Rally (of Pain)

This past Sunday was not my finest hour.

I can say with near certainty that I endured the most pain besides the time I broke my leg in two places and the several times I dislocated my shoulder. And the word “cramp” really doesn’t cover it.

“Cramp” is a word for some one thinking “Oh, my. That smarts. I think I should pause for a moment and massage the muscle a bit.” Cramp is a word covering a mild inconvenience, like a hangnail or a stubbed toe, or even a headache of a certain magnitude.

No, I am coining a new word: “Muscle seizure” – that sort of hints at what happens to your car’s engine when it runs out of oil, and fuses into one hot, fused and useless hunk of dead weight. That’s what my legs became.

I am victim of myself for the predicament I put myself into on Sunday. I didn’t train a whit during the week, and partied a bit the night before. I also failed to take into account all the hills that had added extra exertion and all the turns that sapped any speed or momentum that I might have had on other rides of this or greater distances. I have ridden 60- 80- and 100-mile rides (I have two “centuries” under my belt), but they were nothing like this ride. The humidity also was left out of the calculation. Leaving so much out left me in a very bad place.

But let’s digress for a minute. I would like to aim my vitriol at the folks that set the course for the ride. A rule of thumb: If you are organizing a 60-mile ride and your cue sheet stretches into THREE PAGES, you royally screwed up and should start over.

There were times when I had to make three turns in under a mile. That is ludicrous. This ride had more right turns than the Indianapolis 500 and was more convoluted than the US Tax Code. I would proffer that some one who works for the IRS came up with this route, and those people were attacked by road bikes as children.

I would make specific comments about the ride, but that was the first thing that ended in the garbage when I limped in to the parking lot.

So, it was somewhere around Mile 50 or so, after my two water bottles (50/50 Gatorade and water, my usual cocktail) had nearly run dry, that I started to become aware of the odd twinge and tightness in the backs of my legs. The sensation became more acute on hills. It was pain, giving me a call, letting me know it would be visiting my body very soon.

After pain rang the first time, I eased off my pace, taking it easy. I ran into Janice, Dawn and Sonia and rode with them for a time. But pain kept calling, it had me on speed dial. And the twinges became more pronounced. And somewhere on a turn, onto Church I think, it happened.

It hit - A full and complete seizure of my hamstrings. I crumpled from my bike and lay splayed on the grassy corner of the intersection. I was in bad shape. A guy in a car stopped, thinking that I had crashed. I wish I had crashed. I had Band-Aids. I didn’t have what I needed to fix this predicament.

One of many riders passed me, asking if I was OK. No, I would tell them, but I will be OK. I was wrong. I slugged down the last four or so ounces of liquid I had, stretched a bit and kept on going, not realized that the true pain lay ahead.

Then muscles in my arms and my shoulders started seizing up. It was like going into rigor mortis, but without the luxury of not being alive to feel the pain. I rode along pumping my arms as if I was rocking along spastically to some anthem rock classic from Styx.

And then, as I creeped up a very slight hill a short while later, a tsunami of cramps hit all at once. Hamstrings, quadriceps, both arms and one of my shoulders. I had just enough time to stop the bike and then this scream came from a place that I haven't been in years. I looked down at my leg and saw the muscle that refused to unfreeze and kept right on screaming. From that point on, I walked up every hill, no matter what the grade.

I came across a Deli where I bought two Gatorades, they were red (Gatorade really doesn't have flavors), and had an X on the label, being so intensely extreme. I drank one on the spot and drank the other in course of the next mile or so.

When I limped back to the parking lot, the timer read 4 hours, 31 minutes, an hour and a half longer than the last ride I had done of a similar distance. I drank water, and more water, a can of iced tea, a banana, a bag of potato chips, more water, another banana and then I had some more water. Whatever was handed to me, I consumed. Natasha and everyone took good care of me.

I guess in hind sight, the sandy grit of salt and other nastiness that built up on my legs and arms and everywhere in between should have been a canary in the coal mine. I was sweating a great deal more than on other seemingly similar rides. To the touch, my limbs felt almost as if they were covered with fine sand. Well, a big lesson learned there.

Now, based on other blogs, you may be wondering “But did Eric get lost?” Who am I to let you down? I did miss one turn (the sign for the street was on the opposite side of the street) and GPS Eric was nowhere to be found, so I had to figure out my gaffe all by my lonesome. The goof added about two miles on the 62 we were set to do, in 1,800 easy turns.

Before I went off course, I passed by a group of people looking for the same turn as I was. I was convinced it was still ahead, based on the mileage (PET PEEVE #2: Tell or show people when to start their odometers on a route…), so I kept on going up the road, convinced of my righteousness. And I ran into those guys later at the first rest stop at 20 miles. Yes, they beat me there.

Now it has been two days after the Ramapo Rally, and my limbs are still a bit tender, but I think I will be able to get back to the gym tomorrow. Yesterday, I trotted over to Conrad’s in Tudor City, where I have spent more on stuff for the bike than what the bike itself cost. I picked up what the Tahoe oh-sixers call an “ass bracket” so my bike can hold four water bottles and a fancy-dancy computer that keeps track of just about everything, ‘cause you need this sort of thing when you’re a big-time hot shot like me.

Oh, side note: My uncle is coming home from the hospital where he’s been for the past month going through a few rounds of chemotherapy for his leukemia. The news I have is that he’s doing much better. But keep the positive thoughts and prayers coming. Thanks.