Is Muck’s Best Good Enough?

            Muck glanced at his watch. Sixty-three beats per minute?! It was 38 when I woke up this morning.

            Muck and about 30 others were on their treasured road or triathlon bikes on the wide shoulder of the county road, ready to begin a grass-roots club race. The Washoe Endurance Club organized events like this monthly from Spring through Fall. It would be a grueling 17-mile ride up the pass, so all uphill, and then four miles of running on the ridge. The run was a out-and-back course on a technical single-track trail.

            “I must be excited,” Muck mumbled to the athlete beside him.

            “Huh, what?”

            Muck realized the guy he chose to talk to had a nice bike but did not shave his legs. He must be a poser.

            “My heart rate is over 60. And I’m not doing anything yet.”

            “Oh, that’s normal…in anticipation of exercise…your breathing changes too.”

            Hmmmm. This guy seems to know what he is talking about. I wasn’t asking for an explanation, though. I had better beat him. “What was your name again,” asked Muck.

            “I never said. But it is Mike.”

            “I’m Muck.”

            “I know.”

            He knows. That’s good. “Good luck out there.”

            “Thanks.”

            What? No good luck back? I definitely better beat this Mike guy.

            Greg, the Washoe Endurance Club volunteer organizing the event, stood before the racers and explained that this was not a race, so be safe and have fun. The group chuckled.

“When two or more are gathered in His name…it’s a race!” yelled Muck. There were a few more laughs. Now, Muck’s palms were sweating.

“Ok, ready? Go!” yelled Greg.

Cleats were clipping into their pedals. Click! Click! Click! The athletes took off and spread out quickly. The first athletes were 50 yards ahead before the last athletes even started moving.

Everyone looked focused, but there are degrees of seriousness. Muck and his new friend, Mike, were among the leading athletes, and they looked to be the most intense.

Muck was in second place after the first turn.

Okay, I’m just getting warmed up.

Then he was in third, then fourth. They had not even reached the end of the first mile yet! He was not expecting this with such a small field. He wanted to stand on top of that podium to get a picture for his mom.

Calm down…relax…race your own race…” Muck could hear the words of his coach in his head.

Muck had a plan for the bike. Just stick to the plan. Cadence and power dropping, bring the cadence back up. Cadence and power too high? Well, that doesn’t usually happen. Cadence high and power low, increase the gearing. Cadence low and power high, drop into an easier gear. It was a simple plan to keep him working in an ideal range of power output and cadence, or how fast he turned the pedals. Going uphill, he was fighting gravity the whole time, so he figured this strategy would allow him to give his best performance.

Hopefully, my best is good enough.

Muck maintained his fourth position throughout the bike, keeping the other three riders mostly within sight. He hoped he could outrun them and win.

When Muck turned into the transition area, a small parking lot for a vista point, he saw three bikes, and the third place runner heading out on the run course. Muck came off his bike as it rolled in, and he changed to his running shoes while starting to run. He was fast, and had pro-style! He was ready to give it his all to catch the three ahead of him.

I might die trying, and I don’t care.

And he meant it.

Muck saw third place, not far ahead. He set into his rhythm, strong lean forward, fast cadence, driving knees forward, and heels high with every stride. Third place was his. When he was just a few strides from passing, he took a cleansing breath, dropped his shoulders, and tried to look like he was passing with ease. It was far from easy, but the last thing he wanted was to be challenged by an acceleration.

Ah, no response.

He kept his tempo up and looked for second place. Just then, first place was already heading back!

What the heck?! Who is that?

He realized winning was not going to be possible today. But he remained focused. Maybe getting second place was still possible.

Muck saw second place heading back toward him, but he also saw that the turnaround was not much further. He focused on his mantra: lean forward…fast feet…knees forward…heels high… He tried imagining picking his feet up before they hit the ground. He was going to have to redline it, but that was okay. Pain is temporary; glory is forever.

Approaching the finish Muck tried running down second place. It was Mike, the smart hairy leg guy with attitude. Muck gave a final kick, but just could not overtake him. Mike was responding with his own sprint finish. Muck crossed the finish third. His vision narrowed and he sat on the pavement before he collapsed.

My best wasn’t enough. Maybe next time I will be better.

Mike reached down, helping Muck to his feet. “Thanks, and congratulations,” Muck began to say as he bent over and projectile vomited onto Mike’s shoes.

“Wow,” said Mike. “That Pop-Tart does not look good.”