Epilogue

I used to read Dooce regularly, but in the last few years, that dwindled to only an occasional visit. On that visit the other night, I learned that Dooce and her husband recently separated. This was shocking; from what I remembered of her life, she was married to her best friend, her soul mate, her rock. And that may all still be true, but to the two people living that life, it wasn’t enough to make sharing each day better than living them apart.

Seven months ago, some things in my life changed significantly. They had already been shifting and breaking for months, maybe even a year or two prior, but that marked a turning point. I thought the change would be for the better, that everything would work out, that time and space would heal old wounds and lead to a joyous renewal of the good feelings of the past. That never happened. Instead, the time and space grew and became unimaginable to cross. I held onto memories and hopes and a foolishly romantic notion that things would just work out, but they didn’t. Instead, they ended.

Sometimes, loving a person and believing that they are your soul mate and rock just isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to overcome mistakes, bad choices, selfishness, immaturity, uncertainty, distance, and the challenges of daily life.

I’ve realized now that it is time to let go. Time to stop hanging on to the past and thinking it will somehow lead to a future. It won’t. When I began training several years ago, my coach told me to trust her and to not try to rush through building a solid foundation that would carry me through my cycling career. I believed her and still believe the notion that you cannot build something indestructible on a foundation filled with gaps and cracks. He and I had reached a point where the gaps and cracks were just too much to fix, and so it is time to move on.

To make way for new things, you must first be willing to part with the old. Well, unless you are a hoarder. But I’m pretty much the opposite of a hoarder; if you accidentally leave your coat at my house for too long, I will relocate it to a charity donation box. In that spirit – the desire to cleanse materially and mentally – I took a large spoon and some mementos into the woods behind my house today, dug a hole, and said goodbye. Goodbye to hanging on to the past, to clinging to childish notions about love and fairytales, to the ties that held me and him together and in the end started to suffocate us both.

I don’t feel miraculously better now that I had a stuff funeral in the woods with my dogs and an old man who wandered by. I didn’t expect that I would. Only time will heal this, time and focusing on things that are healthy and positive. I want the best for him and I want the best for me, and as sad as it is to realize, we are not that for each other. He can do better than the person I was for him and I want to be more than that person.

The end.

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January 27th 2012 | Posted in Bobby, Family, Life, Sadness

All I Want For Christmas Is To Be Faster Than You

Over the winter, I obsess about other people’s training. This is less of a concern during the racing season, because the very nature of racing lets you know where you stand in relation to your competition. If somebody consistently beats you, they are probably faster (or you are doing it wrong). The winter provides no such mechanism for evaluation. Until racing season begins, there is no way to know whose winter training plan was better, who was more dedicated, and who spent too much time snuggling with the fruitcake and eggnog.

As a result, two things happen for me. First, training becomes more robotic and less driven by passion; each workout is little more than something to get done. If I could remain unconscious while plowing through every interval and rep, I would. There isn’t the fire that’s present during the racing season, where training equals brief periods of high energy work and adjustment in preparation for the next test. I ride the trainer for nearly every ride and approach training with the same joy one might reserve for cleaning toilets or a trip to the podiatrist.

This works for me. As dull and miserable this sounds, it’s how I do winter. I get through it, hitting all the correct levels of effort required for beneficial training, while seeking excitement in the rest of my life. It has become a Fact of Winter.

The other Fact of Winter, and one that is less acceptable, is Training Envy. Somebody else’s training is bigger/longer/harder than mine. It doesn’t help that my Facebook and blogroll are constantly brimming with stories of how big/long/hard people are riding and how they’re eating nothing but wheatgrass and antelope embryos. Unless your ride ended with a cheesesteak or had some other notable feature, it is not worth publicity and just makes me feel like I’m not working hard enough.

I know that you have your training plan and I have mine and it should be okay that they are different. I trust my coach and know that her plans have worked in the past. It’s just difficult to not feel like I should be riding harder, for longer, up bigger hills, and so on, especially when other riders are.

