I awoke Saturday morning at 5 AM to gather my things in preparation for my ride to Bracey, VA, just miles from the North Carolina border.
I think that all of the constant activity, cold weather and rain had finally caught up to me, because I woke up sick. I'm fairly certain I had a fever, and every muscle in my body was sore.
This was the ride I was so fixated on, so nervous about. "90 miles," I'd say to myself in shock and fear. "In the rain. And I'm sick. How will I ever make it?"
It's not necessarily that I doubted my own ability. In fact, that's the very thing: I couldn't really describe why I was nervous, but I was.
I left before the sunrise, for I was expected to meet my host family Dan and Pat at Love's gas station 90 miles away by 3:30 PM, to allot them enough time to get to church afterwards.
90 miles, a thing that was not only new to me, but foreign to me. And there was a time limit. And a cold, windy rain. And I was sick.
To readers: I'm not setting up this story for sympathy points. Rather, I'm giving you an idea of how my mind works sometimes when I tunnel-vision on circumstance and stray from present moment awareness.
I think if you project onto something that "this is going to be hard," well, how could it not?
I stopped 30 miles in to get breakfast at a cafe in Petersburg, VA. I met a nice human there (Kent) who, curious what I was doing, came up to me to introduce himself and ask just that. We chatted for a few moments before I had to head back out on the road. 3:30 time limit. "I will make it on time," I told myself. "And if I don't, then I don't, and that's okay."
My interaction with Kent was a pleasure and had a lasting effect on my day. I biked 90 miles down Route 1 South towards Bracey, and I only planned to stop for water and bathroom. "3:30. 3:30." My mantra.
I think, truthfully the things we fear the most are not what we're not capable of, but rather what we are capable of. 90 miles. My body is gliding 90 miles down the country. On a bicycle. How could I possibly be more lucky?
With this invigorating sense of gratitude and my "3:30 mantra" as my companion, I knew that I in fact could do it, because I was doing it.
I kept a steady pace, stopping every now and again for water refills, and I made it to Love's gas station promptly at... 3:21 PM! Before the "deadline"
When I got to Dan and Pat's home on beautiful Lake Gaston in Bracey, I listened to some Van Morrison, ate dinner, and passed out immediately with the lights still on and all of my clothes on, 90 miles now under my belt.
I think we are probably capable of doing anything but are afraid to find out.