Notes from the pain cave

You may know that in bicycling (and probably other sports), there is a concept known as the "pain cave", which is the place you go when you are really pushing yourself to, or even beyond, your previously achieved or known limits. The object of going through your pain cave is to see how far you can push yourself to the limits, but still manage to come out of the pain cave alive.

I am training myself for the cycling season, getting motivated to enter the pain cave, which will culminate in an attempt at my first ever 100-mile bike ride, which I hope to do in May of this year. I think I can do it, but won't know until I have done a few training rides on my new road bike, which I hope to buy some time next month.

In 2005, riding even 10 miles on a bike, let alone 100, would have seemed utterly insurmountable, physically and mentally. In 2006, I began cycling again, but the 100-mile ride was not something that entered my head until the last ride of the season, when I strongly finished 40 miles on my mountain bike. When talking to people at bike shops and at the gym about this accomplishment, they usually express surprise that I rode so far on a mountain bike, then tell me that if I am able to do 40 miles on a mt. bike, I should be able to do 60 miles on a road bike with no problems. Cool!

Life itself has many pain caves that we go through. We experience physical pain, searing heartbreak at the hands of loved ones, disappointments, sadness, and mourning. Sometimes several of these things happen all at once, which can really test your perseverance. I have had many of these experiences in the past few months -- the death of a very dear family friend in November, the death of a too-young (35 years old) co-worker due to cancer in January, personal issues, and the most recent trip to the pain cave was courtesy of the two guys who mugged me. The trick is to bear down and work through the pain cave, trusting in God to get you through it.

You will find me in the gym several times a week during these cold winter months, hammering away on the arc trainer machine, or sometimes the elliptical or maybe even jogging the treadmill (another goal this year to is complete my first-ever 5-K run). I'm usually staring straight ahead, into a wall or looking at a window. I'm envisioning myself pushing through the pain cave at mile 75, working my way through the darkness and pain, and into the light, with God's help.