Ready or not

Some handle poisonous snakes.


Others walk on fire.


For the rest of us, there's ORAMM.


And it's Sunday. Like seeing how long you can hold your hand over a burner, ORAMM is a test of how much pain you can handle. For the very few who will fly up the mountains and careen down them, there will be many more who will enter the hurt locker for the better part of a day. 


Despite this fate, ORAMM sold out a long time ago with 500 riders from 27 states entered. That's a lot of rubber in the mountains. When push comes to shove, though, many will be reduced to using their bikes as walkers.    


I've been counting down the weeks until this event. I dream it won't be that painful, but as Greg Lemond once said, "It never gets easier: you just go faster.''


At my desk at work, I have a copy of the course profile displayed. I catch myself studying it, replaying moments from my first race two years ago and imagining it going much better this year. I always focus on the ascent on Curtis Creek. I consider myself a climber; I only weight 132 pounds, so going up is where I feel most comfortable. I've never met a climb I didn't like. Until Curtis Creek.


As I've detailed before, for all intents and purposes, I was beaten physically and mentally by this climb. What little self-esteem remaining was stripped on Kitsuma II. My whole focus this year is being better prepared for those two areas. I could lie and say, ''I know I'm ready. Time to kick ass.'' I mean, my markers for power, local course times, RPE and quality of rides indicate I'm in the best shape of my life. I know better. When I get to the halfway point on Curtis Creek, I'll know where I stand. Or fall. And then there's no turning back. I hope.


Despite some struggles in the 2010 race, I benefited from a lot of luck: I had a bad wreck early on and didn't suffer as much as a scratch on me or my bike; I finished about 20 minutes before a bad storm rumbled through; and somebody gave me water on Curtis Creek when I absolutely needed it and seriously thought about quitting before reaching that rest stop. 


Can't plan for luck. If it's bad, you're screwed, no matter how fit you are. In the end, I like to think of this as just one giant group ride among friends. No pressure. A lot of fun.


Yeah, right. The competitor in me, a demon I can't control, will rear its ugly head about 24 hours prior. "I need to break 7 hours this year or I'll be disappointed. I can't go out too fast, but if I feel great ...''


Ready or not, off I go into the wilds of western North Carolina, glad I'm not at my desk imaging what ORAMM will feel like.