100 Before Work

Todd on his trusty Orbea

In the recreational cyclist world, riding a century (100 miles in one day) is a major milestone. When I was a young cyclist of 19, I rode with a group of men who were licensed riders, real racers. We rode  hard for 25 - 35 miles a few times a week. I could keep up because I was strong from rowing in college, and I was a shameless drafter, someone who rides a few inches from the wheel in front of her to decrease effort significantly. Once in a while I would hear of people riding 60, 80 or even 100 miles and just shake my head. "How do they do that?" It just seemed wildly impossible.

Fast forward 27 years: Todd and I are wrapping up our first date after dinner and a walk and he asks me if it would be ok if I dropped  him off at the school in East Montpelier where he works. "I ride my bike to work so I will just sleep in my classroom since it is too late to ride home," he informs me. "Wait. How far is that?" I ask. "About 42 miles one way," he replies without drama. So begins my re-education of what is possible for a human body to do without a lot of fanfare.

In the first weeks with Todd, I learn that he is not manic about exercise. He wakes up, eats a big breakfast and gets on his bike, riding wherever he needs to or wants to go—sometimes to work, sometimes 60 miles through the hills of Fletcher. He doesn't talk about "training" or measure his heart rate. He eats pedestrian fare and has never sets foot in a health food store. ("Too pricey!") Other than the occasional Cliff Bar, he stows a PB & J sandwich and a banana in his jersey before setting off on a long ride. He does have good genetics—strong legs and a hardy constitution—and a fairly high tolerance for discomfort.

Being someone who has received attention all her life for being strong, I appreciated how little he made of his physical accomplishments. "I am just a guy who likes to ride his bike. Other people do better things with their time." I concurred. I have always argued that being a strong, gifted athlete does not make you better than other people and I felt uncomfortable when put on a pedestal for what amounted to winning some genetic lottery. When I was with Todd, being physical was just something fun we did together and pretty soon 60, 80 and even 100 mile rides were routine.

"Your legs will just keep going around," is what Todd says when I revealed my nervousness about riding with him down to Pennsylvania. And despite a bad cold and a borrowed bike that was too big, my legs did just that for 400 miles over five days. It was fun and meditative and a beautiful adventure we shared—a big credit in the relationship bank.

Over the years since then I have learned to fully enjoy my strength and to move beyond concepts of what is or what is not possible, not out of some determination to break my "personal record" or to "get fit"  but as a by product of having fun, of doing things that are just a bit quirky and sharing life with my man.

It was in this spirit that Todd came up with the idea of a century before work. "You know how people set a goal for themselves of riding a century? What if I were to do a century before work?" I quickly understood that just playing with this crazy idea in his head was going to be more than half the fun. He had to plan a route that avoided big descents to diminish the chances of hitting wildlife in the dark early morning hours. He needed to have two fully charged lights to light his way through the first few hours. It had to be planned for a day when he had few obligations at school and the sun rose early. And.. I reminded him when the proposed date loomed closer, "You need a support person for the last part of the ride. Your own personal super-domestique."

So on the designated day, Todd woke up at 1:30 AM and was on the road by 2:15. He road along deserted roads in the early morning hours through Essex, Winooski, Shelburne, Charlotte, Vergennes, Bristol and Hinesburg, where he came across me, fresh and ready to pull him through the last quarter. Together we rode the last 25 miles through Williston, Essex Junction, Westford and back. I flew along in front of him, my head down, determined to get him to work on time.

He strolled into work 5 minutes early with a big smile on his face. He didn't need anyone to know. He didn't even have a computer on his bike to track his progress. It was just fun.