This morning, this memory from about six years ago today popped up into my world. This was the day that I biked to the top of Mortirolo, a very famous mountain in Italy. This mountain belongs to the professional cycling race known as the Giro d’Italia. Mortirolo is one of the the most talked about mountains in the road cycling world. Some of the pro cyclists themselves have claimed it to be the most challenging climb they have done. Yet, little ‘ole me somehow made it up there, one pedal stroke at at time, pigtails in tow. It’s true.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that I did make it to that summit. The picture of me was taken right at the point where I doubted that I could do it, and wondered what I was doing there. My husband, who has played the role of my coach numerous times over the years, convinced me that I was choosing to talk myself out of it. He was right. He told me to do one switchback at a time. He told me not to stop during a steep incline as it would be really hard, if not impossible, to get going again. He told me to take a break at the flatter part of each turn. He told me breathe, and to regroup during each break.
Putting the pieces of advice he gave me into action, I made my way up some of the steepest sections of road that I have ever encountered.