Full Story: STP 2009

If you have some time, you may want to re-read my post from the 2008 STP to refresh your memory before reading this post.

The only word I can come up with to summarize this year's STP experience for me is...bittersweet.

I never actually planned to ride it over two days. I wanted to be a one day rider all along. When Dale and I discussed a few weeks ago that I wasn't ready to do it all in one day, I secretly decided that I was going to attempt it anyway. I wanted to prove to him (and more so, to myself) that I could do it.

I did have a backup plan, though. My plan was that if there was no hope that I could go all the way by the half way point (Centrailia), then I'd just call my friend Melissa, she'd pick me up, I'd sleepover at her house, then finish up on the second day.

So, with that being said, here is my story...

Dale and I spent the night before up in Seattle this year instead leaving from home the morning-of. We have family-of-friends who live about 10 blocks from UW (starting line) on Lake Washington. They so kindly let us stay in their beautiful home. Thank you, Dan and Cindy! I took a quick shot of the view of the lake from the guest room.


We got up at 3:00am and I ate two bananas and half a bagel. We got ready and left the house about 4:00. We reached Husky stadium in about 15 minutes and made our way to the starting line and hung out until it was time to go.



At 4:45 we were allowed to start and Dale and I rode side by side for about the first 20 feet, then he pretty much took off like a bullet. He had a goal to reach of his own.

Those first several hours, for me, were pretty uneventful. I felt great, had lots of energy and was averaging a great pace. I was really pumped because I knew if I could keep it up, I could finish.

Because I wanted to reach the half point by noon, I couldn't stop at all of the food/water stops. When I did stop, I only allowed myself 5 minutes...that's to go to the bathroom, get more water, and shovel as much food into my mouth as fast as I could in that window of time. I know this makes me sounds completely obsessive, anal-retentive and insanely hard-core, but I had a goal and I knew that every minute would count. I had even brought my own food in my little pack because I knew waiting in line for food would slow me down.

At the last stop before Centrailia I called Melissa to let her know I didn't need her to pick me up because I was going to keep going. I told her I felt great, and she commented that I didn't even sound tired. "I'm not!" I said, "just my butt is a little sore." After hanging up with her I went and got some Gatorade, hit the bathroom, and went back to my bike to wolf down a bagel. It was dry, so I'd take the biggest bite I could and then squirt water into my mouth so I could chew it faster. I looked up to see these three guys giving me a funny look for the way I was eating. Whatever. When I went to leave I reached for my sunglasses...and they were gone.

*TANGENT ALERT* I loved my sunglasses. I bought them of May of 2006 for a work trip to Las Vegas. Ralph Lauren. Cute. Tight enough to hold my hair back. I loved them so much I managed to never loose them for over 3 years.

At the stop I had put them in my back jersey pocket and after that, it's all a mystery. When I realized they were gone, I frantically searched and researched my back pockets (riding jerseys have these big back pockets that can hold a lot of stuff. They're designed so that you can reach into them while you are riding). I searched through my pack. I traced my steps back to the water station and to the bathroom and turned up nothing. I was heartbroken...I loved those sunglasses, AND it was in the mid 80s and I didn't want to ride 8 more hours squinting into the sun. But...by this point 20 minutes had gone by (gasp!) and I had to accept the fact that I'd never see those sunglasses again.

So I got back on my bicycle and headed off. The next town was Centrailia. They routed us right through the college campus where I stopped long enough to take these pictures. This is the hub of the half-way festivities and the overnight stop for the two day riders.


Then I turned the camera around and took this one of myself.


My goal, obviously, was to make it to Portland at the end of the day. The finish line closed at 9:00, so as I rode on I was constantly watching my speed and time and doing the math over and over in my mind. It was still possible for me to make it in time.

After passing the 100 mile mark I just couldn't hold the pace that I had the first 8.5 hours. My body was doing ok still, but I just couldn't keep up the speed that I needed to maintain. To keep myself going I just kept telling myself Look at you! You're doing it! This isn't supposed to be easy. You've done harder things than this in your life. Just keep going! But sadly, the next several miles just got harder and harder and the point came that unless I attached rockets to the back my bike, I would not make it to Portland in time. But I kept going anyway. I rode and rode and spent many stretches of the route alone, no other cyclists ahead or behind. Just me and the cows out in the pasture. I didn't want to quit.

After a long, butt-kicking hill, there was a pit stop where I took a break. I had been at it for 10 hours. I took my helmet off and sat there and thought about what was ahead of me. At this point, even if I made it to Portland, it would be dark, and what would I do? Ride to a non-existent finish line? The next stretch would consist of big, long rolling hills that I remembered from last year. After that would be the scary, narrow, Lewis & Clark bridge that they don't escort the one-day riders (only the two day-ers) over- you're just on your own with the cars, then after that would be hwy 30...part I dreaded...which is 48 miles of gradually inclined, unshaded, grueling, narrow shouldered, heavily traffic-ed, bicycling hell.

I was hot and sweaty and emotionally, mentally, and physically spent. I considered my options, then.......

............put my face in my hands and cried. I had ridden 125 miles. It's like, take the hardest you've ever worked out, do it for 10 hours strait, then face the fact that you are not going to accomplish what you set out to do. I felt lonely and defeated. I called Melissa, and when she answered I blubbered into the phone "It's too hard! I can't do it anymore!" Without hesitation, she said she was on her way. But before she hung up, like a true friend would, she asked, "Do you want me to bring you a coffee? An iced latte?"

So she came and sat with me and kept me company. We sat there for a long time and talked. We took a few pictures:




This is Melissa and her son, Nixon:


We talked about me continuing on. We talked about me finishing the next day. In the end, I decided to not do either, and Melissa drove me home. I wanted to be a one-day rider, and it just wasn't going to happen for me. I accepted that.



...This story does have a happy ending though. Do I wish the outcome could have been different? Of course. But honestly, I really am proud of myself. There is no way I could have worked any harder. I gave it everything I had. At least I tried :)