In this second article in a series dedicated to the mind and body’s battle against daily stress, Lillie talks about how we can all accomplish great cycling challenges if we’re willing to step out of our comfort zone.
When I set off on the Torino-Nice Rally (TNR) with my husband Alain in September 2019, I only had one working leg and an embarrassing painkiller habit. When we finished, 7 days later, both my legs were working and I’d halved my dose of painkillers.
I don’t really know how many kilometers I rode. I don’t know how many meters I climbed. I don’t know my average speed or how many hours I actually spent in the saddle. I never uploaded my GPS tracks to Strava. Sometimes I didn’t even turn on my Garmin.
When I started out, I had only one objective: to ride my bike.
Ready to start the TNR in Turin
Two weeks before TNR, I had my first major attack of an autoimmune neuromuscular disease (see article 1). I didn’t understand why this was happening, I was only focused on my recovery and on a small hope of being able to do the TNR. Because this wasn’t just any event for Alain and me. It was our long-awaited honeymoon after… four and a half years of marriage.
So yes, our ideal honeymoon would undoubtedly be filled with discomfort: bad weather, unrideable sections, hunger, thirst, long days, and lots and lots of climbing. For some, it would be a nightmare. But for others, like us, it was a dream come true. We had trained for months. We had planned our son’s care in our absence. We were ready to do this!
Because of my illness, I couldn’t sit in a chair without experiencing severe sciatic nerve pain. But for some reason that I couldn’t understand at the time, I had no sciatic pain at all on my bike. What’s more, I had at least one leg, my right one, which was very strong after months of training. So we decided to go to the start and see what would happen. Because if I never started, I most certainly had no chance of finishing.
Ordinary cyclists on the start line
Surprisingly, most of the people who take part in these races are “just”ordinary” cyclists of all stripes who simply want to ride, push their limits and get a taste of adventure. They’re not in it to win, they’re in it to finish. Young and old, men and women, big and small, on full-carbon racing bikes or faithful steel machines. Some camp out in bus shelters, others sleep in hotels. These races are really open to everyone. We all have our place.
But why sign up for such a race? Why put yourself in a position where you’re guaranteed to be bloody uncomfortable for long periods of time? It’s as if we’re all prepared to accept a little Type 2 Fun, and sometimes even Type 3 Fun, for the ultimate goal of experiencing something extraordinary. Of course, we can remember a great day skiing in powder snow filled with Type 1 Fun. But it’s even more likely that the memories we treasure and love most come from times when we’ve experienced something where, at the time, we were really miserable (if you don’t know the 3 types of fun yet, click here).
Beyond my ability to stay on my bike
I was hoping to get as far as Nice. But if I couldn’t, no problem! I could always ride to the nearest train station and spend a few days sipping Pastis on the beach while waiting for Alain to finish. I wasn’t riding to save time, I was riding to have a good time. And I was most certainly riding because I finally had a week alone with my husband for the first time since our son was born. I was with the love of my life, doing what we love to do. No pain was going to stop me from living this moment.
Alain and I were never alone on our high-mountain pilgrimage to Nice. Of course, the first to arrive in Nice was there before we reached our hotel on the descent of the Col d’Agnel on the third evening. But that didn’t matter. The spirit of camaraderie between participants in beautiful places, experiencing the same pleasures and sorrows with great people, is an experience we’ll never forget.
The extraordinary landscape of the Altiplano della Gardetta
During the rally, I certainly had moments when I doubted myself. I cried, I screamed, and I felt a lot of frustration and anger from the pain. But somehow I kept going, one pedal stroke at a time. Maybe I’m just a masochist… in love with suffering. In any case, I accept discomfort, difficulties and the unexpected as a necessary component of any worthwhile challenge in life.
But I think the reason I do this kind of thing is even simpler. Maybe it’s the same for everyone. When I go beyond the limits of my comfort, my subconscious takes over to keep me alive. I think of nothing but the present. My consciousness, which normally goes in all directions, is finally silent. I’m focused on my breathing, on my body, on what keeps me alive. I’m in meditation. It’s the peace I need in my head that I’m having trouble finding. Sport gives me that peace.
I’m certainly not the only one with this state of mind. Why would cyclists sign up for events that are longer and harder than ever if they didn’t like the concept of suffering, even a little? We’re Everesting. We cross continents. We wake up before dawn just to squeeze a little outing into our busy lives.
Yes, we cyclists accept suffering. We seek our limits at every opportunity. Perhaps the source of this desire comes from our subconscious, to make us more sane? To calm our increasingly stressed heads in our society? With our big brains, we can do incredible things, but our instincts, our emotions, our bodies are forgotten. Is Type 2 fun-seeking a call from our bodies to silence our inner voice for just a minute to enjoy life?
Frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever find a real answer. All I know is what I’m capable of. I know I’m good at solving problems, and I’ll always find a way to achieve my goal. If I decide to go to Nice, then I’ll go to Nice no matter what.
After completing TNR against all odds, I decided to try something like this again. During my 18 months of recovery, I’d learned through experience, scientific evidence (which I’ll discuss in a future article) and the support of my doctors that movement is indeed the key to my full recovery. But I needed a goal to keep me going despite the bad days.
As fate would have it, while I was creating the 2021 cycliste.ch events calendar, I received an e-mail from my good friend Chris White, a local legend in the unassisted ultra-distance bikepacking racing community. He wrote to tell me about a new event that might be interesting for the calendar. It’s being held in eastern Switzerland, with “only” 500km and 8000m of climbing. A quick mental calculation proved to me that even at a ridiculously slow pace of 15km/h, it could easily be done in 3 days. It sounded PERFECT.
So it was at 8pm and 1 second on a Saturday evening, while sitting at the dinner table with some close friends, that I logged on to the Dead Ends and Cake website and signed up. I was embarrassed to have broken my “no screen” rule during dinner, but it’s a good thing I did. The race sold out in one minute for the men and four minutes for the women. Proof that there are a lot of people out there looking for “type 2 fun”.
Yay! I’ll be able to ride my bike in Heidi land, in places I’ve been dreaming of exploring for years. And eat cake! The happy little girl in me squealed with delight when my application was accepted.
In future articles, I’ll explain how an average injury-prone athlete like me can prepare for such a race, talk about the physical and emotional struggles behind mental illness and try to understand how the human brain is able to create and also eliminate pain. Stay tuned, as we say in my homeland.
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