Lessons from Peaks Challenge: Part 3 – Supporters

Cycling and Life…the two are interconnected. So, when training and then actually attempting the Peaks Challenge Falls Creek, it stands to reason that I should have discovered a few things about life along the way. I did. These are those things…

To the Supporters

“Can you get this insect out of my eye?”

It sounds like some grand philosophical statement, with untold symbolism, metaphor and interpretive meaning, but, for a cyclist in training, it is one of the many factors to contend with. Let’s rewind about 30 minutes. I’m flying down the 1:20 from Sassafras, typically I’m traveling at about 50kph and this evening is a typical one. It is with a sudden, head-shaking flash that I hit one of the many nemesis for cyclists, the dreaded pocket of bugs and it is similar to what I would imagine an aircraft bird strike is like (only on a much, much smaller scale). Thwack, thwack, thwack, kaaaa-ping. It’s a fight scene from the original Batman TV series. I plough into the mass and tear the humming to shreds. The air is thick with the summer swarm at this particular section of the road, almost invisible until I’m into them. They’re over my arms and sticking to the hairs on my legs. Before I can close my mouth I’ve swallowed half a dozen. I’ve snorted a couple and, since I daren’t close my eyes, one bug has hit my eye with an inaudible ‘ping’. This happens almost instantaneously and I blink, I shake my head, I have to pull on the brakes, I wobble, one hand leaves the brake lever, I slow down. I rub my eye with the free hand. The seemingly huge black thing lodges deeper. The more I rub, the scratchier it becomes, but it is so hard to not rub. I ride, now at about 35kph, with one eye closed, as though it will magically sort itself out through this action. I open my eye. It’s still there, a mass sitting spitefully in the corner. I ride, eye opening, then closing, still slowing, until I reach The Basin. I pull over to the side, rub my eye – maybe if I rub harder…if I just mash the thing to a pulp it will just disappear. I open my eye and it is worse. I hang my head and concede defeat. I head home. I need some support. I know I will find Kaye at home who can help, who can solve the problems of the world and, amidst all my own evening insect failures, who can find a solution. She will be able to get the insect from the depths of my reddening eye.

I suppose, then, that this true little story, although overly embellished, is ultimately symbolic. It highlights the diversity of things that those people who supported this cycling venture, many who didn’t even realise the extent of impact they had, have done to support a relatively ‘hack’ rider, participating in a relatively minor event in the grand scheme of life, in simply training and reaching a goal. In this sense, the supporters were perhaps under-appreciated in terms of the ultimate achievement – that of conquering Peaks. Without that support, without others putting up with all manner of things (riders disappearing for hours and then needing to recover), without voices cheering (both audibly and in non-verbal ways; positivity through encouraging eyes and warm smiles), this thing wouldn’t be even conceivable, let alone achievable.

Jumping forward in time, I round WTF corner, preparing for the legendary and arguably the steepest part of the ride, it is 200kms into the ride, I’ve climbed about 3,700 metres at this point and see painted on the road out the back of Falls a personalised message: “Paul Reid – you’ve got this, son!” It was the ‘son’ added to  the end that gave it away. This was a message from Darren, who, before I thought Peaks was even a glimmer of a possibility in my mind, told me he reckoned I could do this simply because I was middle-aged and ‘bloody stubborn’. This was later followed up, after an epic hills ride with a simple comment: “Hat tipped, impressive. You’ve got this.”

This is the ‘supporter’ – someone who motivates through belief and just says, over and over, you can do this until you believe that you can. There have been amazing supporters who watch stats, applaud achievements, provide positive comments and even silently encourage on Strava with rapid fire and consistent kudos.

I’ve had some fabulous supporters who have challenged, borne the brunt, boosted, defended and encouraged. There were those who simply inquired as to how the training was going, genuinely interested in what my plans were. There were those who were prepared to miss time together in support of my schedule; many times I’d arrive home from work and Maidie would incredulously ask, “are you going riding again?”. There were those I knew well and those supporters I had never met, supporters whom I didn’t even know were following all my weekly efforts. I’d upload my ride on Strava and before I’d rechecked my stats, I’d have an encouraging message from Mitch, Jesse, Adam or the statistically-obsessed Lachy.

