My knees and calves and ankles hurt terrible. I began to feel it this morning, and have been applying ice at regular pit stops. Before the final 16km leg, I asked medical staff for some meds, something I never do. I was given Tylenol for the pain and Advil to prevent inflammation.
Sure enough, the pain subsided, and I could make that final push, even reaching speeds of 35km at one point. I rolled to the finish line. I was one of the last ones, the crowds were more or less gone, or perhaps too tired of cheering. I heard my name called on the loudspeakers, a few sporadic applauses. I biked slowly, and came to a halt in the middle of a gravel field.
The end was not what I expected. Nobody greeted me, nobody hugged me or congratulated me personally. I was sweaty and perhaps smelly, and I just went to drop off my bike for transport back to Montreal and went to change my clothes before grabbing a quick bite.
The end was not what I expected. What did I expect? I looked away, at all these family and friends, colleagues and fellow bikers from various teams laughing, jumping up and down, posing in for group pictures. The end felt empty. The end was not as invigorating as the ride itself.
I did it. I "conquered cancer", to borrow the event's slogan. I rode 237+km from start to finish, ride every kilometer of it with my two tired feet and with the strength and determination of my now exhausted body. It was a personal achievement. I felt like giving up so many times during this ride. I felt I could not do it, and doubted my own abilities. When my leg starting acting up (the last time, it was after 140+km or so, last year when I attempted to bike around Taiwan... And failed) I seriously considered stoping and asking for a ride in one of those "sweeper" vehicles that went up and down the road sweeping for riders who have broken down (physically or had a problem with their bike).
But I persevered. I thought of all those times at the hospital... I remembered all the pain and suffering mum endured, all the discomfort dad swallowed and did not let us know... And around the world, even around me, are so many brave cancer warriors who fight for every breath, for every moment to continue fighting, to continue living. My physical pain is nothing compared to what cancer patients have to go through, nothing.
I pushed on. Bore the pain, gritted my teeth, an pushed on. Slowly, slowly, the sped toward the finish line. I passed a number of riders with a yellow flag. They are cancer survivors. I saw how the they pedaled on, how undeterred by the fatigue and distance they were. When they take off their helmets, you can see the effects of chemo. When you look at their thin frail frames and limbs, their pale skin, you realise again how ruthless cancer is. But they continued to bike. Continued to try. How could I not?
There was another man who had some kind of motor neuron disease. I noticed him yesterday, how he moved forward in a snake-like manner, how he wobbled on his bike and struggled to balance himself. He too was an inspiration, for he continued on and on. These people are true heroes, true heroines, who truly deserve the fanfare and police escort till the ends.
What kept me going was that empowering humming sound of my wheels against the road. What kept me going was looking at teddy bear that my mum gave me two years ago (I also had with me a teddy my ex insisted I take along, whose smile is tirelessly infectious and beautiful). I also carried a picture of mum and dad together, mum holding dad's arm posing at a professional photo shop. A beautiful portrait, one that urged me on and reminded me why I am biking. What kept me going in part was my promise to all those who sponsored me to finish this ride, and the "likes" of people whenever I shared a picture of my progress online. What kept me going was that sense of accomplishment waiting for me at the finish line.
I didn't really feel much at the end. Got off my bike and got my gear and soon was on board the shuttle. Should I be proud? Should I be of this little "achievement"? At the finish line, I admired those who were greeted with family members and friends, those who were cheered on by loved ones. I felt empty, so strangely empty. This was not the welcome surprise I expected, not at all the feeling I expected from doing this.
This ride was partly for me, and perhaps that in itself is a reward more valuable than a cheering party or "mission accomplished" banner. I needs to prove to myself I can do something I set out to do, that I can overcome physical and mental challenges, and that I can do it on my own. I needed a long and physical bike ride to see the world (and what beauty there is to behold in La Belle Province), to help dispel feelings of grief and loneliness, abandonment and distrust I have faced and struggled with over the past year. I am not sure what the immediate effect of this bike ride is, just as I am not sure how flying all the way home two weeks ago helped (or did not help) in the long and difficult and extremely personal process to overcome grief. But perhaps one day, every thing will come together. Perhaps one day, I will realise why I did what I did, and how it helped me heal, helped me be a "better", stronger me.
I am extremely grateful though... For all the people who sponsored and believed in me (especially my ex...)... For all those volunteers who have me food and drinks at the pit stops, who made my tent, who kept the event running flawlessly... For all those strangers who came out on the streets to cheer and encourage us, for all the cars who drove by us and honked in support or slowed down for us... And for my bike, who did not have an mechanical problem at all (except for a punctured tire, which was almost immediately sealed with liquid sealant, a true godsend!)... And I am grateful to my parents, who gave me life, who gave me this healthy body that allowed me to embark on a dream, to do something useful or and give back to society.
This bike ride was for them.
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