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No Fun

We are about halfway up to the start of the singletrack from where this photo was taken. It’s a brutal hill in any weather, but the July heat made it even worse.

Two miles of hot, dusty gravel road. One mile, at least but it felt like much more, not riding my bike, but forcing it up the hill beside me. We weren’t even five miles into our ride and I was experiencing a new “first”. I was not having fun. My cyclometer wasnt recording my mileage. I was carrying the Camelbak water pack; something I hate doing because it adds another five or six pounds to the already large amount of weight that is my body on the bike.  Sweat poured off my body like water in my morning shower. Dust coated everything; my body, my sunglasses, my contacts, my bike tires.  I wondered, feebly, what kind of effect this dust was having on my chain, crankset, and derailleur.  I knew this meant work cleaning my bike later; a necessary inconvenience, but one I wasn’t in the mood for. A quick glance at my sketchy cyclometer says it’s 105 degrees. It’s really about 95, but it feels every bit of 105 today.  “Why am I here?” I wondered to myself. ” This is not fun.”

I told my son I needed to stop and rest. By this, I did not mean get off my bike and haul it up The Hill Of Death. I was already doing that. I really meant I had to stop. Completely. Sit down. Take my helmet off. Breathe. Clearly something was wrong. I never, ever have to stop. Not on a ride. Not like this. And never, ever this early in. I was tired.  I was depleted.  I was mostly very, very hot.  I can ride in rain and cold, if I have the right gear.  I can ride at night, usually without much gear at all.  The one condition that stops me still on my bike is the heat.  I’m not talking about just a warm day that seems bad until the air from riding your bike cools you.  I’m talking about that still, heavy, oppressive heat that makes even breathing hard.  Regardless of the temperature on the thermometer, when this kind of heat hits, I simply lose all power.  Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m at the age where, most of the time, I’m experiencing my own personal summer anyway.  So, when the weatherman says it’s 95, I’m experiencing 115 degree temps.  I simply melt when this happens.

We rested for about 15 minutes then we muddled on to another location, where there was a rock I could sit on in the shade. This location was a hundred feet from the start of the Payette Trail around Applegate Lake. We practically crawled to the start of the trail, me spewing misgivings the entire way when, usually, I am the one encouraging everyone else onward.  We ventured forth, deciding to tackle the singletrack trail for a little while, then turn back.

Immediately, I knew I was in trouble.  I was riding my brakes almost entirely on the descent which characterizes the first half mile or so of this trail.  My bike didn’t feel stable under me, but I think that was due to the fact that this was very rocky single track and I have become accustomed to the solid asphalt of the road.  I was already tired and in no mood to exert the required effort that manhandling a mountain bike on a downhill requires.  Further, I wasn’t exactly excited about packing my bike up that hill, especially after the hill I already climbed.  I let my bike roll for a few more yards, then I called out to my son, who’d disappeared from  view.  A few moments later, he appeared below me, his bike and his youth handling this trail with far more success than I. I told him I wanted to go back and he, surprisingly, agreed with me.  We turned our bikes around, rode back up as far as we could, trudged the rest of the way to the top, then rolled down the dusty road that we’d just walked up.

Three unknown boys sit contemplating whether or not to jump off the rocks at Applegate Lake in Southern Oregon.

