me this morning as I’ve chosen to finish this story. She’s loud and sometimes cruel, that critic, but as a critic I wouldn’t expect anything less. “You gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure..” – My mind is speaking in both words and lyrics, somewhat differently than the verses above, but I’m now willing to let it take me where it will. Or, as I awoke this morning with, “it creeps up my spine and haunts me through the night” the words a siren signal, a rhyming niggle, that I was ready to put this particular ghost to rest.

So why did it take me three weeks to return and eventually tell you that I finished my endurance event with 200.58 miles? On the day my body was too exhausted to climb the steps to my office. In the interim, my mind has been too exhausted to climb out of the frustrating fog that makes writing elusive. It very much is like looking at a familiar landscape through fog. You know with absolute certainty the landmarks are still there. But if you shine a bright light on them, you merely receive the refraction, not a clearer picture.

When we last left me, I was embarking on my last ride of Day 1, a Chris Cornell ride that has become a new tradition to finish with. That’s another ghost story for another day, but suffice it to say, I rode my heart out and sang and cried and sweat for 45 beautifully painful minutes. I unclipped with a battle-worn smile, well over 100 miles.

Ride 1, Day 2, and I got Rick Rolled! “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around, and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.” Well, fuck me. If I ever needed a nudge, it came as more of a shove. You and I both know now that song will feature prominently in another project. Right then it was fuel to know I was going to do big things on the day.

The longest I’d ridden prior was 150 miles. Still a massive effort. But the jump from 150 to 200 is a big jump. There’s currently a sweet song called “Big Jumps” playing in my head. I won’t quote the lyrics, it’s enough to know she’s keeping me company.

Speaking of company, we fast forward through the blurry slog to land on what was supposed to be the finale on the day. Part of another tradition, the last ride of the weekend is a mental health-themed ride. It’s ridden alongside an amazingly supportive group of humans who distract you with so many high-fives that time flies. The next thing you know you find yourself singing along with Christina Aguilera’s song “Fighter” and you believe every word.

That’s it! 200 miles! We did it! Time for a victory bath and stretch and sweaty selfie (most assuredly in reverse order). Right?

Wrong. 198.something miles logged. Are we going to be satisfied with 198.whatthehell miles? Like Angellica, we’ll never be satisfied. At least not with coming whisper distance to a milestone finish. Your FIIGster is one resilient creature and we’re going to smash through it anyway with one more ride.

200.58 miles. In two days. Total clock time 11 hours 55 minutes. It was life-affirming. It was brutal. And, it was beautiful.

Thank you for joining me. Let’s enjoy that bath now, shall we?

XOXO,

FIIGMO