When the Wifey Smiles

When I wrote Cons... and Pros, I forgot to include another benefit of the asphalt faceplant...

Free Healthcare. You see, when you spend a few nights at Motel UMC you're rewarded with a bill so large you'll have no need to worry about hitting your health insurance's maximum out-of-pocket for the year. Oh yes, you'll hit it immediately. And hard. And then your annual deductible will be met, freeing you up to spend the rest of the year visiting doctors for free, checking all those things your wife has been bugging you about. It's like having a free pass to Six Flags with the ability to ride whatever rides you want, as many times as you want, for the remainder of the year!

And free popcorn and cotton candy too!

Unfortunately, there is tremendous risk of a backfire if one of those doctors inadvertently finds something wrong with you. Then it's like puking up all that popcorn and cotton candy in a trash can after your eighth ride on the Kingda Ka.

Mid-puke you'll recall that old economics rule about "free" lunches.

125 mph launch, 450 foot drop, highly recommended

I ended up tossing some cookies (metaphorically speaking) after a "free" visit to the dermatologist to have some moles removed. The phone call came the next day with some bad news.

Melanoma in my left calf.

The doc explained what this meant, and what would happen next. The biopsy showed that the cancer extended beyond the portion that was cut out, which meant I'd need to have surgery. With the Breslow depth and Clark's level of the Melanoma they found, and assuming it hadn't spread to my lymph nodes, the 10-year survival rate is 92%. And at my age the doctors seem confident that it's been caught soon enough that it should be no problem. But the last thing I wanted to find out this year was that I have cancer.

I didn't want to tell my wife. She's been through so much the past four months with all my nonsense, and you'll recall from Winter that her mom passed away from Melanoma. I considered keeping it from her completely, but I knew that was wrong. A couple days later I told her.

I went in for the surgery about a week ago to have a larger chunk removed from my calf to make sure the Melanoma was completely removed from the site; as well as a sentinel lymph node biopsy, which is where they remove a few lymph nodes and check them for cancer. They inject some sort of radioactive tracer and some dye at the site of the Melanoma, then use a Geiger counter (you know, that thing that counts geigers) to determine which lymph node(s) the tracer/dye travels to first (the "sentinel" node). The idea is that whichever node(s) the tracer/dye travels to is where the cancer would go as well (if it spread). The hope, of course, is that the cancer hasn't spread to the nodes.

Afterward your pee is blue for a couple days, so that is cool.

The surgery was fine except they wouldn't allow just a local anesthetic (I'm not a fan of being unconscious). I argued with the nurse, then the anesthesiologist, then the surgeon -- but in the end after we compared salaries he won and I went under.

Side story. During a hockey game a few years back I took a stick to the face crossing the blue line, was knocked out for a second or two, realized I'd been hit in the eye, and then thought, "oh no, the wifey is going be ticked." She wasn't too pleased about the concussion I'd received a few months prior (puck deflected to just above my right eye), and my assurances back then that the half face shield would be sufficient in avoiding future injuries to my "beautiful face" (her words) were gone as warm liquid poured from my face and created a nice red pool on the ice.

So, I got to spend one night in the hospital with a massive slit in my eyelid.
Oh, and it was Christmas Eve.

Hockey stick to the eye -- wifey does not approve

What was the point of the hockey story? I'm sorry, I forgot.

Oh yes I remember now. The doc that dealt with my gnarly eye issue was willing to give me a local and keep me awake while he worked on it. Not that I enjoyed being awake (imagine a doctor coming at your eye with a 3-inch long needle telling you, "be still and don't blink.") It was no fun to be sure, but I preferred a staring contest with a syringe over being put under a general anesthetic. Why did I need to be unconscious for a little cut on my calf when I could stay awake for one on my eye? Who knows... probably something to do with Obamacare.

Back on track. A few days after the Melanoma surgery I went back to the doc to find out the results. I was confident that they were able to remove all the cancer from my leg (the incision is four inches long after all). But I was concerned that it had spread to my lymph nodes -- and I desperately hoped that I would not need to do chemotherapy. Not because I didn't want to go through it, but because I didn't want my wife to go through it.

She sat by me in the waiting room nervously reading through a magazine, fighting back tears as I'm sure she thought about her mother's battle and the prospect of starting the war all over again. I tried to take her mind off it and when that didn't work I kept telling her that it was "no big deal" and that I was sure the news would be good. She had doubts... and honestly the way things have been going the past few months, I did too.

