Metacognitive Strategies

So part of my job for the last 15+ years has involved designing of learning experiences.  One set of strategies I often think about are metacognitive strategies, which are basically mental tools for thinking about your own thinking.  It's sort of a hyper-heady and kind of annoying concept, but also is pretty powerful set of tools when you're learning.  Most people use them all the time without realizing them, like when you're reading, you check for your own understanding or paraphrase in your mind.  But sometimes you need to consciously be aware of the way you think in order to improve or learn.

These past few weeks I've finally tuned into the way I think when I'm cycling.   I described it to a teammate of "being aware of my downward spiral of misery."  It's a phase that I always get to on these long rides.  But what sort of clicked recently was just being aware that it's happening, letting it happen, knowing I will be miserable for a while, and realizing I will re-surface on the other side at some point with some insights on my self and my riding.  The more I am aware it's happening the more likely I can control the duration of the spiral.  It doesn't necessarily make the cycling easier, but it makes the emotional barriers I've been dealing with a little easier to push through.

Rolling up Pescadero Creek in the rain.

So this past ride,  the downward spiral was long, slow, and hard. . .   We rode 73 miles and 6800 feet of climbing.   It started off with a few sprinkles and a good ride up Old La Honda, one of my standard favorite climbs.  The rain picked up as we did a very cold long 17 mile decent down to the coast.  We stopped for a snack break and I got a cup of tea which warmed me up a bit. My hands were very cold and I was pretty soaked, but so far, I was hanging in there mentally.

Next up was 2 serious climbs.  This included a good, hard 7.5 mile climb up Alpine Road from the coast.  Chris and I had driven that stretch a few weeks ago and I knew what was in store -- some grueling climbing.  The funny thing was, though, on that day,  I didn't even notice the climbing because I was distracted by the complete and utter misery of the weather.   All I remember is being really wet and cold, and thankful that I was climbing because it kept me warm.

And then we had a 7 mile descent, which was the most miserable and terrifying ride down a hill I've had.  It was about 45 degrees outside, raining. Then as you descend you pick up speed which makes it so much colder and the rain starts to pelt your face like little frozen stings at 20 mph.  My fingers were numb to the point where I had to stop several times just to shake them out because I couldn't shift or tell if I was breaking.   My face and lips were numb to the point I couldn't talk coherently.  I might have been crying but who could tell with all the rain.  This was an unsupported ride, so there was no one to call to come pick me up if I wanted to bail -- and I really really did.  There was no choice but to press onward.  There were no cars or other cyclists (shocker!) out there, so there were times I was completely alone out there.    In my downward spiral of misery, I had images of myself crashing and falling into a ravine and dying of hypothermia. 

Gritty backs on all of us.

We survived the descent and stopped at a public park that had an open shed type room and bathrooms with warm water.  I soaked my hands for several minutes to get feeling back in them.  I was shivering to my core and could not keep my hands still.  I wished I had a wetsuit on so that I could pee in it to warm me up.  We all huddled in the shed, gave each other long bear hugs to warm each other up, and then pushed on for the final 10 miles.

As we got to the last stretch on Cañada road, I felt a sense of relief.  I finally felt like I wasn't in peril of dying. I know this is overly dramatic, and while I admit I have a tendency towards hyperbole in my storytelling, this is really how I felt yesterday.

I don't think I did a very good job with my mental management, but I was able to, at a few brief moments, to step out of the miserable experience and realize I was improving my cycling and my emotional fortitude for the 7 hours we were out there.   And to remember that I was doing all of this for a good cause.   The moments of clarify were brief, and quickly pushed out by bouts of cursing.  But they were there. . . and that's something.