That's A Lot Of People To Fit On One Bike

Have you ever heard of Sybil Dorsett?  That was the fictitious name of a real life person who had multiple personality disorder.  Sybil’s story was turned into a book and two movies (all three of which were titled “Sybil”.  You’d think that given the topic they’d come up with more than one name for all 3 stories).  Sybil had 16 different personalities, and one of them was actually a split of one of the other ones; yes, one of her own personalities had multiple personalities.

Anyway, for the last couple of days, I thought a lot about Sybil.  No, I don’t have multiple personality disorder (or at least I don’t think we do…).  My problem had been that I couldn’t decide whether or not to do an 18 mile bike ride at Harriman State Park.

As you may remember, last year I broke my foot and didn’t ride outside at all.  Then, about 6 weeks ago I took a nasty spill off my bike and tore a ligament in my right wrist (OK, fine.  It was a dinky little fall that was completely ridiculous and stupid.   But how much fun is that to read about?).  I’d say my wrist has healed enough that I could have been riding outside again at least a week ago, but I hadn’t done it yet.  I came up with all kinds of excuses: my wrist was still healing, I wasn’t registered for any other triathlons so I didn’t need to train, I shouldn’t ride on any day of the week that ends in “y”.  I talked myself out of riding (pretty easily, actually) for a while, but I knew I was at a point where I had to either get my ass back on my bike, or sell it on Craigslist (my bike, not my ass.  That would be weird).

For the last week, all of my personalities debated on what I should do.  Ride.  Don’t ride.  Ride on the bike path near my house.  But the bike path crosses an on and off ramp of a busy highway (and what city planning genius came up with that design?), and since my nasty spill (dinky fall)  happened by being unable to unclip my foot from the bike pedal fast enough, the bike path would just be too tricky in that spot.  Then I told myself to switch back to regular pedals to solve that problem. Then I thought about biking at Harriman State Park.  The roads are wide with very little traffic.  But then I told myself the hills would be too hard in sneakers and regular pedals.  I can’t ride.  I have to ride.  I’ll fall.  I won’t fall.  Oy.

Finally, everyone in my head got together and decided to leave the clip pedals on and bike at Harriman with my friend Jeff. Now, Jeff and I don’t ride together. He is way too fast.  OK, fine; I’m way too slow.  Whatever, let’s not split hairs.  My point is that Jeff and I don’t really ride together.  I usually start about 20 minutes before him, and then he eventually catches and passes me, and then we meet back at the end.  So we planned that I’d start at 6:30 on Sunday morning, he’d start at 7, and we’d play a game of chase.

This morning I got to Harriman at the right time, but at the last minute one of the personalities in my head told me to drive the route first to make sure I knew where I was going (years ago my husband gave me the nickname “Wrong Way Bob,” and unfortunately that is the personality in charge of navigation).  I had biked up there a million times, but I just wanted to make sure. So, I drove the course – and I panicked.  I know I hadn’t ridden here in two years, but when did they add all these HILLS? 

I spent so much time driving the course that by the time I got to the parking lot, I was only about 10 minutes ahead of Jeff, and my knickers were all in a twist.  The course is too hard.  I can’t do it.  I have to do it, I made Jeff come all the way out here.  But I can’t get up the hills and I’ll have to stop and when I unclip from the pedals I’ll fall into the road just as 6 cars whiz by and turn me into road kill.  No, that would never happen.  I’ll be fine.  No, I won’t.  Oy.

I took my bike off my car’s bike rack, put on my helmet, and got on the bike.  And I went nowhere.  I wouldn’t start.  But I had to.  But I can’t.  I finally decided to settle the voices in my head by riding around the parking lot a few times and practicing clipping in and unclipping and stopping.  And of course, I was fine.

About 5 minutes after I started biking in circles, Jeff showed up and  I told him my dilemma.  Now, I should mention that Jeff is one of my very oldest friends.  We met when we were seniors in college, me at McGill and him at Dartmouth.  He started dating my friend Vanessa (who I really didn’t like, but at the time she was my oldest friend since we met in 1^st grade and had by pure coincidence gone to the same high school and college).  Most weekends, Jeff would drive from Hanover, New Hampshire up to Montreal to visit Vanessa.  And most weekends he and Vanessa would get in a fight and since I was the only person he knew in all of Canada, he’d call and ask to crash at my apartment for the rest of the weekend.  To make a long story short, by the end of the school year neither Jeff nor I were talking to Vanessa, and he and I have now been friends for close to 25 years.

Anyway, back to me and Jeff and my dilemma.  As one of my very oldest friends, I knew Jeff wouldn’t make fun of me and all the people living in my head.  And he didn’t.  He very graciously offered to go for a run with me instead, or just sit by the lake we were parked at and just catch up for a bit.  Great, more choices.  Run?  Chat?  Bike?

Jeff politely stood and listened as I changed my mind about 5 times.  Let’s run.  No, I ran yesterday.  Let’s chat.  No, that’s ridiculous; we drove all this way.  Let’s bike together.  No, that will drive Jeff nuts and could ruin this 25 year friendship.  Finally, Jeff asked me a question: “Ali, what’s getting in your way?  Your wrist, or your head?”

Now, please know that Jeff and maybe two other people on this planet could get away with asking me that question (and to everyone reading this except for my bestie Heather or my husband Wil, you cannot get away with talking to me like that, so don’t try it).  But Jeff was right.  I wasn’t scared of falling.  I was scared of failing.  I was scared of not being able to handle a hilly ride because I hadn’t done one in so long.  It had been so long since I’d trained for a triathlon that I didn’t really think of myself as a triathlete anymore.  But at least one personality in my brain wants to be a triathlete.  And triathletes ride.

Jeff and me, Wyckoff-Franklin Lakes Triathlon, 2011

I told Jeff he was right, and we should ride.  Now, the problem was that I spent so much time debating that it was getting late.  The road was getting busier and Jeff needed to get home soon.  Plus there was the problem of me still standing next to him when I was supposed to be 30 minutes down the road.   So we made a new plan.  At one part of our route, there was a rotary that we were supposed to go around 270⁰ and then head up a long big hill for a few miles before turning around at another rotary.  The new plan was that Jeff would go up the long big hill, and I would actually go 360⁰ around the rotary and head back, and then do that as many times as I could until Jeff finished the longer route.

Jeff still had to get his bike ready, so I had a few minutes head start.  I went off, and in about 4 minutes I realized how big a deal I had made of all this.  And in about 1 more minute I realized how fabulous the clip pedals are because of all the extra power you get on hills.

At one point a car passed me and I started to get nervous again.  But a moment later, Jeff caught up and passed me.  As he did, he yelled out, “Hey, Ali, nice runner’s calves!”  I smiled (and no, Jeff wasn’t flirting. In the 25 years I’ve known him, he has been nothing but a perfect gentleman, so get your mind out of the R rated story you think you’re reading and get back to this nice family friendly one).  I wasn’t smiling because he thought I have nice legs.  I smiled because Jeff called me a runner.  And I am a runner.  Actually, no; I’m a triathlete.

Today's ride

In the end, Jeff rode 11 miles and I rode 9.  I did my loop just over twice before Jeff caught me on his way back and we headed back to our cars.   He packed up quickly and left.  I put my bike back on my car and went for a 5K run.  I had only biked half my planned distance, and there seem to be many more people inside my brain today and they all wanted a workout.  Hey, just call me Sybil.