Something unusual happened the other week. I was on the final climb of a virtual race, and things were getting a bit grippy, when suddenly it occurred to me that if I wasn’t enjoying it, I could just stop. So I did.
Multiple national champion on the bike and award-winning author Michael Hutchinson writes for CW every week
This is not something I think I’ve done before, at least not under quite those circumstances. I was riding all right – sitting in the front group and ready to lose the sprint and finish about sixth– but I wasn’t really enjoying it.
Normally, in those circumstances, I just carry on not enjoying it until things come good again or the finish arrives. I found this “quitting” development concerning.
When I put it to my friend Bernard, he said, “Everyone will assume your connection dropped out. No one will ever know.”
“But I’ll know,” I said.
“You have personal standards?” he replied. “Interesting.”
I don’t like the idea of being someone who gives up when it gets hard. I fail fairly regularly – sliding out the back of a group when the pace picks up on a climb, or biting off a bit more than my legs can chew when designing an interval session. That failure feels acceptable. I gave my all, but it wasn’t enough. Absolutely everyone gets beaten occasionally.
What worries me, though, is that while in those cases you’re close to your limit, stopping still isn’t quite involuntary. You might be “giving it everything”, but the crucial moment always feels like a conscious decision – your legs don’t stop without you. The last wheel in the group is a length ahead… two lengths… three… that’s it, I’m done.
When it happens, I don’t stop riding, but I change my plan to just going hard enough that if the group sits up maybe I can catch them. It’s the same if I give up an interval effort at 55 seconds rather than a minute, and promise myself that next time I’ll manage it, knowing that actually next time I’ll almost certainly let go at 50 seconds instead.
In these cases, there is always the feeling that if I’d been just a bit more committed I’d have made it. I am always certain that physically I have more in me and the only thing stopping me using it is me. Look at it this way; it’s possible to die of exhaustion, but I’ve never actually done so. Clearly, I’m giving up before I absolutely have to.
And if failure is always at least a bit voluntary, that means that quitting is a matter of degree. So, to get back to where I started, does quitting just because I’m not having fun mean next time I’ll quit because I realise the fun is about to stop? And next time, before even that? This was why I’d mentioned it to Bernard – I needed a specialist in the area.
“Do not worry about it,” said Bernard. “Quitting is good for you. You only have so much grit and determination in you – there’s a finite supply. If you waste it trying to win stupid little races on Zwift, or doing pointless interval sessions in February, you won’t have it when you need it. I am never afraid to quit, because I can hold the big picture in my head.”
“And the big picture would be?” Bernard just smiled.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to build up a huge stock of grit and determination, so that one day, when I’ve frittered mine away on Zwift and February intervals, he can rain it down upon me.
If it works, he’s probably going to kill himself. I can’t say I’m not curious to see it, even if I’m behind him and waiting for him to sit up when it happens.
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