Switch: On

When it comes to doing something physically strenuous, I feel like I have a switch in my head right behind my right eye that's like a dial with an arrow on it that points to ON and moves to OFF. There are gauge lines on it from easy to hard - "heh.", "meh.", "eh...", "geh!", "feh!". "Feh!" basically means, "Fuck this ride, fuck this bike, fuck this! I'm walking!" Since I picked up cycling, the dial has been pretty much taped to ON, but sometimes the dial wiggles, trying to get off the ON spot, when the terrain throws me a "geh!" reaction. I've had a couple of "feh!" reactions, but this was several years ago, after I had broken my hand, and I was just getting back into shape. There was this one spot in Griffith Park on the hill past the golf course, where I had to get off the bike, have myself a little puke, and then walk up to the top of the hill. I look at that spot nowadays and wonder just how much fitness I would have to lose to get back to that pathetic situation. And just last year, the dial ripped off the tape and threw me a "geh!" before settling into "eh..." for several minutes going up Starlight Crest to Angeles Crest Highway in La Canada. A twenty percent grade on a 39-23 gear ratio will do that, I guess.

This morning, I was worried about that switch in my head, because the goal was to climb Lida Street 3 times in my big ring, the 53. This is climbing month after all. I was worried, because I had peaked last week. Peaks in fitness really do happen, but most of the time, I only realize them after the fact. Last week, every single session on the bike was faster than my fastest time for the same course last year, so I was looking forward to what improvements I had made on my other climbing course for this week. Oh pride..., always setting you up for the fall. Every day felt bad, slow, and hurt. I checked my times from last year: my results were all middle of the pack and consistent too. 3 minutes slower, all week. By Thursday, I knew it: I was coming off of a peak, and it was not pretty. So that's why I was worried about Lida, and whether I could actually climb all three times in my big ring, pushing hard and slow, and trying to guess on which part of the hill I would give up and go to my spinning gears.

Well, that first climb sucked. I couldn't find a rhythm, each pedal stroke felt like my other leg wasn't helping at all, and my breathing wasn't synchronized with my effort. But no muscular pain, and no cursing in my head. Encouraging signs! The dial jiggled only once under the tape, and that was at the very bottom where there's this short steep part before the incline begins measuring out constant grudging pain. The second and third climbs felt even better, not faster, but better, and the awareness of the switch behind my right eye taped to ON disappeared. When I rolled over the top of Lida the third time on my way to Figueroa, I sat up, and as I reached for my water bottle, I said to myself, "heh."