I also worry that I’m not dedicated enough and that I’m losing some sort of edge when I stay up too late or drink or miss a recovery ride because work got in the way. Finding balance is hard. I want to be the best on the bike, but not at the expense of everything off the bike. That means sneaking in a protein bar while running a meeting at the office, sending work emails while doing intervals on the trainer, and adapting my weightlifting schedule to accommodate holiday events where I’ll want a glass (or bottle) of wine. Balance is good. Balance means that if I don’t become the world champion or I crash out of racing permanently, I’m not returning to an empty life.

But it also means feeling inadequate in the face of other people’s dedication. It means questioning if I can commit enough, if I want it enough, if I’ll still be good enough by comparison when the racing season begins again. Maybe I’ll be surpassed by those willing to put more in than I am.

This is an unflattering, insecure portrait of a competitive cyclist. Perhaps there will come a time when things like this don’t bother me, when I can feel content that whatever I’m doing and giving is enough. If Willow Koerber believes she can have a baby this month and contest an international race schedule in 2012, why shouldn’t I believe I can balance my life and win as well? I want to believe, but in the absence of this confidence, please lie on Facebook and tell me you decided to skip today’s ride.

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December 20th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Employment, Life

Does this fur make me look fat?

Things Scout does now that he is blind:

1. Eat
2. Poop

This is a complete accounting of his activities.

Because he has extremely limited vision, he no longer likes to walk at all. Not that he was ever spry – on his best days, he would jog for half a block before refusing to move faster than a slow walk. But now he sometimes gives up mid-walk and will not move. It’s great when I’m running late and he won’t budge from a spot on the sidewalk.

The result of this complete immobility plus his increased appetite from his medications is that he is rapidly becoming a polar bear of lard that does little but yearn for kibble.

The impressive thing about his wistful gaze is that he is blind. It's like being leered at by Ray Charles.

He also barks at the couch when somebody knocks on the door and runs into the back room when I say, “Let’s go outside!” Kobe has always been reticent to come when called; often I have to drag him out from his nest under my bedspread as if his bathroom trips are a favor to me. Scout at least used to come eagerly when summoned. Now I stand by the front door, leashes in hand, calling fruitlessly while Scout enthusiastically head-butts the wall in the other room and Kobe snorts with disdain.

I’d make a joke here about a serious failure to be man’s best friend, but that would be doing a great disservice to either dog. For all of their quirks and vexing habits, I can’t imagine my life without their company. Scout going blind has been a challenge because, to be honest, I took the dogs for granted before now. I loved them and they were very important, but they were like social furniture that needed to go outside a few times a day. Now Scout needs more. He needs 17 medications each day and help finding his way around and somebody to comfort him when he’s frightened. When I fail at that, the effect is immediate: if I miss alerting him to a curb, he trips and lands on his face and I feel terrible. I have to focus more on his needs and do everything I can to make his life easier and happier. It’s taken some getting used to, but it’s also reminded me to pay attention to my pets and do everything I can to deserve their unconditional love.

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December 12th 2011 | Posted in The Pups

Things That Go Bump In The Road

I am coming down with a cold. This is a minor inconvenience, really, but as a cyclist in the throes of winter training, it is also derailing and frustrating. I wanted to (okay, that’s a lie, perhaps ‘felt the need to’ is more fitting) go to the gym today to stay on schedule, but as the day progressed and my symptoms worsened, I settled for having an ice cream bar, two lattes, and a large serving of pumpkin seeds.

[Side story: At my parents' house last night, my father was eating home-roasted pumpkin seeds out of a bag of more pumpkin seeds than I have ever seen. He explained that he collected the neighbors' old pumpkins and gutted them to get the seeds. The pumpkins, not the neighbors. He boasted that he still had several more pumpkins to carve so we could have even more seeds. Other subjects we covered over the course of the evening included Reasons That Shirt You're Wearing Would Be Less Terrible In Any Other Color and Now That I'm An Adult, I Can Use As Much Whipped Cream On My Dessert As I Want And You Can't Stop Me (Although This Imminent Nausea Might). Being a grown-up only child is a joy.]

