Mountain to Climb

 Greenville, South Carolina. A beautiful city, with a mix of modern and old that just works. It is home to Falls Park, a completely man-made masterpiece of water and green space, and the Hincapie cycling family. The Hincapie brothers, Rich and George, grew up cycling. George became a successful pro road racer and his brother went on to business school, still staying an elite bike racer on the side.

Downtown Greenville. This “river” and all the landscaping you see is completely man-made!

When George retired from being pro, his brother organized a celebratory ride in their hometown of Greenville, South Carolina. About 1000 people showed up to ride, and the Hincapie Gran Fondo series was born. This year was their 10th anniversary and they have expanded their events across the eastern half of the country.

This particular event had just over 2600 riders! Out of those, only about 550 were women. So listen up girlfriends- we need to represent!

This event is different in subtle and not-so-subtle ways from other endurance events that I have done. First and foremost, this is an event for bikers. I am used to going to triathlons and running events, and this was its own beast and subset of the endurance culture. There was an expo with packet pickup the day before. This felt pretty “normal”, although the sponsors and expo tents were driven towards elite athletes (and elite wallets lol). We did purchase some new performance lotion that I truly think helped me on race day, and I got a bunch of free stuff and coupons, which is always part of how I “grade” an event…

I was very happy with this lotion. My legs never felt overly fatigued and I recovered very well. I will be using it for my half-marathon this weekend!

This event is held at Hotel Domestique in Traveler’s West, a suburban town just north of Greenville. It is a VERY upscale, boutique hotel owned by George Hincapie. The hotel is set on a mountain and only has 13 guest rooms. It has its own helicopter pad if that tells you anything about the people who visit here.  The term “domestique” in the biking world refers to someone who is on a biking team to help their leader, by doing things such as setting a pace or creating a slipstream. Guess who George was a domestique for…

Yep. Lance Armstrong. And he was here. I can now say I’ve ridden an event with Lance Armstrong. He and the peloton passed me towards the end of the ride (I was finishing 48 miles, they were finishing 80…) and man….it was crazy. I was all by myself in the quiet and then BLAM! I was suddenly passed by a thunderstorm of about 30 men just absolutely busting ass. I’ve never seen a peloton up close. I literally said, “Wow…” out loud as it happened.

We came to this event with our good friends Manuel and Angela Neikov. Angela has been my unofficial biking coach for a few years now. She and Manny have done this event  8 times and have traveled all over the world on their bikes. Angela has been the one to get me out of my comfort zone of the bike path and onto the road. More importantly, she took me on hill rides. Lots of them. Leg searing, take your breath away hill rides. Because that’s what it was gonna take to get me ready for my nemesis- Saluda Mountain.

Me and Angela waiting to start.

Manny and my husband worked on the Fire Department together.

Last year I DNF’d (a nice way to say I had to quit) on Saluda mountain. I had been sick all the week before and unable to eat almost anything, and I had not really trained for at least 2 weeks. My legs both completely locked up about 2/3 of the way up, and I spent the entire ride back to our car trying not to throw up in the BMW sag vehicle…

One week after having to stop on Saluda mountain I found out that I had stage 4 stomach cancer,  and a tumor between my stomach and intestines was what was preventing me from eating. This was now the beginning of a whole different type of endurance training. After major surgery to remove the tumor, 26 lymph nodes, and a metastatic nodule, I started IV chemo. I got on my indoor trainer a few times during the winter, but usually only for about 15 minutes and at the easiest gear. As the days got longer and IV chemo turned to oral, I slung my leg over my bike sometime in April or May and started from scratch. 14 miles to Xenia and back at a turtle pace, spinning the entire time. It was so hard, but felt so good. I texted Angela and told her we weren’t gonna do the Piccolo distance (15 miles), which had been my goal when I first started chemotherapy. 

“I want that mountain”.

“Of course you do” she replied.

And so it began.

After months of training amongst chemo and COVID, I showed up to the start line wearing my jersey from last year to remind me of what I had failed at, and my #HAD bracelet to remind what of what I had also accomplished. This was a mass start- meaning 2600 bikes took off at one time. There were no “ corals” and they didn’t have us line up by predicted pace, so I had no idea where to start. This was definitely  nerve wracking for me, but I muscled my way into the sea of spandex and carbon, clipped in, and pushed off towards the beginining of 48 miles of pedaling.

Lance Armstrong is somewhere in this bunch!