The 18th book in the Bible is about a dude named Job. It's the oldest book in the Bible, perhaps written prior to the flood. Job is a cool guy but a ton of bad stuff is allowed (by God) to happen to him (losing property, friends, family, etc.). The book unapologetically displays that which often prompts the question: why do "bad" things happen to "good" people? It's a rough book to read and the apparent lesson is difficult to accept, but it does accomplish one thing very well. No matter how bad we think we have it, we're still way better off than Job was. I said a quick prayer as the doctor walked in, but in the back of my mind was something that Job had said...

"The Lord can do everything, and no purpose of His can be withheld from Him." (Job 42:2)

It can be an inspiring verse, reminding us that there is nothing out of God's ability. But it can also be a little unsettling, because nothing is off limits. If He chooses to allow suffering in our lives for whatever purpose He wills... well, good luck withholding that from Him. If His purpose for my wife and me is to go through chemo and all the challenges that accompany it, then that's what we'll do (whether we want to or not). The hardest part isn't necessarily suffering through the "bad" stuff; it's trusting the Lord that allowed it, humbly accepting that there truly is a purpose. I wanted to hear good news, but I was prepared for the alternative.

"We got it all out of your leg. And the results from the biopsy are good, the cancer did not spread."

Thank you, Lord.

As we walked out, I looked at my beautiful bride and suggested we go out for ice cream to celebrate. She smiled with relief, and when the wifey smiles all my worries fade away.

And I'm reminded again just how lucky I am.

Socks

A song by Cake started playing. It was 4:15 am. My alarm was telling me it was time to check my resting heart rate (42 bpm), stealthily slide out of bed, and make my way to the espresso machine. I pulled a double shot and stood in the kitchen for a couple minutes, yawning and trying to decide if I would do (easy) an AE ride or (hard) Kilo Intervals. Evie, our Siberian Husky, whined as if to tell me to do the AE ride. I stretched and considered (very easy) climbing back in bed. A visit the bathroom to ponder further the amount of pain I was willing to endure was in order.

I decided to go with the AE ride; Kilo Intervals just hurt too much. I checked the tires and filled up a water bottle, annoyed that I’d forgotten to fill it partially to freeze overnight. Glaring at the freezer I sighed at my procrastination -- maybe I’ll fix the ice maker next weekend. Evie repeated the soft whine, no doubt wanting to go wherever it was I went every morning. Instead she was escorted to the backyard by a beautiful sleepwalking girl in pink jammies. As she passed, the wifey patted my arm to say good morning -- then returned to the dreams she had put on pause. Again I pondered heading back to bed.

I checked the time and pulled another espresso. Holding the button on the Di2 shifter confirmed that the battery was just fine. Sliding the water bottle into its cage I was now past the point of no return -- the ride was on. I made a trip back to the bedroom to wash-up, dress, kiss the sleepwalker, and reassure her that I would ride safe and be home soon.

Sitting on the couch with the coffee in hand, my eyes lazily wandered the living room. The cloudy skies produced a dim, muted morning light. The humidity in the cool air seemed to slow everything down a bit. I gazed at the clock and let my eyes go out of focus, then looked down at the shoes in front of me. And the socks that I’d laid atop them. Time paused, and the socks spoke.


They reminded me of the accident and resulting recovery period. Of the time the wifey was at work and I wanted to go try a walk but couldn’t put the socks on myself. When I leaned against the bed and stared at them with frustration; with anger. Angry that such a simple task was nearly impossible, that I couldn’t do what I wanted to do. That without assistance the walk would have to wait. Such a small thing, but it emphasized the reality of my injury and forced the realization that my recovery would be a long, boring climb with a headwind. Frustrated with the wasted time; sick of waiting; of being stuck; of being helpless. It brought me to tears. I hated the socks that day.

There are two things that I’m really good at -- being humble and being impatient. The socks forced me to deal with my impatience. They made me stop. They made me wait. They said, "Chill out dude, you’ll get through this and the end will be better. It would be great if you could manage to be just a little more patient instead of selfish and proud. Don’t be all ticked off about it; that’s how idiots act. And quit complaining about how things were better before -- you don’t know the future, so you really don’t know what the heck you’re talking about."

