Cycling, like much of life, is a mental game.  Physical fitness is helpful, even necessary for long distance cycling, but the real key is what goes on in your head.  I often find that what goes on in my head is, well, too much.

Here’s where I’ve been the last few days:  My sister had a baby on Tuesday, so Wednesday I made the three-hour drive to meet my newest nephew, and to spend the night at the hospital with my sister, so that her husband could go home to take care of their other two children.  But during the day, after I got there, our little guy started having some problems, and wound up, ultimately, being transferred to the NICU at another hospital.  It was scary and sad and frustrating–there was nothing that I, the older, take-action, let’s-solve-the-problem sister could do.  He’s ultimately going to be fine, thankfully, but these first few days have been rough.  My heart just bleeds for my sister, who is being tested in ways she didn’t anticipate.

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I could only stay one night, because I have two children of my own that I had to get back to.  I’ve been home about 48 hours now, and I’ve slept a huge chunk of that time.  I was exhausted from lack of sleep, but more than that, I was just emotionally drained.  This morning I finally got out on my bike for a while, and it took me the first 15 of the 25 miles to wrap my mind around this experience, and settle down.

But even after I had examined all my emotions and replayed conversations and visualized positive outcomes, I was still agitated.  My mind was running in circles, and I was having trouble finding the flow of the ride.  My average speed was abysmal.  My training has been non-existent for nearly three weeks now (long story).  I have to drive on a field trip this week, and get my teeth cleaned, and run with the cross-country team, and finish painting the stairs . . .  and, and, and . .. In a rare moment of insight, I realized that I needed to stop worrying about all the external stuff, and just forcibly turn it all off.  It was hard.  The mind doesn’t always follow instructions.  But I looked at the Carolina blue sky, and listened to my own breathing, and felt the sun on my arms, and dodged pine cones in the road, and finally, the word acceptance floated (quietly) through my mind.

This, to me, is the hardest part of long-term training for a big event.  On any given day, PBP is  months–practically a year–away.  No one day, or week, or even month, is going to make or break this endeavor.  My biggest hurdle is convincing my mind to stay focused on the here and now, and accept that yesterday is gone, and tomorrow isn’t here yet.  I happen to know, from bitter experience, that this kind of focus is the hardest part of a long-distance event.  Physical fitness is important, but the fittest person in the world can’t finish an Ironman or a brevet or an ultra-marathon if his or her mind can’t settle to the task at hand.

So I suppose my mental training begins today, with this word:  acceptance.  I am where I am in the training plan; I can’t make up what I’ve missed in the last three weeks.  Today, I rode the bike.  Tomorrow, or the next day, I’ll do it again.  My nephew is where he is; we have no choice but to move forward from here. Tomorrow, or the next day, hopefully, he’ll be strong enough to go home.  Welcome, little guy.