Later, while lounging in the sun at the swimming hole that we discovered at Applegate Lake, we were reflecting on this experience.  Last year, at about this time, we made this very same ride.  Sure, we had to walk up that initial road, but I don’t remember feeling quite so spent at the top of it.  I also don’t remember feeling nearly this apprehensive when tackling the downhill.  We have done this ride twice, with minimal mishaps.  Last year at the end of the ride, I missed on a switchback, landed on my back wheel and tacoed the thing.  This cost me two days of ride time while my bike was in the shop.  Not something I was especially thrilled about, but neither was it a traumatizing event that left me scared to ever attempt this ride again.  We speculated about the heat, the fact that we’ve become used to riding the road, the fact that on a day like today, the swimming hole looked far more inviting than the trail.  There are any number of reasons for today’s ride fail.  All of these factors could have contributed to the dread I suddenly felt heading down that hill.  I don’t know.  I suspect, more than anything, I am not in the same mental and physical place I was last year, and something deep within me knows this.  Somewhere inside, I sensed I wasn’t up for the challenge of this trail.  I was too tired.  I would likely make mistakes that even I, as a rookie mountain biker, would know not to do.  I was afraid of the consequences of such mistakes.  I’d spent enough time in surgery this year.  I wasn’t about to sign up for another visit.  Maybe I’m still experiencing a wee bit of radiation fatigue.  Admittedly, this week is far better than last, and last week was better than the one before.  I’m feeling like I do have more energy every day and I am accomplishing more, though not nearly what I hoped and planned to accomplish by this time in the summer. More than the physical drain, I just mentally didn’t have the strength and the determination to make that ride today and I knew it.  Deep in my psyche somewhere, I knew I couldn’t handle it.  I’m not sure what that’s about or why.  It could be I just like the smooth flying sensation of the road as opposed to the adrenaline-driven jarring ride of  the singletrack. Maybe I’m just getting old.

Whatever it is, I am okay with it.

My son and I spent the rest of our day enjoying the water.  That was much more fun.

My son’s bike with mine behind it. Dusty.

This One’s For My Family, Especially The Ladies

Breast Cancer runs in my family…sort of. My mother, at 56, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She also had an uncle who died of breast cancer, a rare but possible thing, as breast cancer can affect 2% of all men. At least, I think that is number I remember reading in my journeys the last few months. As I’ve traveled this road, I’ve successfully laughed off the potential for fear, but I have on several occasions wished I paid more attention when my mom was going through this. The sad part is that I can’t just go back and talk to her about what went down. She passed in 2004. To the best of my knowledge, after her operation (she ended up having a full mastectomy), and her treatments, she never had a recurrence. Her cause of death, was not breast cancer, but complications of emphysema. I find this encouraging. I still wish I could talk to her about what she went through.

Since I cannot do that, and since there is likely to come a time when my sisters or nieces or daughters might want to know exactly what the family genetics holds for them, I am writing this post. I am writing this to let them know what my diagnosis is, and to inform them of my treatments so far. It is, of course, going to be a bit evident through it all, how I feel about it all.

Diagnosis

I have what the medical professionals refer to as DCIS or Ductile Carcinoma In Situ. In other words, I have tiny micro-calcifications in the duct of my right breast. These crystallizations are not visible to the human eye, and in order for them to be seen on my work up they have to be magnified a bazillion times. The term In Situ means that this particular form of cancer is non-invasive. Were it to progress it could eventually break through the duct and invade breast tissue. However, because, my cancer is In Situ, it hasn’t broken out and gone floating around either in my breast or anywhere else in my body.

Treatments

I’ve had three biopsies. Two separate bits of cancer were found. The first was intermediate grade. (Ladies, that will be important for you to tell your health professionals.) The last bit was about a millimeter in size and was of low grade. There’s been some question over the years as to whether the breast cancer gene (BRCA 1 and/or BRCA 2 mutations) exist in our family. To my knowledge, my mother was not tested for this. I know I have not been tested for it. I think this is important for you to know. I know some in the family are already asking. At some point, it might be a good idea for one of us to consider testing…yeah…I guess that’d be me.

Prognosis

My surgeon, after this last surgery informed me that there is almost zero chance of this metastasizing. However, since I have a diagnosis of breast cancer, my odds of getting breast cancer again in either breast is dramatically increased. Exercise and diet are going to be critical factors for me going forward. It is now even more important than ever that I get out on two wheels as often as possible.

Further Treatments

I meet with my Radiology Oncologist this week, to determine if radiation is necessary. I kind of suspect that it will be recommended. It’s not a foregone conclusion and radiation treatment is not without its risks. For example, I learned this week, that if I choose radiation now, and then I have another issue down the road, it will make mastectomy the only option. Though, I’m not so sure that’s entirely a problem, either. As for chemotherapy, not needed for me, because my cancer was such early stage and non-invasive.

