The Assault on Mt. Mitchell

It was nearly the day we had all been waiting for: the race Jonny peddled over 1800 miles (this year alone) prearing for.  The Assault on Mt. Mitchell would begin in less than 15 hours.  After church we picked up his bib and bag of race goodies, then went home to brood about the event.

I say we as if my thought process even came close to comparing to my husband's.  It didn't.  While his thinking cycled around the course's cue chart, whether or not he would hang with the pace of the lead group, his previous training times vs. his finishing goals, and how good his body looks in the mirror.  I thought about that too, no doubt...but most of my other thoughts revolved around, "Holy moley, I hope my crazy competitive husband doesn't hurt himself," and, "Whatever happens, I hope he's happy with the outcome."

He left the house at 4:45 am.  He and over 1,000 other riders converged at downtown Spartanburg for the 6:30 start time...all ready climb 104 miles to the top of the tallest mountain east of the Mississippi.     

My plan was to wake the boys at 6:30 and head for mile 46 where the course intersected with a local library.  The boys and I I set up shop in the stroller, making signs and waiting for the first riders to come through.  Before we knew it, the lead peloton turned the corner and blazed up the road.  Jonny was near the front, beaming at us from ear to ear.  He yelled, "Mel, JJ, Aaron!" Then I blinked, and he was gone.  And then I cried as I giggled.  He was right where he wanted to be...and going a lot faster than I anticipated.  I knew I'd have a tough time beating him to the foot of the mountain.  

I raced back to the car, loaded up the boys, and started my SAG route to the campground at the base of Mt. Mitchell.  I was supposed to meet him there to exchange water bottles and cheer him on before the huge climb.  But by the time I arrived his peloton had already passed the stop.  In fact, I was lucky to get on the first spectator bus to the top.  I literally had to chase it down, beg for the driver to wait while I gathered my kiddos, throw the stroller back in the car, ignore the fact that I REALLY needed to use the port-a-potty, and board the bumpy old school bus to the finish line.

 The boys were thrilled with our mode of transportation, as you can imagine.  But, it wasn't the smoothest ride.  In fact, my big belly began bouncing so much that I had to stand and absorb some of the shock with my knees.  

At least the view was spectacular.

Once at the top we make a quick stop by the bathroom, then we found a good spot to wave our signs and cheer the riders on.  Keep the boys safe off the road and away from the side of the mountain was a bit tricky...but as soon as we saw Jonny's face rounding the corner, it was worth it.

We ran after him, cheering him on the final few feet to the finish line, kissed his sweaty cheeks...

And then sat with him for a while, listening to a recount of the race before he puked behind the changing rooms.  He finished number 92 out of more than a thousand riders--meeting his top 100 goal and definitely making team Frandsen proud.  But of course we would have been proud of him regardless.  Aaron was just thrilled to wear matching jerseys with his dad.

And JJ was thrilled to fall asleep on his lap during the bus ride home.  Jonny was just happy to get off the mountain.  He says that he'll never assault Mt. Mitchell again, but I doubt that.  Never say never when it comes to Jonny Frandsen.  He has this crazy ability to push himself beyond the limits.  For better, or worse.  I sure love my man.

And then this happened.  But that's another story for another day.