TRIA Orthopaedic Center Your Cycling Blog

Bill Metz, from OptumHealth, will be a frequent contributor to the blog. This is the fifth of many posts that Bill will be making, dealing with a variety of topics within the life of a recreational cyclist.

Motivation is a strange and individual thing. I have found that what motivates me to get out and ride has continually evolved and changed over the past 15 years. When I first started riding, my motivation was to crest the hill on Wall Street road without feeling like I was eating a lung and about to spit a spleen. Pretty basic on the motivation sophistication scale, but, that feeling didn’t prevent me from giving it another go. It motivated me to work to improve.

When I started riding with a couple of other guys on Saturday morning, my motivation shifted. I quickly realized that in order to keep up on Saturday and avoid long lonely rides back to town on my own, I was going to have to put in some serious saddle time on days other than Saturday. (I was really slow) So, my motivation became ‘keeping up the guys’ and slowly I improved to where I could hang on the back, drafting with my tongue rattling against the spokes like the six of clubs I used to cloths-pin to my fender bracket as a kid. That was on the flats, hills were a different story. I hated hills. We would hit even the smallest rise and I would immediately fall off the back. I felt like I was going backwards. When I finally got to the top where the rest of the group was waiting, they would look at me wondering why I was bleeding from my eyes. Not really, but that’s how I felt.

So my motivation changed again. I figured that if I were ever going to be able to keep up on the hills, my attitude needed to change. I needed to embrace the hill, love the hills, and be the hills. So, rather than deciding to take the flat loop when I would go for a spin, I would choose the loop with the most hills. I would practice my pacing, tempo and breathing. I even did hill repeats. Slowly, I found myself keeping up. With newer members joining, I no longer the last rider up the hill. Even better, I was able to keep pace on my turn through the pace line.

Motivation to get out and ride is different than motivation during the ride. Since I was a kid, I always made games out of things which, unbeknownst to many, are forms of motivation and a way to improve. Whether it was mowing the lawn in the straightest line, or spending hours tossing the tennis ball against the house pretending to shag down and throw out that runner at first base, or the skidding and jumping contests on my bike, playing the game improved my skills. Now, town sign sprints and charging the hills play the same role as does coming up with other games on long solo rides. Here is an excerpt from my book “Saturday Morning Rides” on playing games:

CHASING SHADOWS

The sun sinks low on the horizon at the end of a ride at the end of another season as I head west on Dennison Boulevard towards home. I turn north on Kane Avenue and glide over the first rise. Mesmerized by the fading light, I don’t notice the rider appear on my right. We pedal along in silence enjoying the late fall spin, side by side, crank for crank in eerie unison. I glance to my right and catch him sizing me up and as we scope each other out, we nod. It’s go time.

I spin it up to 20 mph and he matches me, still at my side. As we drop down the far side of the rise, we both pick up the pace to 21, 22 and then 23. I’m starting to feel the burn. This will not be easy, so I start to plot my attack. Dog hill, I will take him on dog hill. We both move down to the drops as if we have read each others mind and try to put the hurt on. As the road turns west up a small rise, I concentrate on my plan, focusing on dog hill, eyes ahead not wanting him to read my thoughts again. Heading straight west now I steal a glance to my right to see if my torrid pace is having any effect and find he is gone. Looking to my left confirms my guess. He’s on my wheel. I throttle back and prepare for dog hill.

As soon as I hit the hill I leap from the saddle, shifting up three cogs in one seamless move, fluid and powerful. No way will he be able to follow. Hammering over the summit as the sun touches the tops of the trees, I take a look back to confirm my dominance only to find him stuck to my wheel like the mother following her son blowing the whistle in the The Triplets of Belleville

I put the hammer down again, but feel him match my pace, my cadence and even my ragged breathing as I suck oxygen to fuel the fire. Now all that remains is the Northfield town sign sprint and this wheel-sucker has me set up all the way so I back off slightly and prepare for the final push.

To my surprise he comes along my right side as I turn north on 246 looking for a straight up sprint, mano a mano, for all the marbles. In unison, we rise out of the saddle for the initial rush, side by side again clicking up through the gears, the cool damp evening air rushing past, our heads down, grinding it into the big ring as the sun melts into the treetops and the shadows merge and stretch to the eastern horizon just as we streak past the sign he disappears into the night and I raise both fists in victory.

Bill Metz,MBF,Minnesota Bike Festival,NVGP,Nature Valley Grand Prix,OptumHealth     Comments Off