—as told to—
Like most, I rode bikes as a kid, but I started to take the sport seriously about 20 years ago.
It was 2005, and I had just moved to the Chicago area for work. One of my coworkers approached me in the outside designated smoking area. She said the company was forming a cycling team to raise money for multiple sclerosis (MS) and anyone who signed up that week would get a free team jersey and a pair of cycling shorts. We’d ride as a team in a two-day event and at the end of each day there would be free beer and entertainment. It sounded like a fun time to me! My 15-year-old, 10-speed Schwinn had more moving stickers on it than miles, but I was in.
After she left, a coworker smoking next to me said he would have asked a few more questions, like what the distance is each day. I was so excited about the beer and the band that such things didn’t even cross my mind. But I went to find her. She said I could ride either 35, 75, or 100 the first day, and 35 or 75 the second day. “Miles?” I asked. “Miles,” she confirmed. Although I said that wasn’t a problem, I also wasn’t doing much exercise at that time, so all these distances sounded long.
On the way home that day, I stopped at Walmart to get a bike rack for my car—I knew I had to start training right away. With three months to go, I had some work to do.