October 4, 2024 marked 26 years since I embarked on one of the toughest challenges I've ever faced: the infamous **Athens-to-Atlanta (A2A) in-line rollerblade race**. Back then, only few people around me knew about it (much of Atlanta did not), but in certain circles, it was legendary—the longest and most premier in-line skating event in the world at that time. People would come from all over the country and the world to compete in it. My interest was just to finish it. 🌎✨
To be honest, I hadn't skated much on in-lines before this, mostly growing up on old-school roller skates. I understood skating, but *not long distances*. Yet, something about this **86-mile journey** called to me as a young man of 28.
To put it into perspective, the distance of this course is roughly the entire length of Connecticut—the state where I grew up. The course took skaters from Athens, Georgia (home of UGA) to the city of Atlanta across and through desolate backcountry highways, over stretches of what skaters would call "shake and bake" roads—which was uneven and gravelly asphalt that rattled your body to the core.
I didn’t have a formal training plan. Instead, I pieced together my own with a mix of intuition, early internet research (hello, late 90s message boards 📡), and stubborn curiosity.
My skates were off the shelf K2 4-wheel skates—not the 5-wheel racing skates most competitive racers used. My training was a combination of cross-training (skating, running, and high intensity weight lifting) and, when I was lucky, skating a longer distance one time each week never surpassing more than 36-miles. Nutrition? Hydration strategy? Both Internet educated and improvised on my part. This whole race was an all "trial" run. And, all of it, I would have to pack and carry.
I tried to convince a few friends to join me, but no one was quite crazy enough to commit—perhaps a sign I should've heeded. 🚫👥 #storytelling
The biggest part of my preparation, though, was **mental**. I wanted to see if, in those moments of exhaustion and doubt, I could keep it together. My focus and my intent. I wanted to test myself, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally.
Did I have what it would take? I did not know, but after a rather sleepless night in a flea-baggish motel (they were all booked up), the anxiety would build up in me so much that I'd throw up before the race. I was not off to a great start!
🏁 **The First 38 Miles**
Those were almost fun—more like a social skating event than a race. The stops were frequent, there were plenty of skaters around, and the atmosphere was supportive. But many stopped and ended their race in Dacula, Georgia, the halfway point. I felt good and stuck to my plan to push on. Little did I know, that’s where the real journey began.
🚶♂️ **The Long, Hot, Lonely Road**
The second half was a vastly different experience. Few skaters, few water stops if any, and long, sun-baked country roads that seemed to stretch endlessly. I'd only briefly look ahead at the long road or hill ahead, the horizon tested me. But, in time, I’d catch sight of another skater ahead in the distance, push myself to catch up to them, chat for a while, then move on from them. I could feel the pressure between both them and myself. Nobody wanted to be caught or even passed, it gave a hint to the struggle both internally and externally-both for them and me, too. I made it a point to pass everyone I came in contact with on the second half of the course.
Temperatures soared into the 90s, and my body began to feel it—draining energy and cramping, pushing me to the brink. Self-talk included cursing, swearing, loathing... but, often I returned to a mantra I hum to myself as my baseline or foundation. I focused on the "here and now" and my effort was to put one foot in front of the other, repeatedly. Physical endurance and mental fortitude were tested and exhausted that day.
Along the way, my then girlfriend and some race affiliated strangers offered encouragement, and a few kind souls even handed me fruit, snacks, or water.
The most memorable moment? A few supportive skaters who already crashed 'n burned (that means quit) were out looking for a friend and would pull up next to me in a mini-van around mile 70. After a few brief words, they asked me if I wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I took it, but was teetering on the edge of collapse. For some reason, that act of kindness and support saved me and put some pep in my step. 💪🥪
⚡ The Infamous "Silver Hill"
This was an incredibly steep, winding hill that everyone talked about. I had heard that the record speeds reached up to **47 mph**. I had never been down it, much less any of these roads that I was skating on... so, when I hit it I was anxious due it's reputation. I tried braking as much as I could but still feeling the exhilarating, uncontrollable descent. The road was deserted except for a police officer at the bottom, radar gun in hand. The goal? Not enforcement—just to tell us how fast we were going. For me, it was 34-mph... A2A’s way of letting us know we were pushing our limits.
🚧 **Mile 86: The Final Push**
As the Atlanta skyline came into view, tears filled my eyes. I'd been alone for so many miles, battling fatigue and heat, and now the end was beginning to be in sight. Racing into the city, I skated through traffic, blew through intersections, and focused on the clock. Somewhere back at mile 38, someone told me the cutoff for an official time was **9 hours, 30 minutes**. I had no idea if it was true and really no idea where I was in relation to that time, but I but I knew I was close to being on track. It motivated me to push harder. The last 40 or so miles, I was averaging close to 20mph so my resources were diminshing.
When I crossed that line? I immediately looked back at the sign, 9 hours, 27 minutes, 42 seconds. I made it - I beat the 9 hours, 30 minutes cut off - that is the picture below of me in that moment—exhausted, elated, *finished*. Turns out the official cutoff was actually 12 hours (so don’t believe everything you hear out on the road). But for me, those 9 hours and 27 minutes, and 42-seconds were a testament to the power of sheer willpower.
The biggest takeaway from that day?
We've all faced challenges that pushed us to the edge—moments when we found strength we didn't know we had. My Athens-to-Atlanta journey was one of those moments, but it's not the only one out there.
Your own mettle can endure far more than you think. Your heart and your mind are capable of committing to so much more than your body can take. This realization has driven me in all aspects of my life ever since. By participating in this race, I reinforced one critical life lesson: the power of decision. Once we make up our mind about what we want to do, regardless of the obstacles, facts, or odds stacked against us, everything else begins to fall in line.
This is one of the most powerful traits I've observed in the people I admire—especially entrepreneurs. They decide what they want and commit to it with everything they have. Of course, the real challenge lies in finding that determination within yourself, and life has a way of throwing in those occasional tests to prove it. Strong-willed, decisive people make up their minds, and once that decision is made, they will everything else into existence. 💥
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