Howdy! It's that time of year again; time for me to once more squeeze into some increasingly skimpy shorts and to ask, once again, for your generosity in support of the 2025 Pan Mass Challenge. Building on the last two years, I'll be riding the two-day, 162 mile route from Wellesley to Provincetown the weekend of August 2nd - 3rd as a member of Team Bain Capital!
For those of you that don’t know, the PMC is an annual 160+ mile bike-a-thon that raises money for life saving cancer research and treatment at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute here in Boston, MA. The PMC has raised more money for this cause than any other event in the country — over $1 billion raised since inception. The cause hits particularly close to home for me, with my Dad continuing to battle a form of leukemia (CLL). Furthermore, all four of my grandparents have batted Cancer at some point. Bottom line: Cancer sucks and I see the PMC as a great outlet for me to help a life saving institution that I may very well need at some point in the (hopefully distant) future!
To anyone who is able to provide even the smallest donation, please know that I - and many more - are incredibly thankful. Please feel free to share my page with anyone who may be interested, as every penny counts. I'll do my best to provide updates during my training and a recap of what is undoubtedly going to be a physically disturbing yet wholly worthwhile cause!
Thanks for your time and support!
- Liam
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2025 Pan Mass Challenge Recap
Friday Night Lights: Setting the Scene
The Friday night before the ride contained my usual shenanigans, most notably highlighted by: Allie and I engaging in the annual reveal of just how ‘snug’ the sleek ‘n sexy new kits would be (hint: cycling outfits are less aspirational and more suck every ounce of life out of you) and trudging to Wellesley to drop off the bike, collecting my registration and marveling at the mind boggling diversity of riders getting ready for 162 miles of hard riding. Lastly, I capped off the night with an inordinate number of carb-forward pizza slices and a motivational pep talk from my pup, Benson. What more could I need?
The Start: A Game of Human Frogger
As is typical of my previous two PMC’s, I started at or near the back of the Wellesley pack, rationalized by my unbridled glee in passing the ‘noobs’ (cyclist speak for first-time riders) and my continued reticence to ‘go out too quick’ and suffer at the back half of the ride. This was a mistake. Whether it be my previous PMC experience, six solid training rides or whatever was in my morning Wheaties, I don’t know, but I proceeded to fly by what felt like half of the Tour de France within the first 5-10 miles - half of whom were worryingly still figuring out how to clip in - leaving me to promise myself I wouldn’t do the same next year.
First 50 Miles: Am I an Elite Cyclist?
Last year’s PMC reaffirmed the importance of two things: humility and electrolytes. Scarred by last year’s 95-degree heat and my bargaining with a higher deity for my safe passage, I kept well within myself for the first 20-25 miles, waiting for the Sun to rise and my power to wane. Luckily for me, the weather held off and I was able to set personal bests at each section until lunch, pulling in with an uncharacteristic swagger and far-fetched designs on taking a run at the Yellow Jersey in next year’s Tour. Against all odds, I managed to find the balance of Team Bain Capital in the anarchy of the lunch tent, took an obligatory team wide snap and strategized with fellow Bain Cap rider Justin Pierce on how we’d attack the following 40 miles to Bourne.
Bourne: Woahhhh, we're halfway there
For those of you who don’t know Justin Pierce, he is a colleague at Bain Capital who possesses what can only be described as a ‘healthy competitive spirit’. Growing increasingly envious of the well-rehearsed pelotons whizzing by over the first 45 miles, Justin asked me at lunch if I wanted to ‘draft’ with him over the second half of the race. Now, for the recreational riders amongst my loyal readers, drafting means - in Lehman’s terms - getting uncomfortably close to the rear wheel of your fellow rider and reaping the benefits of reduced wind resistance and the associated conservation of energy. Boy, oh boy, did this strategy prove fruitful. Justin and I proceeded to utilize this approach over the course of the next ~30 miles to great effect; the highlight of which being my leading a reported 20-person peloton up the series of hills before the penultimate rest stop. We proceeded to pull into Bourne (the final pit stop and halfway point) to be greeted by the sweet relief of a well-deserved Sam Adams – or three - and the promise of 16 hours of rest before the commencement of Day 2.
Eye Eye Captain: Bourne to Barnstable to Brewster
Following the aforementioned reunion with Mr. Adams and a lovely team dinner with the rest of Team Bain Capital, I retreated to my cabin aboard the NSMV Patriot State with three other sweaty, sleepy strangers. (Sidebar: While one cannot dispute the novelty of sleeping on an active military vessel, one can certainly call into question its comfort). After 7 hours of trying – and failing – to find comfort in my 96 Sq. ft slice of the Patriot Slate, I was back at it, bleary eyed and ready for the 77-mile march to Provincetown.
This is where I’d learn another important PMC lesson: breakfast is, indeed, the most important meal of the day. In a rush to get on the road and avoid the carnage that proved to be the Bourne Bridge, I foolishly decided to give my Wheaties a miss. Big mistake. Over the following 25 miles to Barnstable (first water stop of the day), I spent considerable time trying to figure out if I: a) had a flat tire b) was towing a fellow rider along the course or c) had been betrayed by my six-training ride strategy. It turned out to be the latter – my legs had decided to go on strike! The hunter became the hunted; with the lowlight being passed by a tandem bike with a combined rider age noticeably north of 150. I pulled into Barnstable with legitimate thoughts of finding the nearest bush and calling it a day (morning). Luckily for me, the angels at the water stop provided enough encouragement, PB&J’s and electrolytes to keep this engine sputtering along.
Tempting Fate: Wellfleet? More like Wellfoot
The following 33 miles went by in an uneventful blur and I pulled into Wellfleet (the last water stop before P’Town) having made pretty good time and in reasonably good spirits. After my usual dose of aspirin, peanut butter and electrolytes, I pulled out of Wellfleet on my processional to Provincetown… or so I thought. The PMC wasn’t done with me yet; my left foot abjectly refused to clip into my pedal. 17 miles from the finish line and in a mental state I would generously describe as ‘fragile’, I was faced with the prospect of falling at the proverbial final hurdle. A rational human would have asked for help from the bevy of volunteers dotted along the course, however, rational I was not. Off came the shoe and the bemused stares from fellow riders commenced! However, barring a couple of nervy uphill sections, the ‘one shoe wonder’ made it to the Provincetown Inn with very little else to report.
162 miles in the books and see you next year, PMC, where your humble ‘one shoe wonder’ will again be looking for your generosity!