So I missed the scheduled training today, which is mostly irritating because it throws off my schedule for the rest of the week and then there’s the small matter of The Sick. I’m not sure what this illness is, since it’s not following my usual pattern of cold symptoms. All I know is that I feel like shit and it’s the kind of shit that says stay off your bike and explore the depths of Netflix. So I explore and snack and obsess over the miles my competitors are surely riding while I’m busy trying to join the ranks of people who become obese and never leave their couch and eventually have to be carried to the hospital via crane and flatbed truck. Oh, and I wait to feel better.

But this will pass. It always does, as did the back injury that had me in the hospital for several days a year ago and the multiple bouts of bronchitis over the last 18 months and that time I got the flu so violently I ended up in the ER (although I’m permanently unwilling to get another mango smoothie from the mall). And so will the unfortunate injury that befell one of my strongest competitors this past weekend. She broke her ankle rather epically while racing and will likely be out for some time. It’s awful news – awful because she’d had a great year and was poised for another one, because she makes the women around her ride harder and smarter any time she’s in their race, and because she’s just a very cool person – but it’s also something she’ll get past. As racers, we take the bumps in the road as they come and wait impatiently until the time to ride is here again.

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December 5th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Family, Friends, Life

Dear Fred.

I understand that we are both on road bikes and going in the same direction. It’s great that we’re both riding, isn’t it? However, there are several things you are wearing that indicate that it is unlikely that you plus me equals peloton. These things include, but are not limited to:

1. A fanny pack. Frankly, these are an abomination both on and off the bike.
2. Any type of mirror.
3. Clothing that is baggy enough to allow the unnoticed smuggling of anything larger than a potato.
4. Something tied around your waist.
5. Any single article of apparel with more than five colors.
6. Shoes that do not attach to your pedals. This does not include sandals with cleats; those are unspeakable and I don’t even know where to begin.
7. A helmet visor.
8. A seatbag that, were a horse to find it dangling between his hind legs, would cause said horse to blush with pride at its size and heft.
9. A CamelBak.
10. Anything loudly labeled Scattante.

I understand that you are wearing these things for safety/comfort/convenience, but as you are ostensibly a cyclist, you must know that we are not doing this for safety/comfort/convenience, we are doing this because cycling is awesome and beautiful and painful. There is nothing you need to bring on your ride that cannot be accommodated in jersey pockets, bottle cages, and a small, streamlined seatbag. Until this is a mutual understanding, please enjoy your ride somewhere other than on my wheel.

 

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November 20th 2011 | Posted in Biking

The Best Way To Win At DCCX Was From The Sidelines

My day began with the 10am Sunday ride. Apparently Russ L. has been hiking in the Shenandoah Mountains recently (hiking? isn’t that something cyclists do only when stranded with a flat?), so he was less inclined to tear my legs off on the hills of Maryland. That was nice, except for the part where other people (Eli!) did that instead. (Don’t let his perfectly-combed hair fool you; beneath that lies a savage animal waiting to strike when you’re down.) I resisted becoming a droplet [drop*let n. one who has been dropped] and finished the ride feeling like I’d suffered sufficiently to earn a day of standing in a field, drinking and watching other people suffer.

Which brings me to DCCX. To all of you who raced, please accept my warmest expression of gratitude. Without you and your insane willingness to run up hills and leap over barriers while carrying your bicycle, I would not have had such a lovely canvas on which to paint my Sunday afternoon. And what a delightful afternoon it was:

The SEAVS tent was the focal point of my festivities. To the Schlecks: Move aside. Mark and Scott are the coolest brothers in cycling.

 

A good time heckling was had by all. Well, mostly all. Then there's that straggler on the right...evidently he's the strong, silent type.

