Thunder on the Horizon

Today I raced thunderstorms. And learned a bit about myself in the process.

Sweet.

There were a few spotted ones to the North, and a massive one to my South. Directly East from the Blackwater trailhead were clear blue skies: so that’s exactly where I headed (with a wary eye towards my South and North).

My ride was a grand total of 3:15 followed by a 35 minute transition run. Yea! I GET to run, I GET to ride! And I couldn’t have been happier.

Not even when I heard the high temperature was supposed to range in the mid-90s. (My Northern counterparts are having it much worse, it seems).

Not even when Jen emailed me that I should “start early as to avoid the heat…” (I’ve had more than my share of afternoon trainer rides, as my heat acclimation isn’t all that great. Anything more than 3 hours on the trainer, and its New DVD time. I swear, our collection is out of hand).

Not even when I checked the weather at 5:15 am (yes, 0515 – o’dark thirty! Or whatever it is) and saw dotted thunderstorms splotched across the Panhandle. (They’re localized! And I’ve already had my bad lightning experience! So as long as I play it safe, I should be okay…)

And believe me, nothing, absolutely nothing says “good morning” when you’re sucking down your second gel of the day at 7:30 am (yes, 0730 – o’not-so-dark-anymore-but-still-way-too-early-for-two-gels thirty!).

But I rode on, oblivious to the heat, chomping on my ride nutrition, and keeping a wary eye directed to my South.

And as I rode, I noticed a very subtle transformation. At first it was hard to get going; it was early and I could feel the accumulation of fatigue. The 5 (yes, count ‘em, f-i-v-e bottles of water and carbopro combined) weighed heavily on me and my bike, and I could hear the sloshing every time I stopped and then started up again.

And again, and again, and again.

But after the first half an hour or so, just as I was turning off Munson Highway onto Indian Ford Road, and right as I was beginning to start my bike pieces, I felt a shift to my old pre-crash self. No longer was I concerned about the storms, the heat, the 5 bottles (I didn’t want to stop once I started…) or the unpalatable gels. I wanted to hit my zones, wanted to nail my pieces. I felt my body respond and the bike hummm along under me, the whirrr of the wheels and my own breathing making the sounds of an athletic symphony.

At 2:00 and somewhere in the middle of the Blackwater Forest, I made the turn and planned on looping back to Munson highway and the trailhead. And that’s exactly when I came face-to-face with the ginormous Southern Thunderhead.

In amazement and over the course of 10 minutes, I watched as the uppermost parts of the puffy clouds billowed up well past 30,000 feet and hit the strong wind shears. And that’s when I saw the tell tale anvil formation. The wind sheared the top part of the clouds and formed a long trail: a sure sign of forming thunder storms below.

But I also realized that because the storm was still 20-30 miles away (by my guess-timation), that it would take a bit of time to actually reach me. Perhaps an hour or more: perfect for finishing my ride, but not enough time to get in my run.

But if I was really lucky, I could still run…

Or would it be better to drive 25 minutes home and run on the treadmill??

Or instead should I drive to Whiting Field NAS, about 9 miles to my NE and run on their treadmills???

But what if it was okay to run, but it was a zillion degrees outside? Then the thunder wouldn’t matter one single bit. If I melted on the pavement, I wouldn’t be able to run anyway. So perhaps an indoor treadmill set-up was the way to go…

Whiting or home???

How much time did I have?

Was the storm heading my way? Yikes!

And that’s when it hit me: why was I worrying about something I had absolutely no control over? It was affecting my performance, my ride, my mental state – and it wasn’t a given that the storm would even blow my way. Certainly there was a chance. But there was also a chance that everything would be okay.

The conclusion that I came to, was that there were things within my control, and things out of my control. Obviously, I couldn’t control things out of, well – my control. Like the storm. Or the heat.

But, as it was sunny, hot, and my 3/5 empty bottles were no longer weighing my down; I could still enjoy the rest of my ride. And to make matters better, I could hear birds chirping away as I whizzed by. And if it was about to thunder, I can’t imagine the birds would be singing so…

Steadily, I rode past fields, small farm houses within the forest, down valleys to offshoots of the Blackwater Creek, and then finally I crested one of the ridges above the Blackwater Forest. From that point, I could clearly see the storm and all her fury. I could see distant lightning flashing against the backdrop of purple, pink, and dark blue clouds. And though I could hear no thunder, could see no rain, I knew the storm could turn quickly and head my way.

So I took a mental snapshot of the busy horizon and made my way back to Munson highway and eventually to the Blackwater Trailhead. All along controlling the things I could control (holy too-many-gels-early-in-the-morning Batman!) and relinquishing control of the things I couldn’t.

And the moment I came to this conclusion, I had the best ride that I’ve had since my crash. And that was something that I could control.