The Courage to Stop
Written by Georgina
"What we don't need in the midst of struggle is shame for being human." Brene Brown
Cycling some 45kms to climb the infamous Mt Baw Baw I'm 4kms from the top. I stop. I’m having a mental breakdown training for Three Peaks Challenge. I did both Three Peaks and climbed Mt Baw Baw last year.
Crying, well a few primal sobs, the words tumble out of my mouth. I’m not doing Peaks. On my own, the others up before me, there is no one to hear except that ruthless mountain.
Last year, training was going well. My coach, Steggles was guiding me towards the National Grand Fondo Championships and Three Peaks. Sounds impressive but I’m a novice just turning up.
Training with the Hurt Box, a great mix of talented and seasoned riders, their example has led me into open road racing. When I met Steggles, I adamantly declared endurance, not racing. His only reply, “we’ll see.”
Arriving into October, my youngest daughter became very unwell. Another blog for different time. She was hospitalised for 18 long days. I took twelve weeks off work and an additional four at reduced hours to care for her.
I felt inconsolably wretched and wild.
An agonizing time questioning my capacity and capability with everything. I barely kept myself and my daughter afloat. Thankfully a few friends and health professionals anchored me. Riding became for mental wellbeing when I could.
Rightly so, my daughter told me I was psycho in my approach to her intervention. I took it as compliment, I was doggedly stubborn, unwavering in my bid for her health.
As my daughter began her egg-shelled path to recovery, I turned a focus to the National Champs. With time off and her medically safe to be at home, December saw the resumption of my early morning rise to train.
Both pushing myself and a saving grace, that double-edged sword. Every afternoon, I passed out while my daughter rested. Emotionally and physically exhausted, I found solace in sleep.
I had two goals for National Champs. First, club team trials, so much fun. One of my team mates just had surgery for breast cancer, she kept it quiet and this series kept her going. What a privilege and a riot that we got Bronze. My one and only podium finish. Well so far, wink, wink. The second was the Grand Fondo, a challenging route. I ticked that off.
Attention then turned to Three Peaks, I began long rides in the saddle. With fatigue and low mood bitting at my ankles nothing in me felt robust. Wilful comes to mind. Desperate too.
Two days before Mt Baw Baw, in the middle of nowhere, I watched my training buddy overcook a corner on a hairy descent, down an embankment and into unconsciousness. For quite a few minutes it was just him and I.
One broken collarbone, four ribs and a serious concussion later, he was damn lucky to be alive. I forgot to turn his Strava off on the long drive to the hospital. KOM’s lit up that app like it was Christmas.
Two days later, it was time to face Baw Baw. Haunted by the whimpering sounds of my injured friend as I took each descent, any confidence I had gained was temporarily AWOL.
Maybe just choose something other than Baw Baw #headslap
Later I tell Steggles. He, in his wisdom, replies, “G, I’ve raced up there many times, but I would never train up there. There are other ways.”
Do I slap myself in the head again?
In hindsight, that mountain was exactly the catalyst to face my drive to push myself stupid. I named it a breakdown, inevitably it became a breakthrough.
I let go.
The coach’s words ring true, “we’ll see.”
Focus now is 60-100kms open road racing. I can go a measured hard and still come out okay, without wiping myself to the point of miserable.
What the f*** was that anyway?
At the end of the Baw Baw hell, a man whom I met two days before, yells, “nice to see you, hopefully next time you’ll finish a ride.” Hmm, an emergency for my friend days before, and not completing 4kms of a 85km ride because I decided enough?? A bit baffling.
On my Strava feed a buddy wrote how it takes courage to quit.
Let’s just assume that man meant well. Yeah whatever.
He got me thinking though. Long gone are the days where someone gets free rent in my head, to undermine who I am. Stopping 4kms from the top wasn’t about not finishing, it was surrendering.
More importantly, I know the difference in being soft and just when to stop. I also know when to not give the f*** up. Like psycho not giving up. Just ask my daughter.