Monday morning’s alarm goes off and it doesn’t hold the same charm as the day before. I lay in bed testing my mind and body - how do I feel? My legs ache, my back aches and I can barely move my head. I think about the sixteen long hours that will pass before I can return to rest here again. One leg at a time, I slide out of bed and reach within to muster willpower to face the day.
My Saturday was spent cranking through all the yard chores. Well, the important ones anyway. Lawn mowed again, weeds beaten back, everything bagged and tagged and on the curb. Neighbors postpone their scowls now - it's OK to ride on Sunday. I have about 650 more weekends in my life to ride. That's all. I have to reach to justify spending one half of a perfectly good weekend pushing a mower instead of my pedals.
Sunday at 8:00 AM and I'm hammering out mile 45 of a beautiful ride. The climb begins to get serious here - this stretch was known as "The Tour of the Moon" decades ago in international cycle racing. My legs are tired but still strong. I find my competitive streak on this climb as I try to overtake, or avoid being overtaken. I size up other riders and compare age, physique, machine. And then, whether I beat them to the top, or fall behind, I quietly tell the mountain I'm doing this with an insulin pump jacked into my belly. This Sunday I feel, then see a rider zipping up the switchbacks below. Looking down I can see good form and grace - good climbers are a beautiful sight. I reach deep and hammer for the top. 3 miles later I'm caught. We smile and wave at one another as he cranks by at the summit.
At mile 70 I'm pleasantly wore down. I have just ten more to go, so my mind wanders and reaches back for memories. A month ago I rode my toughest mountain race ever. It is also the only mountain race I've done. Three months ago I rode my first competitive 200k and finished in the middle of the pack. Nine months ago I rode a hundred miles across Death Valley with a couple hundred people who understand diabetes. I pedal on with a grin - I'm reaching new heights.
Sunday, at 11:00 AM and 80 miles later I reached home. With the sweat washing off in the shower I thought back about the times I had to really reach deep. I used to struggle to plunge a hypodermic into my stomach. I couldn't fathom getting lab tests to determine which of my major organs was damaged. My brain would spin, no... explode thinking about a whole different way of life. But I reached deep and learned how to deal with diabetes.
So Monday morning I reach over and click off the alarm. Walking into the kitchen warm coffee smell hits my nose. I just miss tripping over the dog as I turn back to the table with a hot cup. I slide into a chair and breathe deep. A long commute and hectic workday are ahead. Any epic ride is days away, maybe weeks. But I can deal. I take a sip and reach for my BG test kit.