Panned Mass Challenge
For the first time since 2000, I’m sitting at home rather than riding in the Pan-Mass Challenge.
It’s not any big surprise; I started planning my retirement from the nation’s largest charity ride three or four years ago. Of course, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel strange hanging out at home, rather than the usual: spending the weekend in the saddle with five thousand others who are rabid about raising money to combat cancer.
That might not sound like a normal August weekend to you, but it became normal to me over fourteen years as a PMC rider and “Heavy Hitter” fundraiser. So although skipping one bike ride shouldn’t seem like much of a change, in some ways it’s a complete departure from how I’ve spent every summer since the turn of this century.
The most obvious change is having free time that wasn’t sucked up by training and fundraising. It’s been nice not having to raise five or ten or fifteen thousand dollars this year. And although I still trained hard on the bike this year, my major events were all done before the end of June, giving me back six weeks that would otherwise be spent building up for the ride. This July I rode 136 miles; last July’s total was 456.
One thing I’ll miss about the PMC was that it gave me a structure for my vacation time: I always took a couple days off both before and after the event to relax. Not only will I miss the ride, but I’ll also miss the cape beaches, window shopping in Provincetown, and sightseeing around Cape Cod.
Of course, what I miss most is the sense of purpose that the PMC provided. There aren’t many things as rewarding as raising over a hundred thousand dollars to fight cancer, and being part of an organization that has raised a half billion dollars for that lifesaving mission. I won’t lie: I’ll miss that a lot. But I’m still happy with my decision, and this year I still participated by contributing money to the rides of two former Sapient co-workers.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m over it completely. Friday night I had to tune in to the opening ceremonies, which were live-streamed from Sturbridge. As always, the stories and my memories of the ride had me close to tears. Amusingly, one of the inspirational videos included a shot of me during last year’s ride, clapping in appreciation for the support of those lining the route. If I can track that footage down, I’ll share it here.
And although I didn’t ride the official PMC this weekend, I still did a memorial ride from Sturbridge to Truro.
While it takes PMC riders most of two days to get from Sturbridge to Truro-the last town before the finish in Provincetown-I did it in just half an hour. Of course, I only rode the seven miles from Sturbridge *Street* in Mattapan to Truro *Street* in Quincy! Sadly, I was unable to finish a “full” PMC, because there’s no Provincetown Street anywhere around Boston!
In addition to Sturbridge and Truro streets, my Saturday ride included some other bits worth mentioning. I was delighted to find that the half-mile crushed stone section of the Neponset River path has finally been paved; that was an awesome surprise!
Then I did the latter half of my former bike commute down to Quincy, including passing by the old office. After a quick stop at Truro Street (no Castle Hill in sight!), I went on to Hough’s Neck and Nut Island, where the grounds of a sewage treatment plant have been developed into some pleasant parkland and a pier with an excellent view of the Boston skyline, where I’d begun what wound up being a 40-mile ride (Strava log).
I guess it’s appropriate that as PMC weekend draws to a close this afternoon, I’m at home, packing my things for a move out of the region. The PMC has been a huge part of my life in Boston, and sitting it out has been a strange and unfamiliar feeling. I don’t know whether I’ll ever come back for another PMC, or whether I’ll find another event that’s as personally meaningful and rewarding.
As I leave New England, I’ll take with me a huge sense of pride in my 14-year run as a PMC rider, my athletic and fundraising achievements, as well as so many cherished memories.
But all of that pales in comparison to the research and treatment we’ve supported, and the many lives we’ve saved.