Gosh, I have So much to fill you in on from my training this year.

I started again in late May. A few weeks and I was about as strong as I was before the tour last year. It was time to move up to a bigger challenge. The bike shop I've been dealing with does a 30 mile Sat 7:30 am ride every week. I decided to join them. June 9. I arrive in the parking lot of at 7:15. It's a bunch of guys in great shape on real nice road bikes. I bet they're all younger than me too. I feel very intimidated. I do not belong in their secret male society. I'm not in shape, never have been, I'm a girl and I've got a mountain bike. They don't aknowledge me. It's alright, I'm not about to let it stop me. I'll prove girls can play too. Even if they don't want me there. It's tense.

JUNE 9, 7:30 on the dot. They clip into their pedals and head out. I'm right behind. I turn out of the parking lot, something grinds and ceases and my chain breaks. That's it. I'm out of the game and I'm pissed. The Shop owner, Rob rides up as I'm pushing my bike back to my car.
"Sandie... you broke your chain!"
"I know I broke my #$%^$% chain!"
Rob- "How are you doing?"
"Not real happy!" Devastated in fact. I had myself on an emotional roller coaster "Should I ride? I can't compete with them. I'm gonna ride. Stand tall. Okay, let's see how far I get." Then, SNAP!! It's over. "Why did you even try?"

I know why I tried, because I know I can do it. Maybe not as fast or as far as them today, maybe never, but I'll never get there if I don't try. My goal is September. Doing 112 miles again and doing it better than last year. Later in the day, I return to have my bike repaired find I've broken both my inner ring bearings.

JUNE 16, Let's try this again. I ride my bike to the shop this time. Get in line, clip out of my pedals to rest and catch my breath. Grab my water bottle take a swig and I hear an avalanche of clicks as they all ride away. Damn! I expect to have to earn their respect, but that's just rude! I set out and never see them again. It's a tough ride. I'm working very hard. I miss-navigate and have to make a left at a light. I do it legally, from the left lane. I'm the first at the light. It changes. I start out and have trouble cliping in. The cars behind me are not interested in waiting. I stand in the pedals for power to get out of the intersection. My left foot slips. I go down. My left leg slams against the pavement but my right leg is still clipped in. The bike shows no mercy as it pulls and drags, rips and extends my right leg.

I get up as fast as I can. The cars drive around me as I hobble from the intersection. I do inventory at the corner. My leg is numb, it's purple behind my knee, already swollen, I don't think anything is broken. Still, I really can't feel most of my lower leg. It's 3 miles to the hospital if I make a right. 17 miles home if I go straight. I re-align my bike and head straight... let's see how far I can go. I finish the ride and head home. Shadowed success. I wonder how much damage I really did.

Over the next few weeks I had to back off a bit and give my leg a chance to heal. I did see a sports Medicine surgeon. He said I definitely did nerve damage. He expects the nerves will begin to regrow in three months or so. He sees no reason for me to stop riding. I am relieved.

July 24, I'm at Falcon Ridge. I ride my bike up the dirt road to the upper pasture. It's tough as heck. I do it a few times over the next few days as I eye the mountain across the way. There is a road that carves along the side of it. It is a long climb. Probably near a mile. It's got to rise more than 200 feet. You can see the cars and tractor trailers slow from the load of climbing it. Wow! If only.... Later I see a group of riders coming down the hill... I am envious. Later still I see a few head up the hill, excruciatingly slow. They're all men, all fit, all power. Someday I'd like to be that strong.

I eye the mountain for three days before I attempt it. I set my sights on climbing 1/4 of the way... if I can get my nerves up. I head in the opposite direction for 6 miles then head back and fight with myself to attempt it. I go slightly further than my goal before I have to give it up. I'm tired, I'm sweaty, I feel great.

The next day I go 2 miles out to warm up and return to go 2/3rds of the way up the beast. It hurts. It's good.

I've been teasing my friend, Scott, with the mountain. He's doing a 350mile trek this year... he is taunted by the climb and finally calls me on it. After two days attempting to tame the beast, I'm tired but won't back off the challenge. We ride two miles out and back, then we hit the incline. Scott distances me right away. God, it hurts. I don't have it in me. I pass my first day's point. I'll never get there. I'm going so damned slow I'm liable to fall over. When I look ahead, I know I can't do it. I can't take in the whole climb. It's enormous. I can only manage if I concentrate one foot ahead of me. One foot, one push one breath at a time. Above my second day's climb, Scott stops to wait. Thank God, I can't go on. We cross the road and sit on the guard rail purveying the entire grounds of Falcon Ridge. It's beautiful. Listening to the music, enjoying the company, joking, sharing. Ready to go further? Yep. We reach the crest where it turns and goes into deep woodland. Now the payoff... downhill. I pass Scott and hit a max speed of 44.7mph on a mountain bike. Insanely good stuff. Insanely dangerous. Insanely satisfying. I have conquered the beast!!

I've used that lesson with my students since then and they have learned well from my story. Looking at the enormity of a challenge, the task can seem daunting. But taking little steps and making smaller goals makes any job manageable. We can all conquer our personal beasts whatever they may be... One step at a time