 

The cake I brought was a hit, but the highlight was when I spotted The Resident Pro finishing it off. If he's able to eat cake and still win stages, it should be a lesson to us all: Winners have their cake and actually eat it, too.

After trying a full season of cross in 2008 and dabbling in it briefly in 2009 and 2010, I can now say with certainty that the best way to approach cross is to let other people do the racing. Next up? Ed Sander. You bring your “A” game; I’ll bring the chocolate fountain.

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October 24th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Friends

On Feeling Off

As the racing season comes to a close each year, my rest month looms in the distance like a beautiful oasis. Free time! No suffering! Riding only when the urge moves me! Weeknights filled with dinners out, relaxing times on the couch, and glasses of wine downed with little regard for impact on training.

And then rest month comes and I realize that I am a cyclist and taking time off the bike is like taking time off from having a pulse.

Even in the hardest weeks of training, when the intervals are brutal and the rides take all of my free time, the exhaustion makes me feel more alive than anything. I like actively working towards my goals. I like feeling sore from a hard workout, starving because I’m training constantly, and desperate for a single rest day to recover a little. I like knowing that I can deep fry chocolate-covered Twinkies and eat them without guilt.

Soon enough it will be time to start training again, so I keep reminding myself to enjoy this time. I haven’t been on a bike since Sunday and there’s an open bottle of red wine next to me (sans glass). While I have plans to ride this weekend, I may only get on the bike once before then. Coach’s orders. Rest is apparently important.

I know that when winter training starts, it will hurt. The rides will be long and the weightlifting will be hard. There will be nights like the one last year where I came home from Pilates class, after a trainer ride and a session at the gym, and could do nothing more than lay on the living room floor with my face against the carpet. And while part of me dreads the endless workout obligations and pain that await, the other part of me can’t wait to feel that good again.

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October 19th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Life

When I said I wanted to be ‘on Colavita’, I didn’t mean it so literally.

The Race: TD Bank Mayor’s Cup Pro Criterium

The Course: 0.7 mile lap, sprint line on the back of the course

The Field: Pro 1/2 woman

The Finish: On the ground

The race started and I felt good. Not great, but solid, and while the constant sprints for primes on the front and back of the course were tiring, I wasn’t coming apart. My positioning in the pack wasn’t always the best; I kept sliding back and having to work my way up again. But I was reasonably confident in my ability to get where I needed to be when the time came, so I tried to sit in and play it cool. At one point I put in a hard effort just to move up, but then realized the field was slowing at the same time and decided to attack. Off the front and up the road, but with lots of laps left to go, I wasn’t interested in trying to be the one that got away. The field was strong and motivated – everything was getting chased down and my solo stint off the front was just for kicks.

As the laps ticked by, I started planning for the end and thinking, “only thirteen more laps in my season…only six more laps in my season…” I wanted to make sure I was giving every ounce of effort I could to make it count when I crossed that line.

When the lap card showed 3, I moved into the top third of the field and was holding a decent position coming into the final stretch of the course. Then a Colavita rider hit the ground right in front of me and I was too close to swerve. I crashed on top of her, banging myself up a bit, breaking part of my rear derailleur, and bracing myself as other riders joined the pile. Free laps ended with seven to go.

So that was it. I did a quick post-crash assessment (no serious damage on me, no bones poking out of her) and moved us off the course. Fortunately, a race photographer was able to help me remember this great moment forever!

This season began with a crash and a race report featuring body shots of damage. I suppose it’s only fitting that it’s ending in a similar fashion:

I’m not sufficiently interested in spicing up my callout on GamJams by featuring the full extent of the damage. I draw the line at my first self-taken butt shot (which, if you saw the photo, you’ll know is in no way hot, saucy, or even appetite-friendly).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go outside, draw a finish line on the pavement, and ride my bike across it over and over again.

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September 26th 2011 | Posted in Biking

The Beginning of The End

It is 11:06am and in one hour, I will leave my hotel in Boston to ride my bike downtown for my final race of the season.