Or, if you prefer New King James:

The end of a thing is better than its beginning; the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. Do not hasten in your spirit to be angry, for anger rests in the bosom of fools. Do not say, "Why were the former days better than these?" For you do not inquire wisely concerning this.

Ecclesiastes 7:8-10

We have a limited amount of time before we check out of this life. For me, impatience stems from an idea that time is being wasted. I’m (slowly) starting to learn that all time can be beneficial for growth, and therefore is not wasted. Finishing the coffee I glanced at my bike and then back down at my socks. I apologized for being angry at them back then. They chuckled, told me that I’m forgiven -- and that it was time to scrap the AE ride plan, man-up, and do some Kilo Intervals.


Last year I set a goal of 550 watts for a 1-minute Kilo Interval. At a couple high points in my training I came close, but never quite got there. Eight months ago, staring angrily at those socks I didn't think I ever would.


Now I have.

Free Lap

In crit racing, a “free lap” is given to riders who flat, experience a mechanical issue, or are involved in a crash. They collect themselves, roll back to the start/finish, and are allowed to jump back into the race by re-joining the main group on the next lap. It is meant to simulate what happens in a road race, when a rider is allowed to draft off team cars to catch back up to the peloton. Near the end of the race, however, when there are just a few laps to go -- free laps are no longer given and the rider must decide to either finish the race solo, or drop out completely.

In life -- just like in crits -- sometimes we get a free lap, and sometimes we don’t. When I was hit by a car I was blessed with being given a free lap. As difficult as it was to deal with, after about six months of collecting myself and rolling back to the start/finish I had the good fortune of being allowed to re-join the group. I may be suffering at the back of the pack right now, but the race isn’t over yet and I may just have something left for the sprint.

Nate Aikele (pictured above with Lance Armstrong), unfortunately, isn’t being given a free lap.

While racing in the Driveway Series a couple weeks ago in Austin, Texas, Nate went off course and hit a tree. He fractured his T4 through T10 vertebrate, severely breaking his T7, and severed his spinal cord. The prognosis is permanent paralysis from the mid-chest down.

Permanent paralysis.

In Hebrews chapter 12, the author refers to our life as a race and encourages us to run it with endurance. That word, “endurance” can also be translated “patience” and it suggests that every individual’s “race” will include difficulties that we must suffer through. The difficulty that Nate has been given to endure is of a magnitude that many, including I, cannot truly comprehend. The race that has been “set before him” is one that no one would willingly choose. If the neurologists are correct, Nate will never re-join the peloton. He may not be receiving the free lap, but he has chosen to not drop out completely – he will finish.

Please join me in praying for Nate and his family, and applaud him as he continues his race. If you are able, the family is seeking donations to aid in his recovery.
You can donate online here: https://fundly.com/nate-for-the-win

He gives power to the weak,
And to those who have no might He increases strength.
Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

Isaiah 40:29-31

Be careful out there,
and when you feel that burn in your legs on the hard training days -- be thankful.

Winter

I was asked to say something to her, so I did the best I could. "We're all here mom, we're with you and we aren't leaving. We love you very much." I don't think she could hear me, but her children -- my wife and my sister-in-law -- they could. So I tried to think of something to say that would comfort them. "We're really going to miss you. We'll see you soon." She took one last soft breath and the room went silent. I don't know how long we stood there before the hospice nurse came back in. It seemed, like so much in life, to have been too short. I felt like I should have said so much more.

The death of my mother-in-law hit my wife and me pretty hard. She had been battling Melanoma for a decade so it wasn't necessarily a surprise, but we were not prepared for it. Not at all. What was strange was that it didn't hit us right away. For months we went through the motions of sorting out the funeral arrangements, cleaning up the house, contacting friends and relatives, purchasing airline tickets, dealing with the estate sale, and handling all the tax issues that accompany this sort of thing. Shirley left us on August 1, but it wasn't until Thanksgiving that we fully realized that she was gone. On the day normally spent laughing around her dining table, eating the delicious food she had prepared, and discussing upcoming Christmas plans -- instead of turkey and pie and laughter and joy... instead, we wept.

2012 had marked the 3-year anniversary of her passing, and just like the previous years, it was the holiday season, not August 1, when the remembrance of Shirley's passing was strongest. I remember going for a ride the night of Christmas Eve. My wife was spending some quality time at her father's so I had a couple hours to myself. I had originally planned on riding out River to where it turns into Thornydale and then turning back. But instead I continued up Thornydale to Tangerine, over to Oracle and then back down to River. The detour wasn't added because I wanted more miles, but because I was out there thinking about, and greatly missing my mother-in-law.

