May 9, 2009, I found myself at Howard Amon Park in Richland, WA, setting out for my first ever 50 mile ride.

I’ll admit, I was nervous. I had never done an organized ride before, I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I was on my own. I was pretty sure I was going to fall over in the middle of some road, lost, with no cell reception, injured because of the fall, and nobody to know where I was at. These were the images running through my mind all week leading up to the ride.

Alongside those images were images of myself being caught wholly unprepared for this ride. No sooner did I register and pay than I found myself thinking, “Um, I haven’t really trained for this. I haven’t done a spin class regularly for awhile, and I haven’t really been out on my bike. In fact, I haven’t done a THING to get ready for this ride!”

So, I did what any sane person would do. I tried to squeeze in 12 weeks of recommended training into one! I had it planned out – I’d ride 20 miles each on two days on an indoor spin cycle, and do strength training the other two days, and take Friday off to relax.

In the end, I didn’t work out the first day, I rode 15 miles the next day, then strength trained on Wednesday, and Thursday, I was sore. End training.

Back to Saturday morning. Having spent some time with my dear husband reviewing the map, and still not knowing where on earth I was headed, I was off!

I first tried to match pace with a few ladies in front of me. I was doing okay until we hit a hill. Oops! Here’s where the training would’ve been nice! Half-way up the hill, heart pounding like mad, I decided I’d rather finish slow than not finish at all, and I prayed I’d be able to follow the route.

After that, it wasn’t too bad. UNTIL after the rest stop at mile 16. After that rest stop, I had an option: turn right and head back the way I came for the 25 mile loop, or turn left into unknown territory for the 50 mile loop.

I turned left.

I maybe should’ve turned right.

What I didn’t realize, and what my friends failed to tell me, was the 50 mile loop contained some crazy hills. The first part of that 2nd portion of the ride, I found myself soaring down a hill, then realizing that what goes down, MUST come up. Dang. Not too long after that realization, I took a turn and looked ahead…and laughed. It was a Seattle-looking incline. “Well, here goes nothing,” was what went through my head as I started pedaling up the cliff/incline. An eighth up the way up, a couple was stopped on the side. “You guys okay?” I asked, hoping the answer was no so I could have an excuse to stop and try to help. “Yeah, just learning a lot about fixing flat tires!” “You have a spare tube and all?” “Yup.”

Darn.

Up I continued. And then, up I stopped. I nearly started rolling backwards, but managed not to lose my balance with one foot still clipped in and the other on the ground. I gained my breath, and tried again. After another few pedal strokes, I stopped again. Someone passed me and I was happy to see this very fit looking guy going rather slowly up the hill. I was determine NOT to walk my bike up this hill, though, so I simply got back up and tried again. Do a few pedal strokes and stop. Catch breath. Repeat. Repeat 4 times, in fact. Laugh a couple of times and consider the ridiculousness of the situation. Finally, I made it, ON MY BIKE, and passed the guy who had passed me earlier. He had stopped to wait for his buddy who was somewhere behind us both. He congratulated me and I said they needed a rest stop at the top of that hill.

I thought the hills were done for the most part.

They weren’t.

Coming up next? Rolling hills. I didn’t catch the drift of racing down one hill and using that momentum to get most of the way (if not all of the way) up the next until after a few hills. Up one of the hills, I had to stop again. This time, I tried to get back on and fell over. I waited a bit, tried again, and nearly fell again. My right foot refused to touch the right pedal. So…against all my wishes, I got off the bike and walked a little bit. A truck of field workers passed by and I think every guy in that truck looked over at me walking up that hill with my bike. Oh well, once I hit flat roads again, I got back on to cycle. I’m proud to say that was my ONLY moment walking my bike.

I’m NOT so proud to say that not long after that, as I was riding along, a tractor passed me. I was still recovering and waiting for the next incline I’d need to face.

Once I realized I was on ROLLING hills, I actually said out loud to myself, “THIS is what they call rolling hills!” and started racing down one and not having to pedal up the next! NOW I was having fun!

Then I got to the bottom of all that fun and couldn’t figure out which way to turn. According to the map, I was at the wrong intersection. I’m still not sure if I made a wrong turn or missed a turn somewhere, but I called my sweet husband who looked up where I was (thankfully, there was a huge cutout of a little kid with an address on it) and he helped me figure out which way to turn so I’d get back to the rest stop.

After my break at the rest stop, I had to convince myself to finish the ride. It was odd, but I looked at the bike and honestly thought, “What on EARTH am I thinking? WHY would I want to get BACK on that thing and keep riding right now? I hurt, I’m sunburned already, and I still have another 15 miles to go.” I finally convinced myself to get back in the saddle and ride.

I learned a trick to hills on the way back – because we had one hill to climb on the way back, not long after the rest stop (which I personally thought was a little mean of them to do). The trick? Just focus on the pedaling and don’t focus on how much longer there is of the hill. It got me up that last long incline!

My last fight was with my right knee. At mile 37.77 (I checked my mileage tracker), my right knee started hurting. I spent some time pedaling mostly with my left leg. I still don’t know what it was, but, by that point, I was NOT stopping. The pain was pretty bad and seemed to hit randomly. But I kept going. I wasn’t stopping for no stinking knee pain! (Maybe not the wisest decision, but I was too close to quit!)

Finally, I made it! I stopped about 4 miles out and called Rich to let him know I was on my final stretch. It felt SO good to know I was actually going to finish! Sunburned, exhausted, but having accomplished what I set out to do, I rolled back in to the starting point at Howard Amon Park.

Rich asked if I could ever see doing a full 100 miles after doing the 50? NO WAY. Though, a few days later, at least a metric century (64.2 miles) isn’t looking so bad…