The start of the course began uphill and into the sun, but after about 10 minutes we started on what bikers will call “rollers”. There wasn’t a stretch of flat road to be had. I was either going 30mph or 8mph.  I hugged the right side of the road as what had to wind up being HUNDREDS of bikers zoomed past me. People on mountain bikes, people older and more obese than me- and a couple of people on electric bikes pedaled past me like I was standing still. I’m relatively used to this during triathlon- the bike is my weakest sport and “on your left” is something I’m quite comfortable hearing. Unfortunately, most of the bikers in this event did not say this cordial term, and many of them passed so close to me I was surprised our handlebars didn’t touch.  

This was probably the hardest part of the ride mentally for me. Getting passed by so many people, it was hard not to start to push harder. I had to repeat to myself over and over- “Save it for the mountain. Save it for the mountain “. So I kept my effort nice and steady, having faith that my tortoise approach would wind up beating a few hares.

Hill #1. I remembered this one from last year. I had to unclip from my bike and walk about half of it last year, as the incline was not something I was trained for or expecting. It had been my first taste of “We aren’t in Ohio anymore”. This year, I powered up that same hill and crested the top without any need for having to dismount.

The course wound down and around a beautiful lake at the base of a mountain, with twists and turns that challenged any biker’s handling skills. I was petrified on this section last year, literally having thoughts like, “ Well, this is where I’m gonna die”. But this year I kept my cool, even letting a small smile escape at times. 

Rest stop #1 was at Mile 20. This was about 1.5 hours in for me. There was a live band, plenty of porta potties, and even sinks for us to wash our hands. Most of the good food was gone by the time I got there (remember how I got passed by hundreds of people?), so I settled for some pretzels and one of the bars I had in my bike bag. The other three in our group had waited on me, but we had said we would each ride our own race after the first rest stop. They took off while I was going to the restroom, and eventually I swung my leg over my saddle and prepared myself for the next challenge.

The band at rest stop #1

Saluda Mountain. Four miles of 5% grade. And when I say four miles I mean it. There is absolutely no relief, unlike the ups and downs of the rollers. Angela had prepared me for this. “Just put your head down, find a groove that you can sustain., and stay steady to the top.

The pics just don’t do it justice!

And so I did. Smallest gear, steady rotation. Counting in my head to 60, then 45, then 30, and 15. Check my mileage. 4-6 miles per hour (aka painfully slow), switchback to switchback for an hour. I passed several areas that I had stopped at last year, where I had been nauseated and legs starting to cramp. Each time I passed one of these spots, my motivation to reach the top got stronger. 

Suddenly, there it was. The spot where I had given up. Where my body had said, “Yeah we’re done”. I had full intentions of pulling over and taking a selfie here, but as I slowed down and tried to unclip, I had a moment of panic because I couldn’t get out of my pedal. I tried several times, but no luck. I could feel my cleat moving around way too much- it should be stiff and disconnect from the bike with a quick flick of my ankle.

“Should” being the key word in that sentence.

In hindsight, I should have just unclipped the other foot. People who bike will tell you they have a certain side they always clip in and out of first, and to do so on the other side feels weird. I was just delirious enough from the climb to not even think about unclipping the other foot, especially on a hill. Instead, I just kept pedaling, knowing I was almost to the top and could stop there.

That’s right. The top of the mountain. I made it. Grinning ear to ear. I took my shoe off and discovered that one of the screws had completely come out of my cleat, giving it the ability to move around instead of disconnect. I tightened down the remaining 2 screws as good as I could and went looking for food. 

A year ago I literally could not eat solid food. So I ate all the things! Chicken tenders, homemade granola, orange slices! I shoved fig newtons and granola bars in my pockets, almost giddy and so happy with how my legs were still feeling. This was mile 29. Still about 20 miles to go. I knew I had two hard small punches and another smaller mountain left, so I was grateful that I hadn’t blown my legs up as of yet.

Can you tell how happy I was?!

There was a small uphill climb to get out of Saluda, then I was gifted with quite a bit of downward recovery time. What goes up must come down, right? I watched the miles tick off and soaked in the absolutely breathtaking scenery. Then I hit my second KOM sign (King of the Mountain) and knew it was time to get to work again.

Camp Old Indian Mountain. 2.1 miles at a 4.6% grade, again without any real relief.

Here is where I believe  my refusal to push hard in the beginning paid off. I started to pass people.I encouraged each one I passed, and by the time I got to the top I knew I was gonna finish this thing. 

Two more hard short uphill punches and then a slow climb to the finish. I passed the final rest stop and opted to bypass it. I had plenty of fuel and fluid on me, and I didn’t want to take any chances with my cleat. I realized that I only had 10 more miles to go!  I headed towards the first climb and found Angela and Manny.They had stopped at the rest stop to stretch and were starting to fatigue.