So, Ladies, I’m going to encourage you to get your mammograms regularly. Regular exams do make a difference and early detection is the key to the cure. Daughters, you’ll need to start these mammograms earlier than the average person. You now have a grandmother and your mother with the history. Talk to your doctors, but I suspect, getting your baseline at 30 wonD’t be any too soon. If I’m around then, and you want me to, I’d be glad to accompany you for that first one. It sounds a lot scarier than it really is. I’m going to be okay. You will be too. Just remember, eat right, exercise, keep up on your scans.

A Windy Saturday in March

It was shaping up to be a disappointing Saturday.  Face it, during the school year, for a teacher, the best and most wonderful day to ride is Saturday, weather permitting.  Sunday rides have to be shortened due to getting ready for the week.  Rides during the week must be shortened due to running out of daytime.

This Saturday, was beginning to look like it was going to be a wasted one where riding was concerned. The weather was perfect, but the night before, my Significant Other broke a spoke on his back tire.  We both thought one or the other of us had hit a rock, but no, it was his back wheel. It shortened our ride that evening significantly.  Since we were six miles out with no other transportation available he rode the six miles home on it. On the return trip I watched his rear wheel wobble more and more with each mile. We definitely needed to head into the Bike Shop for that repair.

To make matters worse, my bike was creating all sorts of annoying rattles, creaks and squeaks.  In particular, there was this loud and very irritating click, click, click on every down stroke of my right pedal.  My bike most of the time, is entirely silent when I ride, so I was fairly worried that it was complaining so loudly to me on this first ride off the trainer.

The combination of these woes, cut our ride short on Friday night.  It also meant that our first objective Saturday morning was to get the bikes into the shop to see what and how serious the trouble was. We feared the worst, that our bikes wouldn’t be back out of the shop until Monday.

I can go into all the details of what exactly was wrong, but that’s boring for most people and I don’t yet have all the vocabulary to adequately convey what was wrong.  In the end, what we thought was going to mean missing a weekend of riding really only ended up delaying our Saturday ride, by a couple of hours.  The guys at Marty’s Cycle and Moore literally dropped what they were doing and fixed both our bikes right there on the spot.  They didn’t have to do this, but we are so grateful they did.  About an hour and $47 later, we were walking out the door with our bikes healed.

We wasted no time getting on the road, since we heard rain was on the way.  I figured we still had about 20 miles to go to make our hundred for the week, so we needed to get on the road quickly.  After some waffling about whether to take it easy on the greenway or hit the hilly road and head out in the country, we opted for the road. We definitely took the more difficult option.  The roads between Central Point and Gold Hill are not for the weak.  In fact, there are several really intense, long hill climbs on Old Stage Road between Scenic Avenue and the I-5.  These climbs weren’t made any easier by the presence of a very strong headwind and the fact that we were riding hybrids instead of road bikes.  Even in our marginal fitness condition, we would climb those hills faster on a road bike.  Which, makes me really want a road bike very soon.  This in turn depresses me, because I don’t believe that will be my reality for at least another year.  But I digress.

We inched up those hills at a whopping 5-6 miles per hour.  It was the toughest 5-6 mph I’ve ridden to date. Every muscle in my legs burned (this is good), I was fighting for every breath, and I even felt as though I might vomit at one point (yeah, that’s probably not so great).  Then suddenly, about halfway up the climb, I hit the right gear and, crazy as it seems, I was able to almost rest while I climbed.  I was still pushing hard, but I caught my breath and kept going. I felt a small amount of comfort when after glancing back I realized the Significant Other was suffering just as much as I was.

The downhill on the other side made it all worthwhile.  Except that the headwind slowed our descent significantly. We were still having to push even when going downhill.

It was a crazy ride.

Upon arriving in Goldhill, we stopped in at a little dive bar called the Longbranch Saloon.  It clearly was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon.  We tied up our mechanical horses and stepped into the local watering hole to quench our thirst and gear up for the ride back.

Instead of coming back the way we came (read, we chickened out and tried to get out of facing those hills again) we opted for the Blackwell Road route home.

