Peaking Chick
Written by Georgina
"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
Think brutal. Thirteen hours to cycle 235kms with 4,600m climbing. All for a jersey. If not, you don’t get one. Harsh and fair.
Hello Three Peaks Challenge.
Gifted with unrelenting nausea, I'm constantly pushing self-doubt away. Not helped by arriving at the lodge to riders talking tactics for a sub 8-hour finish.
Did I mention wanting to throw up?
At the start, I meet a woman, her first time too. The whole ride we pass each other, offering words of encouragement. She later writes on my Strava, how about the Alpine 320kms next? My kind of person. And damn it, now she’s planted a seed.
Jumping on bunches where I can, I make good time. Climbing Hotham I'm comforted by seeing people I know. A stop is enough time for the toilet, water and to shove food down.
No table manners required.
The scenery is spectacular. Majestic. Being out here does something for my soul in ways the city never does. The challenge of endurance, it’s why I ride and hike.
A tough gig solo. Gaps form between riders, making me wonder at times if I’m the only cyclist out here. Yet, grateful for the next bunch arriving, the voice yelling, “jump on.”
Some of these moments make me tear up, it takes audacity to be out here.
A power couple from my cycling club appear. I stay on their wheels for as long as I can. On a climb, they disappear from sight. Damn. Although well prepared for this because of the long hours I’ve trained alone.
I see them again at a stop, just as I dip back into tiredness. My friend gives me a pep talk in 10 seconds whilst clipping in, “G, it’s a climb out of here but then it’s the most beautiful part, find your rhythm and keep pedalling.”
Off they ride, if only I was 10 minutes quicker.
Jumping on two different bunches between Omeo and the back of Falls Creek. Rolling turns they gracefully allow me to roll through. Dog tired. Cycling is humbling, some days you are formidable, some not. This day was mine to receive knowing I'd pay it forward.
Nearing 200kms, a rider says we have until 530pm to reach the last stop to finish. Instantly confused about timing, my Garmin showing the opposite. Unbeknown to me, ever so subtly, uncertainty seeps in.
Knowing the ruthless climb ahead of me I suck down a caffeine gel and brace myself for the worst.
A left turn, instantly smacked with 400m of a 12% gradient, known as WTF. Climbing up 13kms, ranging from 7-10%, all of it agony with the distance and elevation already punched out.
I gingerly spin past riders, pedal G like you said you would, don’t get off.
Suddenly, at 205kms feeling physically exhausted, on the edge of having pushed myself too far, I'm disorientated. Who attempts Peaks after being cyclist for 14 months anyway?
Those gels, disgusting, the water slimy, I feel broken. Bitterly cold from the rain. People are walking, heads low, no words, only groaning. Eerie. The usual banter gone.
I understand what it takes, everything plus more, when you don’t have more.
My time sticker washed away in the rain. My Garmin, my truth can’t sync with my clouded mind. Facing exhaustion, irrational thought and loss of belief in anything.
I can't pedal and my feet unclip to walk. WTF? With only the sound of my cleats hitting the road, I feel humiliated.
Not able to ascertain time, I believe there is no time to finish. Thoughts bombard me as I force a bar down my throat. The numbers don't add up, I keep looking at my Garmin.
Bewildered, I'm at my lowest point.
Believing the sag wagon would be along soon, I berate myself. Thinking of the people who backed me, my coach, my friends. I bombed big time. Now to find the guts to tell them.
Head down for 200m with swirling dark moments of mental torment, I fall into hopelessness.
Inexplicably, just as suddenly as I unclipped, I find myself filling with acceptance. This is courageous, to be right here. Raising my head to a perceived but slight easing off on the climb, I tell myself I can pedal until the sag wagon.
What’s that about grit and grace in my Instagram posts?
Maybe I’m not finishing but I can go out with dignity. Changing up gears I launch myself back on, clip in and turn the pedals over. All I have to do is spin up this hell.
Climbing past walkers with deep compassion, no smugness left about ever getting off the bike. My body hurting, sopping wet, my mind full of white noise, I tap it out. This is the very heart of endurance, to persist.
At 213kms the final stop I nearly topple off dismounting. Fragmented. Silent. I accept a can of Coke. A guy comes over, smiling, “you made it, so good to see you.” Thinking he’s lost the plot, I said “we’re not going make it.” He's laughing, saying there was good time for all. WTF? Turns out the other cyclist had been wrong.
I wake up.
A kindhearted volunteer helps me undress, wrapping a garbage bag around my torso for the remaining damp 12kms.
Not knowing how I could even find what is needed to finish, I hear a friend’s words, “this is not a thinking event, it’s a doing event.” Just pedal and trust.
By 2kms I reach the open plain at the back of Falls. My kind of terrain. With 10 kms to go I find something in me I know well.
Sass.
In the late afternoon mountain light, my mind stills and my legs kick in as strong cross winds belt me. I dare to finish with strength. Laughing and crying through low fog, I might have looked like a woman on the edge of cracking. Maybe I was already there.
What a place! Cracking. Rumi, the poet, says it’s where the light gets in.
Crossing the finishing line I see my good mate waiting to help me. I fall into a blanket as I unashamedly weep in his embrace. The gift of friendship.
I collect that jersey!
Jokingly I offer it to my 14-year old to wear at track that week, said she could tell them she did Peaks on the weekend! She eye-rolled me, said it wasn’t even funny.
Well actually, what’s not funny is I’ve registered for 2020!