The Delicious Pain

"You can say that climbers suffer the same as other riders, but they suffer in a different way. You feel the pain, but you're glad to be there." - Richard Virenque

Five miles in to my first ride back with the local bicycle racing club, Santa Clarita Velo, it happened. I knew it would. I didn't know how I would respond. If I would respond. If I COULD respond. The hammer dropped. Speed. Sweat. The gnashing of teeth. I remember this feeling. It had been nearly five years.

About five years ago, I lost something. I don't know why. But, after riding my bicycle passionately for nearly fifteen years ... I didn't want to any more. I mean I did .. on occasion. But you can't keep up with a racing club "on occasion." Many comeback attempts and failures left me accepting that it might never happen. Ever.

Last July, some friends, who were not racers, got me to go out on a fairly long ride. It was fun. I suffered .. and not in a good way. But it felt good to be out riding with friends. A spark. Just a little one, but a spark nonetheless. Then I went out again. And then I went out again. I wasn't exactly enjoying myself but I kept getting out. When I say, "enjoying myself," it may not be what you're thinking.

"To the pain."

Working out for me is about suffering. Good suffering. Suffering that makes you stronger. Suffering that makes you feel alive. But it takes a while to get to the point where the suffering ... Ummm ... feels good. It probably takes longer to get there than most people are willing to put up with before they've had enough. Once you get there though, there's nothing quite like it.

Today, with The Santa Clarita Velo ... I got back there.

As we compressed into a single file pace line going up Bouquet Canyon towards Vasquez, the pace quickened. Shit. In the past, I would have flipped it up to a harder gear ratio, my strength always being in grinding the big gears. But my training this time around had been much more aerobic intensive. My riding partner last year, John, is all about spinning the gears. I had also been running since it turned cold which plays more to the cardio. I stayed in the same gear and spun.

One rider pulled off the front having done his share of pulling. The next rider ... upped the pace. Shit. Again. I fought to hang on. I couldn't quite do it, but I didn't stop trying. I was kind of liking it. I was suffering, but I was glad to be there. As the club took the right hand turn, the climbing began. No way could I catch them. But I was determined to hang on, to limit my losses. I banked on being able to recover after the eventual mid-ride stop.

The climb is a bitch. One of Santa Clarita's most intimidating. Once over, there is a nice descent followed by a fairly short but quad exploding climb before another descent and the "rest" stop. I made it over both climbs, ego and legs, more or less, intact. There they were. I rejoined. They were continuing on up another climb, but I hung with them for several miles before turning off. I still had ten miles or so to get home. To my surprise, I didn't back off. I let the pain wash over me. Invigorate me.

I got home and did NOT want to pass out on the floor. I thought, "I'm back."

The pain. The delicious pain.