I’ve heard that one of the cycling rules of the road is that you always have a map and a repair kit with you.  At minimum, you should know where you are going, shouldn’t you?  We had the repair kit, but we had no idea where we were going.  All I knew was that if I took Blackwell Road in far enough it was going to come out somewhere near I-5 and Central Point and I could probably find my way home from there.  The SO was following me blindly, trusting that I knew where we were going.  Little did he know…

Blackwell Road proved to be just as challenging as Old Stage Road in its own way.  The climbs weren’t as steep, but they were longer.  Trying to avoid the work, and really wishing by this time that we had some more level terrain to deal with and no wind, we turned onto Tolo Road.  Around the corner, there it was, another hill and beyond that one, another.  At this point, my entire body felt like mush and I wondered seriously if we were going to make it home without having to get off and walk…or call for help. Just as we wondered if we should turn around and head back we saw Scenic Avenue in the distance and knew we were within 3 miles of home.  From the intersection ahead, the ride was going to be a nice downhill ride leveling off once we reached town. We knew we were going to be okay.

We rode the hardest 25 miles we’ve ever ridden since beginning our cycling adventures.  We hit our highest speed on a downhill of 29 miles per hour, which means we were flying on our bikes, and dead if we’d fallen. We returned home tired, but happy, because we’d pushed ourselves way out of our comfort zone and succeeded.

We stepped up to a new level in our riding.  Hill work is now going to be a regular part of our riding.  It has to be. There’s nothing more painful at first, but it is so rewarding when you crest that hill knowing you still have gears left to shift and energy left to ride.

When we got home, I turned to the SO and said, “You know, that was a really hard ride.  How many people do you know that could have stayed with us on that? I think, other than the guys at the bike shop, I know about two.  Those two would have dusted us, but other than that…I can’t think of  anyone who could have done 25 miles uphill both ways like we just did.”

Not too bad for an ole fat lady pushing 50.

 

 

The Way To Start A Week

I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico for a brief couple of years in the early ’90’s.  During that time I fell in love with the Southwest and with Byrd Baylor’s books, The Way To Start A Day, being one of my favorites.  This last weekend, due to school budget cuts, ended up being a three-day weekend.  Since we had Monday off and since rain was forecast for later that afternoon, the Significant Other and I decided to try something new.  We avoided the ease and predictability our beloved greenway and ventured forth on the open road. It was an excellent choice for so many reasons.  I’ve documented our ride in words and pictures, with Baylor’s book as my inspiration.  I’m calling this The Way To Start A Week.

 


The way to start a week

is to get up early on Monday morning while others sleep,

and greet the sunrise with a smile and a cup of coffee; cream, no sugar.

Revel in in the cloudless blue of the early morning sky,

feel the chill March morning air,

inhale the fresh scent of dew and cedars.

Give thanks for being alive and having the ability to enjoy it.

Take your time dressing, but not too much time, the day awaits.

Find your favorite bike shorts and

slip on the Bontrager tights that were well worth

the hundred bucks you spent on them.

Slip into the cold weather gear given to you by a friend

who no longer cycles, and be glad for her again,

since she saved you hundreds

and extended your riding season significantly.

Fill the water bottle,

grab the camera,

select the playlist,

and with your favorite riding buddy, find a road you haven’t traveled before.

Venture forth.

As you ride, be glad that you can.

Even if it is cold.  Even if it is hard, with the cold air biting through your

Balaclava, freezing your nasal passages and numbing your fingertips through gloves.

After about a mile stop,

take some pictures,

and take off the first outer layer.

Things heat up fast on two wheels.

 

After about 4 miles, stop for more pictures, a water break and to take more pictures.  You’re in no hurry.

Decide to head to a historical old town.

It isn’t far now.

You’re over halfway there and feeling good.

The hills that you could climb a year ago are nothing to you now

You’re stronger and less fearful.

The occasional car whizzing by no longer intimidates you.

You can do this.

And you enjoy it.

 Upon entering the town

select a place to enjoy a leisurely lunch while gazing out the window at passersby.

Laugh and enjoy the fact that you have overcome

caring about how you look in public places when

wearing padded pants

and sporting helmet hair, though you still quickly check

the rear view mirror of the nearest car to make sure

you don’t have bugs in your teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

During your meal, you laugh and smile,

enjoying delicious sandwiches with thirst-quenching beverages.

The miles make them taste all the better.

You observe the retired ladies, dressed up for lunch…

they must be in their 70’s or 80’s.

