Day fifty-nine whine

"Any man who fails in the attempt to improve himself, has earned a major victory."

Fresh with the bittersweet taste of a hard, yet diminished effort, I examine the results once more.

Fact: For over a year now I have watched helplessly as a yet to be diagnosed malady has reduced my fitness and power levels like a budget cutting bureaucrat. We have detected an irregular heart rate, atrial fibrillation, and Bradycardia, an abnormally low heart rate. What we haven't diagnosed, though not from lack of testing, is what other organ, chemical, hormone, nerve or 'itis" is causing these horrible and relentless angina-like symptoms. The worst of them being chest pain, stabbing GI pangs, constant dizziness and inability to sleep. No wonder stress levels are high and blood pressure rising.

Through all of this, punctuated by five visits to the ER when critical mass closes in, I have been able to hang onto indoor cycling as the sole balancing activity. Even with greatly reduced maximal power I can still, barely, eek out an hour. It is the only time I actuality feel OK, most likely as a result of increased HR during the joyous activity. There have been times when I have felt devastated after a session, but always glad for the effort.

Which takes us full cycle. Last night, I used myself as lab rat once again and executed our standard 20 minute FTP (functional threshold power) test. It is on a flat course with the sole objective to generate as many watts as possible. Some folks avoid this test like Superman avoids kryptonite. I was nervous. Not so much from fear of failure, but fear of inflicting additional damage to an already compromised system. The system of me. But I needed to know. I'll do the test and give me the results please.

I was testing with Gretch, a very skilled and talented athlete, one of our strongest ladies. Chris, the evening before had posted a house record, otherworldly 371. I was inspired by his effort and ready to dial it up and see just how far I had sunk into the dark hole of power mediocrity.

And off we went. It hurt from the get go. I could see from my real-time power display what my lungs and legs we telling with vigor and volume: YOU CAN STOP THIS HURT ANYTIME, JUST QUIT.

There are a million and one excuses. I could have claimed that my irregular heart rate was not transporting sufficient oxygenated blood to gluteus, quads, hammys and calves. I could have stopped peddling, grabbed my water bottle and left the room. No one would have thought the less of me.

Except me.

So I took a sideways glance at Gretchen who was fighting her own private war, on the same course, the same duration, the same battlefield on the same mission, and decided to carry on in the best, most efficient, strongest manner I could for the remainder of the test, now less than ten minutes from completion. OMG. I need a strategy and fast. OK.

One complete minute at a time. Gimme 60 solid seconds. Focus on now. Try to control the laboring of breaths. Make the circles round, relax. And above all enjoy the ride. ENJOY?Commit to this, this now. RIGHT FUCKING HERE. This opportunity may never have as much impact and value as does this next tenth of a mile, this next heart beat (whatever the distance between) and the creation of a glorious 250 watts of power, brought to life by MY EFFORT. Yes, yes, there is joy here. It is called focused effort. It is as pure as it is real. It is cathartic, transformative. I will die before I will quit.

With five minutes remaining I am shot. I can hold on but I have already done the math. I know I can hold 240. Now I am dealing with the take-away. Two years ago I was at 267, meaning I have lost 26 average watts. I gave 10% to a worthy charity somewhere. Lost it, gone.

And I was sad. For about ten seconds.

Finishing, catching breath, calming the system, analyzing damage reports, congratulating Gretchen, dealing with the enormous after-glow of maximal effort, it came into view:

That isn't loss or failure unless I label it as such. My power may be down but I am not out. I survived the demanding test and posted a number that reflects my current ability to maintain a power average. That average is an important indicator of many things, some of which, amazingly have nothing to to with fitness.

And everything to do with happiness, confidence and purpose.

Yes, my power is down. Here, now, I get to start climbing the road back. I have a target, a goal that will motivate, inspire and keep me moving in the altruistic direction upon which my soul insists. I have purpose, a primary objective. A bull's-eye on a hilltop ten miles away.

So I say again, "Any man who fails in the attempt to improve himself has earned a major victory."

To failure then. See you on the road. Cheers!