My hands are shaking as I write this, partially from pre-race nerves and partially because I cannot believe I am here, at the end of this incredible season. When I began racing back in March, I was riding my Seven cross bike with slick tires and planning to do a few road races as training for my first season as a pro cross country mountain bike racer. Now I am a road racer. I have the bike, the team, the clothes, the scars, and most of all, the heart of a road racer.

A more thorough recap of this year will have to wait until after this race, since I’m in no state of mind to remember details clearly. Right now, it’s all a fabulous blur of places and people and corners and finish lines and car trips. I had more success this past year than I could have ever imagined; instead of a ‘pancake year’ (aka, a throwaway) as a newbie in the pro mountain bike races, I lined up at national-level races in city centers and held my own. Sometimes it wasn’t pretty, sometimes I felt overwhelmed and afraid, but in the end, all I remember is how good it all felt, even the parts that hurt.

And there has been hurt, more than I can ever express. Disappointments on the bike, injuries and setbacks, and the part where my dedication to cycling and racing drove a wedge between Bobby and me that neither of knows if we can repair. Now I’m in a hotel room in a city alone, pursuing this dream because I believe in it and love this sport completely.

I don’t know what the future will hold. Maybe I’ll win today or come in 20th or dead last. Maybe I’ll get on a pro team and go on to race at Worlds in Richmond in 2015. Maybe my life will balance itself out and I’ll wake up one day and know that everything is as it should be. But for right now, I am going to go do what I do best: ride hard, dream big, and cross that line today knowing that I have done the very best I could.

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September 25th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Bobby, Family, Friends, Life, Sadness, Travel

In which I visit the concept of sanity.

So yesterday sucked. It was just a race and shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but I’d had a lot of hopes pinned on the outcome of Green Mountain. The crit was supposed to be where I would end the stage race on a high, try to get that sprinter’s jersey, and get back on the podium. I wanted to spend the 10+ hours driving home reflecting happily on the satisfaction of wrapping up the whole event with some great results. Instead, I left Vermont wet, miserable, unsatisfied, and with an unrelenting headache.

To be so derailed by the cancellation is a bit silly. I mean, I sat on a park ledge in Burlington in the pouring rain and cried. And then I cried on route 22A and route 4 and 87 south and all through Albany.

That’s ridiculous. Strictly from a hydration perspective, one should not hemorrhage water so carelessly.

When I heard the race was off and there was nothing I could do about it, it felt like a huge letdown and a door closing all at once, which is kind of dumb, because it was just what happened and shouldn’t matter so much. I still rode well, got a 2nd place result in a stage, climbed a mountain, and had a good trip to Vermont. It was just one race. Not the culmination of a season, not a make or break for earning a pro contract, not a sign of whether or not I’m going to win the world championships one day. In other words, just one small part of life as a competitive athlete.

There are a few wonderful people I talk to in the cycling world who keep me grounded. They remind me when I start getting too anxious, too wrapped up in results and getting on a team, that I do this because I love it and that I should never be afraid to race because I’m worried about what people will think of my results. I forget this constantly – half of my devastation yesterday was because I didn’t get a chance to get ‘impressive’ results that I could send to a team. But when I think about that now, I want to tattoo “Do This For YOU” on my arm.

If somebody can turn that into a black design using some Asian character, I actually might.

I feel better today. Calmer, with things more in perspective. Now I’m just unhappy that I didn’t get to race yesterday, because for all the anxiety and tension it causes, I love to race. When the chance is taken away, I’m reminded of how much I want to be racing. It feels like some weird ache, a longing to compete, to work hard, to race my heart out like it seems I’m meant to do.

There are two more races on my calendar for the season. I’m not so far committed to mental health that I’m ready to say the results don’t matter, but I do know that more than anything, getting a chance to try matters. Win or lose, dominate or suck, hell or high water, I want to be on my bike trying.

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September 6th 2011 | Posted in Biking, Life, Sadness
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