More than seven hours into my day at the Hampshire 100 something my friend Brad had said to me echoed in my head as I ground my way
through a long steep climb. I was ten
minutes past my twenty minute deadline for downing another Gu but the thought
of one more oozy ounce of the sickly sweet gel made me want to get off the bike
and barf. Despite extra gulps of Gatorade,
I could feel my legs starting to seize.
The last thing in the world I wanted to do was eat something. And then the meaning of Brad’s seemingly
absurd advice became clear:
“It’s really just an eating contest.”
