“Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that the final victory comes.” – Gautam Buddha

My cell phone rang. A biker friend was calling to tell me they were staging a race, and he asked me to participate. When I learned it was an uphill climb, I gave it my thumbs down. Riding uphill is not my forte, let alone race. I did the last contest in Tansen five years ago—a cross-country race. I was 64 then.

The biker friend, Rakesh Manandhar, aka Mtb Rocky, would not take no for an answer. He said the race included a category that fit me like a glove—the ‘Senior’ (60-plus).

I knew Rakesh when I was a rookie, 13 years ago. Well, I could not turn a good friend down, could I? I fell for it and signed up against my better judgment. Maybe one last time, I reminded myself. Slated for 8 Jan 2022, the Tarebhir Trek Uphill Challenge was a 3.56 km brutal climb.

The big day arrived with the flag-off at Deuwa Chok, Budhanilkantha. By the time I arrived at the venue, four kilometers from my house, I was short of breath—and a nervous wreck when I gawked at Tarebhir towering above me. Raju, my cycling mate, only 34, on the other hand, was bursting with excitement: this was his first-ever race.

The turnout was unbelievable—the place crawled with riders dressed to the occasion in their snazzy helmets and colorful outfits. The lineup of mountain bikes was staggering, too—from entry-level to futuristic bikes.

I learned 130-plus racers were competing—mind-boggling! As I took stock of the milieu, my eyes fell on small kids who looked no older than eight—and vying, too. There were women, young and old alike. Surprise, surprise—a couple of them looked in their fifties.

Raju fell in the ‘Master’ category. The organizers had taken in multiple age groups, from juniors, elite, masters to grandmasters to seniors. The whistle sounded for the women’s lineup (six to eight racers at a time); I picked out Laxmi Magar, the seven-time national cross-country champion. We have known each other for 10 years now, following several races I did with her.

The race kicked off, with Prayash Tamang, CEO of Kathmandu Bike Station, logging every contestant’s time. And the first batch of the riders tore up the steep track amid boisterous cheering and clapping.

Then came my turn. Seven other riders flanked me, Raju included. I felt jumpy as the countdown began. I realized I was attempting to move a mountain—fat chance.

By the time I cleared the first 500m, I had done great, even rode past a few riders. Good job, I said to myself and patted myself on the back. The joy was short-lived, though, as the climb got steeper and every rider appeared to pull ahead of me.

The unrelenting climb appeared vertical. I dismounted several times, gasped for air, sipped from my bottle, and pushed my bike. No respite, though; every second counted. I was still unconvinced if I could make it to the finish line.

I ran into some riders who hurtled down the slope, after having completed the race. How far to the finish? I asked one of them as I fought for breath. Halfway came the reply; my heart sank. Did I imagine the incline got steeper as the dirt track wound uphill? It appeared so. Suddenly, a rider swished past me. Man-oh-man, he was just a kid!

As I pushed on, riding and walking, I almost felt I was in a stupor, my legs hurt, and I feared my knees might buckle. In all honesty, I was at the end of my rope. As more riders came shredding down, the thought I’d barely made it half the distance seemed to further fuel my misery. I saw some riders idling by the track; they had quit. I kept on stoically, though. I would complete the race if it were the last thing I would do, I muttered to myself.

And, before I knew it, after tackling a gnarly climb, I spotted a large crowd at the crest. The Finish Line at long last! I’d made it. Unawares, I had an epiphany—I’d rediscovered myself—my strength, grit, confidence, and self-esteem.