River-Tangerine

I remember how cold it was that night. I was wearing a long-sleeved jersey and long-fingered gloves, but I was still cold. It was a quiet night too, with most everyone at home doing the Christmas Eve family thing. I stopped at a church parking lot on Tangerine to text my wife and eat a Clif bar. The service had just ended and so I sat, watching people walk to their cars and drive off. After a few minutes the chill was to my bones. I shivered, put the wrapper in my jersey pocket and rode away, disappointed that the cold weather would likely mean less riding in the coming months. I pedaled hard to get my heart rate back up, and was rewarded with the return of a little bit of warmth.

This morning I sighed when I stepped outside. It's starting to get cold again, and already I can tell that my beautiful wife is thinking about her mom. It will be Thanksgiving soon, and then Christmas, and then New Years -- and I know there will be tears in the near future. We all have seasons in life that are tougher to get through than others. It's difficult when there's nothing much you can do but suffer through it and wait for spring. I wish there were something I could do to fix it, but I can't -- no more than I could make the winter days long and warm. Winter will always have days that are cold and dark and quiet; days that will require arm warmers and toe covers and skull caps. Days that will remind us that a loved one is gone.

But we can still get through it, and we can even have a little bit of warmth in it.


We just need to pedal.

The Formidable Four Hundred

A good friend of mine, Jason Smith, just completed a self-prescribed challenge: to ride 400 miles in one week. To set such a difficult challenge and then complete it is quite the feat and I join with many in congratulating him on it. In my own life I enjoy greatly setting goals and seeking to attain them -- not for money, or a prize, or even a pat on the back -- but for the satisfaction of knowing that I was able to fulfill a task that I set out to complete. Even when the challenge is not met I see it as an opportunity to try again, to simply change the due date. Without goals in life we become stagnant, complacent, stuck, discouraged -- we become less than what we were created to be.

Congratulations Jason, I say you deserve a digital finisher's badge, even though it isn't provided by Strava. Wear it proudly and good luck on your next challenge -- I'll join you soon.

From Jason:

The work week 400 is done! I really don’t know how I did it. It was all encompassing to say the least. I was on the bike every day at about 4:30, which meant I was waking up at 3:30. This is no big deal once or twice a week if you give yourself some sleep-in days, and I really like them on week days because of what you can accomplish. It becomes a real big problem after 3 days :-). The hardest part of this challenge is the mental one by far. None of the rides where intense and that was the plan going into it so it wasn’t like the dread of intervals. It became taxing every night when I was dead to the world at 7:30 and still had to be a dad for the next hour. It became hard on day 3 when I thought about how many miles I had left, and it really became tough on Saturday when I almost gave in and slept  until the 6:30 JKG ride time. I just kept telling myself that I had to get on the bike……..just get on the bike and start to pedal. It’s a simple idea but in times like that the warm pillow is screaming at you very loudly. I hate to use the JKG saying in some dramatic inspirational sound-the-music story because to me it works in kind of an opposite way…..I guess…….to me it works in a rather simple way, a close your eyes on the trainer and zone out type of way…….a don’t think about anything and just go type of way……………a less thinking is best kind of thing! That’s what this challenge boiled down to, can I just keep going? It really wasn’t about the pace, It was in fact about the place.

I just kept asking myself “what story will you tell?” Am I going to tell the story of quitting or the one where I made it?

The single best thing I did was to tell people I was doing it. I didn’t do it to impress people, I did it for accountability. I knew if someone was paying attention I wouldn’t want to quit. If this would’ve been some idea that no one knew about, Saturday would have been the end of it!

Thanks for your support my JKG friends, tell you more later, the pillow is calling my name!

Grimacing

Bike the Bluff, June 2013

You've reached that point. Or more accurately stated, you've arrived.

Your enemy did all that he could to prevent it, but you -- not your mind, not your body -- you were able to battle the relentless thought of quitting, the counterfeit "desire" to stop, to slow, to decrease, to fall short, to fail. You attacked yourself, and you won. Congratulations, you have been rewarded.

With the grimace.

