Late last year, I heard some people talking about "the metric century". Apparently that's a pretty common challenging distance for cyclists to travel. There are even some races of that distance. Of course we are talking 100 km (62 miles).
The longest distance I had ever biked was around 54 miles. I decided that this year I would try to do a metric century. That was a summer's goal.
Then? Shit happens, and goals don't always get met. Chakotay got sick, plans got interrupted, it rained or it was unbearably windy... The goal was never hit.
Now backing up for a minute, this week was complete chaos. We had another graduation for my clients and I was crazy busy. I felt out of control at times, and my stress and anxiety skyrocketed. And when it was over, I crashed. I don't know that I had been holding it together that well, but I don't know that I have totally dealt with Chakotay's death - that he is gone. Although these things come in waves, too as many of you know. I was DONE.
I felt defeated and unbearably sad. About everything. And so I looked at me. My life, my past, my goals. I can't control everything at once. But there was a goal sitting out there. One simple goal.
So at 9:40 this morning I got on my bike. I started to ride. My goal was 62 miles in under 4 hours. I rode around 2 local points that jut into Lake Ontario. The lake was calm and beautiful. I tried to be fully present in the moments rather than all up in my head. I waved at runners and fellow bikers.
3 hours and 54 minutes later I pulled into our driveway at 62.04 miles.
It wasn't all that spectacular of a time, and it's not like 62 miles is some amazing feat, but it was a goal met. And the ride gave me a lot of time to think. When I got back I showered and then went outside with a hot mug of coffee, a banana, and sat in the warm fall sun throwing a ball for Archer, and in that space of time it felt somehow like I had had a breakthrough.
More to come on that note...