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I'm Riding to End AIDS
From June 6-12, 2010, I'm bicycling in AIDS/LifeCycle. It's a 7-day, 545-mile bike ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles to make a world of difference in the lives of people living with HIV and AIDS.
Help me support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation by giving what you can. We'll keep riding until AIDS and HIV are a thing of the past.
Why I ride the ALC
When I signed up for ALC4 it was for the challenge. I wanted to see if I could do it. Seven days, 540+ miles seemed very daunting having never ridden any kind of distance before. I met up with my now husband Ken and we trained for eight months. We hit every hill I could find sometimes to Ken's despair. Some of my favorite training rides were to the beach and back with our friends. I thought I could get used to this cycling thing. That year on my almost brand new bike I ran into some knee trouble. My seat was set a fraction of an inch too high causing my knees to extend further then they should. Luckily it was only one side but I did have to SAG the rest of that day because of it. I did not ride every mile because I could not. The following day I had my bike adjusted and was back on the road. The pain in my knee was still there but going away. I finished the ride with only a few other complications. I felt satisfied that I did what I could but longed to have completed the entire thing. I resolved to try again.
The next year I was relocated to Arizona and having a hard time deciding if I could participate in ALC5. I think finally registered in April and started training. This was to be an insufficient amount of time to train. Ken had decided to drive a sweep van this year so I was on my own as far as time on the road. I started off the ride strong. I kept a good pace and made some new friends on the road. Most of my riding time however was spent alone with my own thoughts. This was OK for a while until the end of Day 3. My lack of training was catching up to me and my legs were paying for it. I limped into camp that night, showered, ate dinner, took a few Advil and slept. The next morning was to be the test.
I woke up alone in my tent feeling OK until I tried to get up. My legs were running at 5% capacity if that. The breakfast tent had never looked further away. I walk in visible pain to get food trying to be nice to everyone passing me asking if I was OK. I was not. Most of the pain was still there while some was replaced with the complete lack of all feeling in my muscles. My short deliberate steps got me to the food. I almost didn't was to sit in fear that I may never get back up again but I had no choice in the matter. My eyes saw the closest open chair and gave out with a thump into the seat. I ate alone as slow as I could, finished up and talked my legs into making the trek back to the tent.
I was defeated. Every part of me wanted to give up. Pack up my gear and take the SAG bus the rest of the trip to LA. In my tent I began to tear up and sob softly in an effort to weep undetected. I wanted so badly to finish the ride but felt I could not go on. "That's it! I'm not doing it. I'm quitting." I had hit rock bottom and all hope was lost. Opening my bag to begin packing up I noticed the gear I had picked for that day was my yellow Tour De France Team Discovery jersey. I froze as its bright yellow glow began to shed light on me. I couldn't help but think WWLD(What Would Lance Do)? I could tell you what he wouldn't do. HE WOULDN'T GIVE UP! Neither would I. If I was not going to finish this ride it won't be by quitting. The jersey went on as if it were a suit of armor that despair and anguish could not penetrate. My goal was now to at least start, to give it a go and see how far my legs would take me.
I hobbled over to my bike and gave it a long hard look. It was light, fast and waiting there for me as if to say, "I'm here for you, I knew you could do it". My suit of armor on and shining brightly in the morning sun, I mounted my bike and began to ride. Amazingly there was less pain in riding then there was in walking. Each peddle stroke was a chore for the first few miles until I was sufficiently warmed up, even then I knew today was going to be rough. I peddled on down the road taking in the scenery trying to get my mind of the pain and the next big hill. My pace was slow but consistent and after a few hours and much needed rest stops I coasted into lunch. Nearly falling while trying to dismount I used every bit of energy I had to get lunch and sit down.
Lunch was particularly good that day as the sandwich had avocado on it. The temporary euphoria the food had given me helped me relax enough to look around a bit. The world so far had consisted of my own thoughts and the black pavement rushing by under my tires. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time and enjoying their ride everyone but me. Looking down I noticed my bright yellow jersey had faded into a dull grey. My motivation was once again dwindling into nothing. Tears began to well up and I held them off as best I could. I felt alone more then anything. No one for encouragement, no one to lean on. I decided to stick with my goal of at least starting and walked to my bike. While walking some riders next to me were complaining about how they felt. How their legs don't work anymore. I chimed in with my own pain and how I didn't think I could finish the day. My mood began to lift knowing I was not the only one. We began to laugh at our all out whining and complaining and agreed that they would be scraping us off the pavement by the end of the day. Without much thought of the ride ahead I got on my bike with my new friends and we were off.
We complained about every inch of the first few miles. It was as if we had an unofficial whining contest and couldn't lose. For the first time all day I had a smile on my face. I was happy and noticed the more I complained the less pain I felt. Not long after we left lunch I seemed to have felt no pain at all. These strangers, these unknown riders who had equally little knowledge of me were there for me. They made me their friend, their family. They loved me and I loved them. This is the spirit of the ALC. This wave of love and hope had swept over me and carried me in its wake. My jersey had turned back to its bright yellow but it had nothing to do with Lance or Team Discovery. I finished the rest of that day stopping at only one of the three rest stops. My strength had gone from 2% to 100% by the power of a smile and the personal connection my fellow riders had given me.
The power of the ride is not strictly the money we raise or the awareness we generate. It is the personal connections we make with our fellow man/woman and how we treat them. It's about feeling like you can't go any further and having a complete stranger help out and tell you, you can. This is a ride like no other and has changed my life for the better in many ways. This is why I ride.
Thank you and I love you,
Randy Bolen
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