How Much More Macho Is There?
This Saturday, I'm doing something hard.
I'm gonna ride up a mountain, over and over, in the mud and sometimes the dark, over stumps and roots and rocks and logs, through trees and across streams, with bear warnings clearly posted at the entrance to the area where the race is taking place. I'm going to sweat, and swear, and grind, and groan, and chug uphill until my calves and quads scream. I'll likely wipe out, over and over, bruising and scraping and possibly cutting up legs and arms. It's a world-class, 24-hour-long event with over 10,000 competitors (87% of which are testosterone-charged young men).
There are five of us on our team, taking turns riding, getting almost enough sleep, pushing through fatigue to do our best, and the one thing that is inspiring us to give it our all - our reason for this sacrifice is summed up in our team moniker.