The Mad Madder's Blog

Maddie Vs Her Couch | February 15, 2011

It is comfortable on my couch. It’s ugly and practically decrepit, but hugs me easily into its generous contours. It welcomes me home after a hard season’s racing. It forgives my absence, my neglect during the sunny days of four-hour rides and race weekends away. It is a friend. It is constant. Now spring is nearing and it is time to be training.  But we have grown close again and it does not want to let me go.

 

It is November. On my couch, my computer nestled in my lap, I visit racing sites and plan the 2011 season. I monitor the Team Elevate Cycles site and facebook page. Emails about races and kits and spin training and rosters and rides are answered. New racers are courted and veterans encouraged. The black and orange expands from 15 to 20 to 25. I’m not on my bike, but, right now, it is the beginning of holiday season anyway, and this needs to be done.

 

It is December. My bikes sit idle, both still caked in the detritus of their last muddy race. As I walk by my ‘cross bike, I trail my hand along the seat, pat the patient handlebars. ‘Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be with you soon.’ But like a black hole pull, I am back on the couch, draped with a comforter against the mid-winter chill. The television provides background noise to my online exploits. I’m sure playing Bejeweled improves my dexterity for mountain biking, right?

 

It is January. I have changed the rear tire on my ‘cross bike so I can put it on the trainer, but still it cants against the railing immobile. It’s a slow progress. I’m not racing seriously until May. It doesn’t matter that my outline remains in the couch cushions when I’m not home, an outline slightly expanded by the infusion of bacon and beer and a lingering ‘Thanksgiving to Christmas’ padding.  If nothing else, my horse’s training is moving forward in leaps in bounds. I may be slow as dirt. But in that one thing, I am worthy.

 

It is February. When I look at my bikes, I say: ‘At least I’ve been hiking.’ I have logged innumerable miles over snow capped peaks, capturing on film stunning vistas and fabulous friends. But, though the voice in my head maintains that 20 hours of hiking on a weekend is enough, more in fact than most people do in a full week, I have yet to touch my bikes.

 

 

It is still February. My bike and trainer are living at Elevate Saratoga. I can’t ride at home alone. I am not strong enough to fight my couch. I attend spin classes. I motivate myself through companionship and guilt. Training is feeling good. I should be doing more. But, this year I just don’t have the willingness to push myself alone….

 

Last year, I entered the season feeling invincible. I placed higher than I expected in road races and I won races on the mountain that I thought were out of reach. I upgraded to Cat 1 in two XC races. I was good. I wanted to be great. I had trained hard all winter, amazing my friends with tales of my hour plus race simulation intervals and three and a half hour long Sunday trainer long rides. ‘What dedication! I wish I could train like that!’ I basked in their approval. I hiked mountains and biked mile after invisible destination-less mile. I was committed. I was going to win.

 

And then, mid-season, at the apex of my misplaced assurance, my delusional thoughts of grandeur reaching their peak, first my body failed me, then my confidence collapsed. My back in spasm, my knees grinding a bone-on-bone pain, I sat in my car and cried away the remains of my season. I didn’t know how to recover. So I didn’t.

 
And now back to February, a month characterized by darkness and depression. So much for it being an only 28 day month. I’m back on my bike but distracted. Hiking has begun to bore me. The days are dark. My horse is still advancing but my universe lacks structure. I want to know how this story will end.

 
But you don’t get that luxury. Every day you wake up and you’re in charge of your own progress. Yes, it’s trite. But you don’t get anywhere unless it’s where you want to go, unless you want it enough. You get there on your own. It is my legs that turn my pedals. It is my heart that pushes past the pain. I might be behind schedule, but a few inspirational bike movies later and I’m back on the horse (…bike).

 

I don’t know where this story will end. I may hit the roads flat. I may take my mountain bike out and crash and burn. I might lose. I might win. I might flounder in the middle. But at least now, I care. I want to be out there, to put road worthy tires on my bike and hit the pavement. I pass a hill and I want to climb it. I want to be back in it. I want to try. And, right after I finish this last beer, I will…

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