“I am so freaking proud of you right now”, Angela called out as she dropped in behind me. “You’re gonna have to pull me- my legs are toast!”

This is one thing that is very different from triathlon. In triathlon, you are penalized for riding too close to other bikers. This is for safety reasons to some degree, but also because triathlon is technically a self-supported event. Riding behind someone else is called “drafting” and gives the person in the back the advantage of not having to work as hard yet keep the same speed. That’s how those big Pelotons are born.

I had drafted Angela more than my share of times on this journey during our training rides, and I was happy to return the favor. 

“Hop on sister!”

My legs were just now starting to tell me they would not mind finishing things up. That being said, years of endurance training had taught me that those legs could do a lot more than what they were telling me. This was my jam. If I know how to do anything, I know how to push through discomfort and keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

Finally a flat section. I tucked into my aero bars, embraced the pain, and started the final push.As I hit the first uphill punch Angela came up beside me, and we grinned at each other.

“Aren’t  you glad I took you to Oregonian and made you do those hills over and over and over again?”

“So glad”, I replied as we passed rider after rider that was walking next to their bike.

At the top of the first hill she waved me on, telling me she had promised her husband she would wait on him. I obliged and took off for the final hill, cranking down to the easiest gear again and counting to 10 over and over, focusing on the road immediately ahead of me until I heard a voice yelling, “this is the summit-downhill for a mile then a slow climb to the end!”

The end! There’s something that happens when you are doing a new type of event and realize you’re gonna finish. It’s happened the first time I have completed each distance of triathlon, and it happened on both my first half  and full marathon. I watched it happen to my son when he ran 17 miles on his 17th birthday. You go from miserable and wondering if you are gonna make it to….let’s finish this bitch! 

Legs were still pretty good so I tucked in again and decided to see how strong I could finish. The last few miles of any race are the hardest, but eventually I started to hear the music and announcer in the distance. Still going uphill but still feeling strong. Starting to pass people who were finished and walking back to their cars hollering encouragement.

And then I saw it. The finish line. It’s uphill (of course), but the chute was PACKED with people absolutely going crazy cheering. I soaked it in for a moment and then put my head down and drove it home as hard as I could.

The finish chute that was packed with people cheering you on to the finish!

49 miles. Over 4100 feet of elevation. A slight mechanical issue but no physical ones. Hot damn.

I collected my medal and waited for Angela and Manny to finish. Jim had also had a great race and finished about 30 minutes ahead of me. We collected our bags, rested our legs for a few minutes, then headed back to the car. If I had one complaint about this event, it’s that the parking is several miles from the venue, and you have to ride your bike there and back at the beginning and end of the race. So technically I rode over 50 miles, but who’s counting?

Me. I was counting lol.

The bling!

What a day. I thought I would be more emotional than I was, but there weren’t many emotions other than pure joy. Joy knowing I had faced my darkest demons over this past year and had emerged victorious. Joy that I was physically able to complete this event with strength left in the tank. Joy that I had friends and family that had supported me in so many ways in order to make this happen. 

I have so many people to thank, but Angela is at the top of the list.

Angela was a God-send as a training partner. She kept me in check when I would get frustrated, reminding me that I was battling a life-threatening illness and had poison running through me. She was happy to keep my pace and always waited for me at the top (and bottom) of hills. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. But she also pushed me and treated me like a fellow athlete, which allowed me to forget for just a little while that I was sick.

A gift from Angela. “Do epic shit”…love it!

I used the time on Saluda mountain  to reflect on how far I have come and how lucky I have been. I forgave myself for wanting to give up at times and let the cancer win. I came to a point of acceptance about what has happened and what will always be a part of me. I vowed not to let it define me though, because I am more than just Stage 4 cancer. I am a warrior, an athlete, a teacher,  a mother, a wife, and so much more. 

Jim and I have already signed up for our next Hincapie biking event- Chattanooga in May. That will keep me on my bike and motivated through the winter. And even better news- I convinced them to do a triathlon next summer! 

If you have made it this far, you deserve a thank you as well. So many people have been a part of my journey this past year, and I am continually humbled by the outpouring of love and support. Each of you contributed to me reaching the “finish line”, both for chemo and the actual race.

I unknowingly sat next to this sign during our trip…

So many lessons have been learned on this journey:

Don’t let one thing define you. 

Go outside your comfort zone and try new things.

 Don’t let someone try and give you limits. 

Give yourself grace but not excuses.

 And most of all…live. Live like you were given the same diagnosis I was. Suddenly things are in a very different perspective, and you may be surprised at what baggage you can offload to make room for the beauty and gift of this one life we are given.

#BeKind

#LiveLife

#ClimbYourMountain

#Had