You think of your grandmother, who always dressed up

even to go to the grocery store,
It’s not a given, but you’re on the right path.and you hope you live long enough to do the same.

Anything can happen…
unexpectedly…

so you decide to live life…

to the fullest of your ability and today is part of that plan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way home, you skip the easy road,

the one you rode in on,

and you opt for the one ahead

that sports a rather long hill.

You take it.

You make it.  And you’re not even riding your fastest bike.

A year ago, you had to walk up stuff less daunting than this.

Not this time.

You feel the burn…

you inhale each breath and

experience the pounding of your heart

growing stronger with each rotation of your pedals.

Nothing feels better.

You’re healthier than you were.

You’re happier than ever.

You are your own person.

 

At the top, you celebrate this realization.

You take in the valley you call home.

The rest of the ride is almost entirely

a straight drop down to your doorstep. 

It’s Monday.

You’re riding in the right gear,

no matter what the road

and it is an exhilarating adventure.

This, you whisper to yourself as you ride up to your home,

is not just how you start a week…

It’s how you live a life.

 

New Year’s Resolutions, Revised

I’m a great one for setting goals and New Year’s Resolutions are no exception.  Back in the day, I’d write them down making sure they were measurable and achievable.  Most of the time, back in the day, I was able to realize all  these goals I so dutifully recorded.  Things sure have changed. Oh, I still set goals, alright, but with each passing year, the goals seem more difficult to achieve. I’m lucky if I can set one priority a year and make it happen.

In 2010, I made it my goal to purchase my bike.  I achieved that goal.

In 2011, it was my goal to put a thousand miles on my bike.  I didn’t meet this goal until February of 2012, but I got close. That was good enough.

This year, my priority, is losing 50 pounds by my 50th birthday, which is in June. My mantra has been “50 Less By 50.”

Well, it was my priority, until, the first week of January.

Sometimes life has a way of circumventing the most noble objectives.

In brief, my life was clicking along just great.  In December, I was called back to have further images taken after a routine mammogram revealed some areas of concern.  On January 6, I found myself lying prone while I endured what I now know is a stereo-tactic needle biopsy.  On Valentine’s Day, I was in the hospital for a wire-isolated lumpectomy, the results  of which revealed ductile carcinoma in situ, or DCIS…cancer.  At the time of writing, I’m awaiting an additional surgery which will likely be followed up with radiation.

No chemotherapy.

No free boob job.

I’m not contagious.

And…given that DCIS is completely curable…I’m likely not going to die.  At least, not right now, from this.

My overriding emotion these days?

This is really messing with my 50 Less By 50 plan.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.  My overriding emotion is gratitude.  You see, cancer, in particular breast cancer, is not the death sentence it used to be. Even so, cancer, really is no laughing matter.  I know this.  I know people who’ve suffered and died from some form of cancer.  I have immediate family members who have suffered through cancer.  It is not a pretty nor is it humorous and were it not myself involved, I’d definitely refrain from the gallows humor.  I’ll go off on how early detection is critical, and how women should absolutely make sure they keep up on their exams at a later time, but right now I’d just like to take a moment to be grateful.

Cancer caught me by surprise, and as any potentially life-threatening disease will do, it has forced me to re-prioritize my life.  Yes, I still have my 50 Less By 50 Plan as a priority, but somehow it just isn’t the most important thing these days.  In the last three months, I’ve learned a great deal about breast cancer and some of the approaches we now have available to treat and cure it. That I live in a day and age when I can benefit from so much research and the medical advancements made just in my lifetime, doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the many, many things I am grateful for.

As I take the next step in this interesting journey through 2012, each day I find myself revising my New Year’s Resolutions.  50 Less By 50 is still a priority, in fact, even more so since exercise and healthy eating reduce one’s risks.  But, if I don’t quite make it by my birthday, or if I just need to allow myself some time to rest, I’m going to give myself permission to do it.

Two days after my surgery, I was on my bike.  Of course, it was inside on a trainer.  I made it two miles, in just under 10 minutes before I just couldn’t go any further.  Two days before my surgery, I’d completed a ride that logged me almost 40 miles for the week.  Yeah.  This thing is really messing with my workout plans and my riding goals.

I just have to let that be alright for now.

I am going to make it.