Grit (Part 2 in "Musings by a MTB'er")

It was a late summers weekend. In the cool sandstone mountains, heavy rain had fallen overnight and although it was a cloudless morning, it was wet and cold and about to test every a fibre in my being. Many years of training, playing, fooling around and skills training in the mountains had prepared me for this – little was I to know how much I would have to rely on all of those individual experiences to simply finish the race. 

The gun cracked and we were off to a blistering start, out of town and straight up into the mountains, slowly gaining altitude as the terrain got rougher and steeper. My focus that morning was to stay with the leading group and I opted against stopping at one or two of the hydration stations, to my peril. Taking place in relatively high mountains, large parts of the race was at altitudes above 2000m above sea level; the reduced oxygen busting the lungs, takings its toll on the muscles and inhibiting the body’s micro recovery sessions during short bursts of rest in the long race. Not only was the terrain hard, but we were also still racing with hardtail mountain bikes at the time – in this case on highly unforgiving terrain: loose stones, grass tufts, ruts, loose gravel, river crossings, sandstone rock plates and eventually sloppy mud. In short, a great recipe for a hard race.

To add to this – I was in my element, I had grown up a stone’s through away and knew these mountains and conditions like the back of my hand. Most of the skills I had at the time, were honed in those mountains as a kid. I was overly confident and as a result under-prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. Knowing the terrain led me to a position where I was so confident that I ended up being ill-prepared mentally, without realising that one of my greatest ever (endurance) tests lay ahead of me.

Heading into the end of the first hour of racing, I was losing the wheel to the front runners and got fixated on regaining the ground I’d lost. I was so focussed on breaching the gap to lead group that I rolled straight through the first hydration point - neglecting to refuel. By the time I approached the second hydration point at about the halfway mark, I was heading into serious trouble. I’d lost further ground on the leading group and was desperately fighting the terrain; the very same terrain with which I should have been one with. There was nothing synchronised about my riding anymore, my silky-smooth skills becoming erratic and ill-balanced. That failure to stop refuel at the first stop, combined with the cooler temperatures, which led me to drinking less, had spiralled me into endurance exercise hypoglycemia. In short, low blood sugar levels making any athlete feeling powerless, dizzy, unable to concentrate and like a ton of bricks, to put it politely.

My head was hung between my shoulder blades, my back strained and hunching over my bike, my heels no longer above the pedals, but hanging like threads – all this while heading up a brutally long and steep climb to crest a mountain. How long that climb was I can’t remember, but it sure felt like a circumnavigation of the country. At the top, I stopped at the hydration station and realised that my day was about to get very, very long – I didn’t know the half of it. 

Replenishing those depleted glucose stores while racing is possible, but in my experience likely not with half of the race remaining – that day proved it without any shadow of doubt. I was battling to get back any semblance of power, I felt horrible and the terrain was absolutely relentless and getting muddier by the minute. 

The latter third of the race traversed an area that was arguably the hardest in itself, but which had also copped the worst of the rain. In those high sandstone mountains, the mud isn’t particularly smooth, it’s a really thin, sloppy sandy mix that acts as the worst possible grinding paste for any machine daring to take it on. The mud had gotten into every single crevasse, not only on my bike, but into my eyes, ears, nose, mouth and everything beyond. 

With short steep climbs in excess of 25%, sketchy short and very steep downhills on wet, moss-covered sandstone, it was just about impossible to eat or drink. With every passing minute I became more and more desperate, I wanted to give up.

My head hung. 

My arms spent.

My legs powerless.

My back hunched.

My will to continue dangling by a thread. 

I had no energy left, moving from one energy gel to the next, my gut wrenching with revolt from the thick sugary mess in it. 

My brake pads destroyed, my chain grinding itself and the gears, my wheel bearings grinding in a thick paste of grease and sand, my gear cables battling to respond to every input. My bike and body matching each other for trouble.

I was in dire straits. 

Fighting with my own body. Fighting the terrain. Fighting with a mangled machine.

My courage and resolve tested to its limit. I was losing against myself and the challenge in front of me. I was in endurance sport war. My body at war with itself. 

I felt like giving up. 

I looked up at the mountains. 

I felt like giving up. 

Again, I looked up at the mountains. 

Repeatedly.

Glowing red and golden sandstone cliffs looking at me; immovable, resolute in defence, but with beauty. Glorious beauty. 

A new thread to hang on to. The beauty of the beast. A glimmer of hope. A mental turning point. That glimmer of hope making me realise I if I dug hard enough for it, I had many past experiences to rely on to get through the challenge in front of me. I had golden nuggets waiting to be dug out. I had to make a decision to overcome adversity.

I got my spade and I chose to dig.

My bike half-broken, my body at its limit. My mind making a turn – heading to victory. Hanging on. Gritting my teeth. Determined not to fail. Facing the adversity and showing resilience. 

I refused to give up. Battling the mud, the hills, the sketchy downhills and everything in between, I refused to be knocked down. Mind overcoming body. Simple really. Really complex. But simple. It started with a choice.

I finished the race that day. A poor result by my standards. The result irrelevant in the bigger scheme of things. I was victorious that day. I had gone to endurance sport war and even though I’d made mistakes in setting up my race, I had won the battle for grit, determination, overcoming adversity and showing resilience in the face of the challenges. 

I was stronger for it and gained valuable experience to carry into the challenges we face in business.

We may face many challenges, each unique and their impacts different for the different people involved in them – how we deal with those challenges sets us apart from those around us.

We can lean on others for strength, stand strong ourselves or look for alternative solutions – the point here is that doing nothing is never an option. We have choices to make. I choose to seek wisdom from the Lord and make conscious decisions to seek those “beautiful and glowing sandstone cliff faces” in the challenging situations. To look for the beauty in the beast. Choosing to show grit, choosing to overcome adversity and choosing to show resilience in facing the challenges. Does this guarantee victory? No. Was I victorious that cold summers day a decade ago? No. But I got through it. And I got through it a stronger person. I showed grit.