Strava seemed to suggest that people are generally virtuous in our world, a sense of the social media equivalent of the opening scene from Love Actually, a snapshot of a community of online positivity. Never did I see a negative comment posted in my feed. Rather, everything was supportive and motivating with genuine appreciation of achievements; there was authenticity in each kudos given and asserted in every comment. Pretty amazing support and a remarkable community to be involved in.

There were those supporters who waved good-bye in the morning and then saw me again in the evening. This training regime would not only impact family members, but friends were affected by this as well. Kaye and I would go away for a weekend, to spend time with others, and I would go for an all-day ride. Karen and Simon were champions – they would actually agree to go away with ‘us’ despite the ‘me’ in the ‘us’ then disappearing for ten or so hours. Granted they did get to spend some quality time with Kaye but I’d come back and then be exhausted for the rest of the time – with minimal ability to do anything else. No judgement, simply positive affirmation about another ride well done! This was typical of the supporters.

There were Gail and the lovely Lloyd who would always remember when I was planning a ride and ring or text to either wish me all the best or find out how I went. Each time they were amazed at the rides and, in the case of Lloyd, interested in the stats, with Gail always asking when my next blog about it was coming out (Gail’s one of my best blogging supporters!).

Of course, there were many others who offered that support; the familiar supporters, the ‘never-met-before-in-my-life’ supporters – the riders on the Peaks Challenge training ride, for example – and those who I haven’t named. There were avid supporters who even continued to follow me on the actual Peaks ride – like Daz and Gaz – and could see my progress and cheer me on, though I didn’t realise until afterwards that my stats and results had been streaming onto phones across the world for all to see! Thanks to you all.

I had a number one fearless supporter who enabled my efforts in so many ways. I was not doing this ride for any sense of personal-Everest-life-milestone achievement or for some sense of middle-aged-male ‘rite of passage’. Or even that I felt I was ticking a bucket-list goal and I certainly do not have a competitive personality. I was just doing it because I thought it would be good to try and to see if I could do it. And Kaye understood this; she motivated when needed, encouraged all the time and gave space to give it a go. Perhaps even more so, she enabled the whole sixteen weeks of training and was there at the end, hugging me while I shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering, taking my phone off me whilst I struggled to press ‘finish’ on the Strava app while the rain continued to fall. She organised training schedules, suggested rides, blocked out days for riding and graciously, to use a pun, ‘went along for the ride’. I think a factor, or perhaps ‘cost’, for Kaye was in the all-too-often ‘waiting around’.

Kaye waited in the mountains in the cold and rain, she was sitting in the river on 40 degree days waiting while I was riding up and down mountains, she’d be at home waiting until I’d arrived and showered and rehydrated so we could go somewhere, she waited at the beach whilst I did the four hour ride down there after work.

For a Peaks Challenger, little supporter things mattered – from getting bugs out of eyes to stopping Strava when the ride was over because I was unable to. These little moments were real, often tangible things, but were indicators of much, much greater things. They became the very motivating factors that meant the ride was ultimately possible. Every Peaks Challenge rider needs a Kaye, the best and most lovable supporter of all time. 

I think that for any venture that requires persistence, endurance and motivation, supporters are inestimably essential. Someone to get the insect out of your eye. Someone who is prepared to get the insect out of your eye. Supporters not only help with eyes, but also, in a deeper spiritual way, help ‘see’ or give us a sense of purpose, our reasons for continuing. This is a cycling narrative, but also a metaphor for life. Life is about relationship and support on all levels within those relationships. I began thinking that I was not someone who felt I was ‘doing’ this for anyone or for anything in particular, but by the end, I think I was completing the challenge because of the selfless investment in my aspirations by others, especially Kaye. Thanks everyone…kudos!