Let me start off by saying that I can not think of a single moment where I have not had fun on my inline skates. In fact, I had been testing the theory that blading was a constant stream of fun, interrupted only by spontaneous moments of sheer terror and pleasure. After the Athens-to-Atlanta race, I am positive that this is true.

My first encounter with terror occured when I discovered just what rolling hills were on my drive from Daytona, FL. I felt that one and a half weeks of "grueling?" training on the two biggest bridges in Daytona had not at all prepared me for the mountains of Georgia. I cringed at the thought of that rear brake I had shunned to the dark corner of a closet months ago. But alas, this fear was replaced by pleasure as I settled into Athens by zooming down hills for hours after the meeting on the night before the race.

Anticipation woke me long before my alarm clock rang. I knew many different experiences waited in the day ahead, such as 85 miles of new, skateable pavement, the chance of rain (you can skate in the rain?), and a crowd of 300 to skate it with (not to mention the 24 hour endorphin rush that followed). As I lined up with my fellow skaters on the dark, wet roads of Athens, I took great pleasure in assuming that it was possible to skate in the rain. This would add almost an hour a day to my available skating time in Florida.

The first hill really opened my eyes. By that time, we were a ways out of town and had thinned out a bit. I was going to show this hill who was in control. I dragged my foot a little at the top, rolled for a ways, and decided to slalom. There are limits on wet pavement; this I learned quickly. I pushed it to the edge of my balancing abilities and left it at that. Apparently, the options were a) drag a foot down the hill, or b) grit your teeth and aim right if anything gets in the way. Somehow, the combination of the both got me through the race.

I was so shocked at the fifty mile point that I had gone that far on wet pavement, that I dropped at the next intersection. Well, maybe that's not the whole truth. I guess I forgot I wasn't in my car when I tried to make that yellow light from fifty yards away. The change to red happened when I was about fifteen feet from the intersection, at which point I remembered a few laws of physics and decided to bail. Actually, I think I invented a new braking technique. I somehow went from a hockey-stop attempt to sliding backwards on my wristguards in a pushup position. Whatever I did, it worked.

At this point, I was offered a drafting position by a group of five-wheeled bladers. It was fun while it lasted. I could hang with them on the uphills, but they were too efficient on the downhills. I kept them in sight for a while, and then it got real lonely for an hour. I knew I wasn't lost, but I was starting to wonder if I was at the end of the line. There was one long gap between seeing any other skaters or their support vehicles. There, I began to feel the miles and the blisters. I knew I would make it. How couldn't I?. I'd eaten a half-dozen bananas, several granola bars, and was getting plenty of liquid from my free-flowing CamelBak. I guess I'd already forgotten what it was like to skate alone. Oh well, I got over it every time I hit a hill.

After a while (and some disturbed drivers on that expressway looping Atlanta), I finally caught up to another group of skaters. They were on four-wheeled blades and we stuck together through the remainder of the race. We tackled hill after hill after hill, until we finally reached the "fast" that was painted at the top of the big one on Silver Hill Road. I can only attribute it to the grease I'd packed in my bearings a few weeks before. For some reason, I didn't get speed wobbles and was able to acheive Vmax down the big one. Normally, my bearings would "overrev" and between the drag and the centrifual accelerations, my feet would be all over the place.

Then we went mountain climbing. A lady in Athens had asked me if we would venture across Stone Mountain, "the only `mountain' in Georgia". Well, I had the answer. It was here that the first wind gave way. I huffed and puffed and struggled to keep up. I even had a few doubts here and there, but somehow, all of the burden was washed away by the driving downfall that caught us in Atlanta. I was totally refreshed. I wasn't even concered with a few downhills in an inch of running water. But I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if one of those stoplights at the bottom of a hill turned yellow. Yes, a question asked, a question answered. The fellow four-wheelers in front of me had rear brakes; the five-wheelers behind me had rear-brakes and more wheels. I had the hockey-stop, push-up position suprise. I bailed before I ran over the folks in front of me. Besides, I had to show off my new trick. It worked again (yeah, I planned that).

Five or ten miles after the 80 mile marker, we rolled into Piedmont Park. What a rush! The seven and a half hour journey had pushed me to work myself comfortable (similar to drinking yourself sober?). Then I tried to remove something that had become a part of me, my skates. They took with them the skin from my arches. Who could feel pain with all of the adrenalin, fructose, sucrose, and endorphins coarsing through their veins.

I must say congrats to all of those who met their goals and thanks to all who organized and volunteered. Hip-hip hooray's to all. I would have never guessed that such an event could be so well organized. As for the blisters, don't let them get you down. I taped aloe vera gel and paper towels all over my feet so I could hit the skate park three days this weekend. As for the race, can we do this quarterly?

See ya next time,

Justin

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