Do not be fooled though, for it is not really a grimace. It is a smile. A mandatory smile forced upon your body, forced upon your mind, forced... by your soul. It appears distorted because the mind does not really want to produce it. It is a smile that cannot be faked for a photograph by saying "cheese," nor can it be avoided when thought inappropriate. Though your mind will tell you otherwise, it will not last long; a few minutes, perhaps only seconds. It cannot be given to anyone, nor can it be taken away -- it must be earned.

It is permissible for you to wear the smile temporarily after providing a worthy effort, after giving what is deemed the requirement, after sufficiently turning yourself inside-out. Treasure it, for it is not just a smile -- it is the best kind of smile -- it is the most genuine of all smiles.

This smile, despite what your mind tells you, is not caused by pain. It results from the realization that an extremely important achievement has been made; that progress has taken place; that you have become... better. You went 30 seconds faster, or perhaps an hour. You went 4 inches higher, or perhaps 1,000 feet. You went 30 yards further, or perhaps 20 miles. You pushed your limit and placed a flag in a place you've never been before. You've discovered new land. No... you've conquered new land. You aren't the best, but that isn't due to some complacent acceptance; it's through the understanding that your goal is not be become the best. No, you will not simply settle for "best." Your goal is to not to become, but to be... better. Your goal is not achieved next year, next month, or even next week. Your goal is achieved every time you are allowed to wear the smile.

Your enemy may have convinced you that progress ends with age, but this too is a lie. Progress continues, but with age it transfers away from the physical and ceases to be practice; no longer just a scrimmage. You will then, with age, apply that which you have learned in your youth; when you were intentionally seeking the smile.

The endurance you've achieved will not be needed for races. Your strength will not be needed for training. Your agility will not be needed for sports. Your fitness will not be needed for games. These skills will be used elsewhere. You will have transitioned involuntarily from amateur to professional.

Disappointment will not come from an overtime loss, but from a missed opportunity to do the right thing. Elation will not be from finishing a marathon, but from walking 20 feet with your daughter -- down the aisle. The labored breathing will not be from a difficult climb, but from the death of a parent -- and perhaps your spouse. The taste of blood will not result from a hard effort, but from a battle with a disease you never saw coming. The nervous feeling will not result from peering over the edge before dropping in, but from looking death in the eye and knowing that this time it will not be cheated.

You will wear the smile for new reasons, or so it will seem -- but the reality is that the reason is the same; you will have achieved something extremely important; you will have made progress; you will have become... better. Enjoy the smile, for though in those instances it was not sought after -- it was still earned.

Realize though that the smile is temporary; it will fade; and when it fades your goal will have moved away from you. It will have become 50 seconds faster, 5 miles further, 500 feet higher.

You have beaten yesterday's version of you, but now you are tomorrow's enemy...

and you will be attacked...

and you will be defeated...


for tomorrow you will be better.

SPP

The Scream (Edvard Munch)

I figured it would be nice to take a break from work for a bit; to relax at home laying around in bed with no real responsibilities; to sleep in and stay up late; to be lazy. Sure I had to deal with the pain associated with a handful of fractured vertebrate, a hole in my shoulder previously filled with asphalt, a patellar cartilage fracture in my right knee, and the extensive road rash associated with losing an SUV-induced battle with the road -- but I looked forward to taking it easy for a few weeks to recover. I thought I might even enjoy it.

I was wrong.

Physical pain seems to come in two forms, one of them being intended. When pushing hard on a long climb, pain is what we fight. We suffer as intended. The reason behind our intention varies. Get stronger, go faster, lose weight, keep up, win. We suffer because we know that it produces something. We don't immediately reap the benefits, but we believe they will come. We rely on past experience to trust that the suffering is not for nothing. We aren't enduring this pain because we enjoy it. We are betting on the come.

The pain I've experienced the past couple months has come in different forms. Morphine, Oxycodone, and muscle relaxers have done a somewhat decent job with the physical pain. However, there is no pill available to cover up the strange suffering of helplessly staring at a ceiling feeling like the world is leaving you behind. No prescription for the disappointment, frustration, embarrassment, and even despair that has been difficult to endure. Many times I felt like giving up, turning back, slowing down, stopping. I wanted the suffering to end. For a time I forgot that which I've told myself countless times pushing hard on the long climbs: you can do this, it's not much longer, push harder, keep going, breath, fight the pain, endure...

because suffering produces perseverance. (Romans 5:3)


Blog post #1 of (hopefully) many, devoted to inspiring others to suffer with intention.

Thank you for reading,
Buzz