Sufferfest

It was cold and slightly breezy, but I had sweat streaming down my face into my eyes and my mouth. The hoods, slippery from the long contact with my moist palms, compromised my grip. I could have kicked myself for not wearing gloves. At least I had had the sense of wearing the full-zip jersey, the absence of the wind cooling my core would have guaranteed a stop long before. I was already at the steepest hairpin, heart doing 190 bpm- well over three times the resting rate of 56, and incredibly, I felt strong.enough to rise out of the saddle and push. I was not going to stop. Not today. It was only 27 minutes into the climb with one km  to go. I was looking at something around 30 minutes if I could keep it up a little longer. 'The boys are going to be surprised', I thought with a chuckle. Only two of them have done the climb in less than half an hour! I swerved along the wider curve of the road, where the rise in the gradient was slightly gentler, so that it would be easier to survive. The gradient was around 16% here, and even with all the strength of my legs, my pace threatened to drop below 10 kph. It had better end soon- my chest was starting to hurt a little. I struggled up the ramp to the next hairpin and miraculously, it became easier to push. I had forgotten that the incline was less punishing here. The bike sped up explosively, allowing me to slacken my muscles and recover. I turned up the power on the next curve and saw Rishav hurtling down from the other direction. His surprise was obvious from the way his eyes widened on seeing me. I tried to smile back, but couldn't manage anything more than a grimace. The watch showed 29 minutes, and I put on another burst of acceleration. The top of the climb could not be far. I had to take the next curve smartly if I were not to lose speed. I swerved, and time stopped! There was the gate right there, standing serenely just 20 metres away, and the watch showed  30 minutes and 5 seconds! For the next 15 glorious seconds it took to roll through the gates onto the gravel within, I was Chris Froome, Alberto Contador and Nairo Quintana all rolled into one. This was my best climb timing ever, better than most of the others! I unclipped and sat down on the top tube. The effort had been colossal and I recognised the first signs of bonking. Not eating anything substantial before starting and riding at a blazing 34 kph to the Nandi foothills was going to cost me dearly on the way back. I had already exhausted all my glycogen reserves. But I was not going to let the thoughts of the suffering to come spoil my moment. Not. At. All. I emptied the contents of one of my bottles on my head and grinned involuntarily as memories came back of the looks of open-mouthed astonishment on the faces of the college kids at seeing me zipping past at 20 kph doing the Contador dance on those slopes, the words of comfort and encouragement from the descending riders; and the euphoria I felt at finally being able to do those speeds on the hardest climb around Bangalore. At that moment, slumped on the handlebars and waiting for the chest pain to subside, I understood completely, for the first time, what Patrick Brady meant in The Seduction of Suffering ( http://pelotonmagazine.com/pages/from-inside-peloton-the-seduction-of-suffering/ ).
Pushing your limits transforms every aspect of you and steels your resolve in the strangest of ways. The trait that is the most obviously common to ALL of my fellow riders is an utter, absolute refusal to give up, be it on a punishing ride or in anything they do. I do not know if I possess that particular ability, but I most certainly would like to.