Author: Sarah Rasmussen
Each week in MGA's staff meetings, we share "lessons learned" from the prior week. At the end of last month, I shared mine: If you have someone who believes in you, and you put your mind to it, you can accomplish more than you think you can. On June 20th, I rode 100 miles on my bike as part of the Denver Century Ride. Previously, the furthest I had ridden at one time was 40 miles.
Part of me didn't want to know what I had signed up for, so I didn't look closely at the route map. I didn't realize we were going to ride up Lookout Mountain. Or that there are hills galore just south of Morrison. And we'd hit the ones along C-470, and then go through Highlands Ranch to Castle Pines (where, you guessed it, there are more hills).
Our former real estate agents John and Carl told us about the ride (hosted by Coldwell Banker) and it sounded like a fun challenge. I had my doubts, but people I trust said I could do it. I warily agreed.
I signed up with my partner of six-plus years, Paul, and a good friend, Brian. Paul thinks things like this really are fun (granted, he also climbed a 14-er the day before and didn't think anything of it. That's just Paul).
Brian (left), me and Paul (right) at 6 a.m. before heading out from Invesco Field.
We left Invesco Field at 6:20 Sunday morning, headed west to Lookout Mountain. This was my first mountain climb, and I eagerly latched onto a mantra to keep me sane: Slow and steady wins the race.
I was thrilled when I reached the top, especially after passing five or six people on the way (yes, I counted). We encountered more hills before flying down at speeds of around 40 mph into the town of Morrison. From there, we went south through some of the most scenic places I've ever seen around Denver (including South Valley Park).
Paul and I at the top of Lookout Mountain. Whoo-hoo!
The ride then went downhill, but unfortunately not in the literal sense. It was less scenic, hotter, and more uncomfortable. (In the desert that is Highlands Ranch, my bike computer read 106 degrees.) I kept asking myself, am I going to let this hill defeat me? Am I going to quit now, after all of this? The answer was no - I was going to finish.
Countless hours later, Paul and I were back at Invesco Field. We were splattered in rain and mud. We'd lost Brian at mile 57, where he bonked and headed home after putting in a more-than-valiant effort. We'd hit six aid stations, at which we fueled up and rested. We were some of the last riders to the finish line. Throughout the ride, Paul and Brian offered words of encouragement, which were as invaluable to me as the aid stations.
Slow and steady wins the race. In this case, I won by finishing. It took 100 miles for me to again realize that every now and then, it takes supportive friends and family to help me see that I can do what I previously thought wasn't possible.
