The hills of Tennessee

I finally finished my first JDRF century, and boy was it was a doozy. I’ve used words like brutal, agonizing and tough to describe Saturday’s ride, and those words are completely accurate. I wish I could encompass the emotion of Saturday in this post, but I know I’ll fall short. It was one of the most impactful and memorable rides I’ve been on, and the feeling of accomplishment in simply finishing was tremendous. We began the ride at 7:30 a.m. in temperatures around 37 degrees with wind gusts between 20-25 mph throughout much of the day. I was fully protected from the wind in my gear, but it didn’t seem to matter much.

I knew I’d be pushing it to make the time cut-offs on the course, so my plan was to skip the first stop and take a break at the second where my parents were volunteering. My blood sugar was 186 at the start and 280 about 12 miles in so I gave a one-unit correction and kept going. (The same thing happened in Tahoe, so I’m thinking it was an adrenaline spike at both rides and I’ll make adjustments in the future for this.) At the second stop, my blood sugar was 140. The rest of the day’s numbers were 101, 113, 71, 94, 73 and 105. I had one of the best diabetes days on the bike I’ve had in a long time, and I was grateful. I certainly didn’t need an excuse to stop.

Being a local, I had ridden this course in sections repeatedly so I knew I was physically capable of completing it. The one hill I dreaded was in the first 10 miles so once I made it up and over that one, I felt a tremendous weight lifted and felt as though I could truly enjoy the rest of the ride. Shortly after coming down Gosey Hill though, the cold began to set in, and my mood quickly changed. I was riding a slower pace than normal, and I couldn’t feel my toes. They were so cold, it was painful. (So much for those fancy shoe covers I have.) I rode several miles with some Middle Tennessee teammates on this stretch and while it lifted my spirits, it wasn’t enough to distract from the cold and the wind.

When I pulled into the second stop and saw my dad, I climbed off my bike, fell into his chest and started crying. I looked up at him and said, “I don’t think I can do this.” He offered soup and hand warmers to stuff in my shoes. I begged for encouragement from one of my toughest and strongest teammates, and even she looked me in the eye and said, “We have to be realistic. This might not be our day.” In that moment, I really didn’t know if I would do it, but I knew I had to try. I remember thinking, “This is your turf and these are your roads. You do not give up in your own backyard. You must protect your house.” (Also, I think that mental pep talk means I watch too much football.) Pulling out of that rest stop knowing I had 72 miles still to pedal was tough.

Man oh man, did I pray Saturday. I prayed all day. I prayed for sun. I prayed for warmth. I prayed for the wind to stop. I prayed for strength. I think at one point, I even tried to barter with God for better weather. There were downhills on the Natchez Trace we usually take at 35 mph tucked into a ball. We were pedaling on those downhills and lucky to catch 23 mph. It was ridiculous. I pulled into the third rest stop at 11:10 a.m., and the cut off time was 11:20. I started crying again partially at the exhaustion, but mostly because I’d made the cut-off. Emotions Saturday were so high.

My parents were at the turn-around, too, and my mom bundled me up with her scarf. (She also gave me her sunglasses after mine had an unfortunate encounter with the port-o-potty.) We stuffed more warmers in my shoes and more in my gloves. I knew I’d be cutting it close to finish by 5:30 mark, but Chrysa Malosh, a Team Novo Nordisk rider and one of my JDRF Middle Tennesse coaches, kept assuring me I’d make it. As much as I’ve ridden the Trace this summer, everything seemed different Saturday. Everything felt so foreign. Even the climbing and downhills seemed strange to me. The hills that seemed to hurt the worst on the way back were hills that had never bothered me before. I’d never struggled up them, but Saturday, every climb was a tremendous effort.

The last 25 miles found me and about 15 other riders working together to finish along with the help of some terrific JDRF coaches. About 15 or so miles from the end, we rounded a corner to find JDRF Coach Ian Joyce at a stop sign waiting for us. I started crying again. (Please be surprised by this.) Ian’s coached me through some tough rides before, and it was so nice to see a familiar face. For a section of the ride, he rode alongside me with his hand on my back giving me a boost to catch me up to the group after I’d fallen behind.

About the time I was debating my mental capacity to finish, my Alabama JDRF Coach, Ross Armstrong, and National Coach Mike Clark came rolling into the final rest stop to ride in with us. Yet again, the tears were free-flowing. I’m not sure in that moment I’d ever been happier to see anyone in my life. Ross has ridden with me for four years, and we’ve been friends longer than that. In fact, he and his wife Sarah are the reason I got into the Ride program in the first place. In that moment, I needed someone who knew me on a personal cycling level. We pulled out and made it to Gosey Hill where Ross rode behind me at my pace up the climb encouraging me the entire way. After the climb, he pulled allowing me to draft for a few miles. I was able to breathe for a bit and get some extra confidence, energy and motivation to finish this thing out. All I could think of was crossing that finish line and hugging my parents.

After turning on Carothers, the emotions were uncontrolled because I knew this was my last turn. I knew I was going to make it. Mike Clark caught up to me on this stretch, and it was definitely a highlight of my day.  In my four JDRF Rides, I’d never ridden a stretch of road with Mike, and it was an absolute thrill to be able to do so. I had him all to myself for about two miles before JDRF Coach John Dallman and my Middle Tennessee teammate, Alison, joined us. The four of us rode slow toward the hotel, but we kept pedaling through that last leg.

Alison and I crossed the finish line together about two minutes shy of the official cut-off time. I was immediately swarmed by my parents and my friends and the tears were unstoppable. Crossing that line and seeing those faces was one of the top moments of my life—and that’s not an exaggeration. To share that moment of accomplishment with them was unreal, indescribable really. I will never be able to accurately describe it or thank them enough for supporting me. It brought a whole new level of goosebumps.

Saturday felt a little like a step backward in my cycling journey. Most rides these days are more fun than they are work, but I felt like I had to fight hard for every single mile Saturday. One of these days, it won’t always feel so challenging, but for now, I’m content to have finished the Nashville ride. Every single person on that course Saturday fought hard, for both the fundraising and especially for the miles they rode. Saturday was one of the toughest physical battles of my life, which made it one of the toughest mental battles of my life.

But winning those battles is why I ride. Someone this weekend asked me what the Ride to Cure program has taught me, and my list is endless. It’s given me a reason to be active and change my lifestyle which benefits my health and diabetes management tremendously. It’s taught me accountability and responsibility. If I ask you to partner with me in financially supporting research, I’m going to do the same on my end. I support my rides monetarily, and I put in the training to be ready on Ride Day. It’s taught me perseverance, dedication and self-discipline; it’s given me passion, hope and a way to encourage others. This is not just a bike ride. It’s a family, and it’s a mission. It’s a way to significantly impact research funding and to build relationships along the way. It’s a way to feel empowered around a disease that so often causes you to feel the opposite. I am incredibly grateful to this program, and I am thankful for everyone who plays a part in this.

Thank you to everyone who supported me in my Rides this year. Your encouragement and thoughts are not empty words or and your support of JDRF research is not a frivolous donation. They are my fuel, and I needed every last drop I could muster Saturday. To all my fellow riders, be so proud of all you accomplished and keep moving forward one pedal stroke at a time until type one becomes type none. You can still support JDRF here.