February 19.... What a difference a year makes!

February 19, 2011.

A group of girls from calisthenics decided we'd form 'Bike Club', where we'd get together and go for bike rides around the local area. Saturday, February 19, 2011 was the day of our first ride. Ash has plotted the course, Mel had organised the baby seat for baby J, and I had put together my new bike (a chrissy present from Mum and Dad). We met at my place, at 9:30 in the morning. I had something at Mum's place at 1:30, and thought 4 hours was plenty of time to get through the 25km that Ash had planned.

We set off. Riding a bike was harder than I remembered. Not harder, exactly, but a lot more bloody effort was required than I remembered from my carefree days as a kid. I reckon it'd been about 15 years since I rode, and I was never awesome at it, but we rode a lot on the weekends around the streets. After about 10 minutes, I was exhausted. I was breathing ridiculously heavily, my legs were burning, my heart was racing, I was sweating like a pig, my legs were burning. I told the girls to go ahead, and I would catch up. I couldn't believe that I was so unfit.

We rode for about 4kms, with the girls stopping every km or so and waiting for me to catch up. I felt absolutely awful, but determined to succeed. I couldn't believe that Mel, who had a baby on the back of her bike, wasn't struggling. I was seriously struggling to catch my breath each time we stopped. I was fighting with my thoughts - my mind was constantly telling me to give up and turn around. Each time I caught up though, and opened my mouth to let the girls know that I was turning around, one of them encouraged me, and I felt that I couldn't give up.

We stopped at the 8km mark, where Ash brought out the muesli bars and informed us that we were halfway. I decided I would turn around, but she talked me out of it. We had taken more than an hour to get there, and I wanted to die. I was feeling faint, my vision was blurry, and I was sweating more than a person should. After about 10 minutes, we got on our bikes and continued on our merry way.

I didn't think it was possible, but I got slower. It took us a further two hours to go the next 10km. There were a couple of hills, but it was mostly flat. We got about 5km from home, and I just couldn't do it any more. I knew that I wouldn't have enough time to get back home at the pace we were going, to get back to Mum's in time. Mel had a bike rack on her car, so she and Ash said they'd hurry home, and then drive back to pick me up. I sat on the side of the road, feeling like a fat failure for almost 45 minutes. The girls got back, we put the bike on the back, and we drove back to my place. The whole time, they both were very positive about how far I'd gone, how much I'd done, and how much better we were going to be next time. I was so disappointed - 25kms seemed like an easy feat, but once we got into it, it was impossible.

The next week, we went again. We went a different way though, past a service station. We looked at my tyre pressure, and it was 11psi. I know nothing about psi, but my tyres said they should be on 35psi. We all had a massive laugh when we realised I had been riding on flat tyres the week before, and that was probably why I was having such a hard time. Well... the tyres got pumped up, and I felt like I was riding on air. We did about 10km that day, in about an hour and a half - still stopping at times for me to catch up, but definitely an improvement.

Over the next few months, I trained. My brother, a keen cyclist, upgraded his bike and gifted me his old one for my birthday in May. I live right on the bike track so headed out 3-4 times a week for that infamous 8km (16km round trip) section - each time, I 'checked in' on Facebook on my phone once I got to the muesli bar spot. I had named it 'The Place Where Kelly Wanted To Die At The First Bike Club Meeting', and all my Facebook friends found out when I had been riding. My time progressively decreased as my fitness got better. The new bike was awesome - it had a much wider gear range, thinner tyres, and felt good under my bum. I developed callouses on my butt cheeks. My tail bone got over it's bruising from the first ride and I began to get my rhythm and gear changes sorted as I got to know the trail.

Then, I saw ads for a ride along Eastlink - a toll road that the bike track runs alongside. The road would be closed to motorists for the day, and we could ride the entire length (75km round trip) or half (35km round trip) to raise money for charity. My brother dared me to sign up for the 35km ride. He would be overseas at the time (riding from Spain to Germany at approx 100km a day...) so couldn't join me, but he wanted me to do it. Ash and her boyfriend signed up as well.

So, on November 13, we got our bikes on the train to the start line, lined up, and rode 35km along a lovely section of freeway, which ended in two gigantic tunnels - a nice downhill followed by a ridiculous uphill... TWICE. I set myself a time limit of two hours - it was definitely a challenge, but I finished in 1:54. I had to walk out of the last tunnel because my legs were just jelly, but as soon as I was out of the tunnel I jumped back on and rode the 500m to the finish, with tears streaming down my very red, sweaty face.

Over summer, I took up the C25K program, got more into the gym/treadmill/cardio, and sort of forgot about my bike. You might recall my post from a last week where I took the old bike for a spin again, and loved it. Today, I realised that it was February 19, so I wanted to relive the horror that was 12 months ago.

February 19, 2012.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I've spent most of the day in bed catching up on reading, TV shows that I've downloaded, and surfing the Net. I was looking back on the old Facebook page we had created for Bike Club, and realised that we had ridden on this day last year for the first time. It was 5:30pm, and I thought to myself, "Why not? See what you can do..." I put my leggings and tank on, cranked up the HRM and set off.

I flew. I really, really flew. I got to the spot, checked my watch, and saw 22:30. Twenty-two and a half minutes for 8km that a year ago took me over an hour. I set myself a challenge. I would turn around and go home, then turn around and come back and see if I could make it in an hour. I didn't check my watch. I focussed on riding to the beat of the music playing in my ears. I focussed on pushing my legs that little bit harder, on keeping my heart rate up, on breathing steadily. I focussed on how great it felt to be riding, feeling that burn, but not wanting to die. On wanting to keep going and prove to myself that I CAN DO IT.

I got back to the spot, the 24km mark, and glanced at my watch. 1:01:30. I had missed my goal by a minute and a half. I actually didn't give a toss. I grinned, turned around and headed for home. Only another 8km to go.

I think I smiled for the entire 8km. I even sang along to the tunes... which must have been ridiculous to any pedestrians or people whose backyards run along the track. I don't sing well. I don't know all the words. And you know what? I don't care what people think of me any more. Let them think I'm a crazy person... I'm a crazy person who just did what 12 months ago was impossible.

I finished the 33.44km ride in just under 90 minutes. That's almost half an hour off my 35km time in November, and I haven't even been training on the bike since I finished that ride.

My first ride, 12 months ago? 6.5km/h.
Today? 22km/h.

What a difference a year makes.