When people are losing weight, there are pleasures that come from being able to do certain everyday things they weren't able to do before. Those activities are a kind of benchmark of the progress that has been made. One of my personal favorites is when I travel on a plane.
In my former 350-pound life, flying was the most miserable experience, for me and undoubtedly for the people around me. Trying to squish into the little airline seats, not being able to buckle the seatbelt without cutting off the blood supply to my legs, spilling over into the seat of the annoyed slim person beside me -- the whole thing was an exercise in humiliation, shame and discomfort.
Not anymore. My days of trying to cram myself inconspicuously against the window, watching while the look of dread crossed the face of the unlucky flyer who had the misfortune of being seated next to me are over. These days I can stride confidently onto the plane, slide gracefully into my seat, buckle the seatbelt with 6-10 inches of belt to spare -- whoo hoo! And I can smile sweetly at the lucky duck who gets to sit next to my sparkly personality, which is the ONLY part of me that is spilling beyond the borders of my airline seat!
But... I am not so far from those days that I have forgotten the agony. So Wednesday, when I was flying back from my scouting trip, I felt lot of compassion toward the morbidly obese woman who was seated in my row. She had to use a seat extender because she couldn't fasten the belt. She refused any beverages or snacks, and I suspect at least part of the reason was that there was no way she could have put the seat back tray down because her abdomen extended within inches of it. At one point, I glanced down at her feet. She was wearing flip flops, her feet so swollen that no standard shoe would have fit. Her toes were barely visible beneath the folds of flesh. She was stuffed mercilessly into the seat, trying to push against the wall and window while still holding her Kindle, her arm propped up on her stomach.
She wore a very cute outfit and gorgeous jewelry, had impeccable make-up and really pretty layered, highlighted hair. But I doubt many people noticed those things.
When she got off the plane, she managed the short walk off the aircraft and then plopped down heavily onto the waiting wheelchair. All I could think was, but for the grace of God, there go I. And I wanted so desperately to help her, to tell her that it's not too late, that there is hope.
If I can leave that piece for a moment.... my grandmother died in January of 2010. In December, my dad called me to tell me that she was in the hospital and that "it wasn't looking good". My daughter and I flew home that very afternoon, and I went straight to the hospital. Grandma rallied, and I actually spent some wonderful and precious time with her during that trip. But in particular I remember being in her hospital room with my Aunt Cheryl and my cousin, Dawn, when the doctor came in with the diagnosis. I think my cousin Andrew and my Auntie Essie might have been there, too.
The doctor told us that grandma's cancer was now in the lining of her lungs. He went on to say that they would do everything they could to keep her comfortable. The rest of us sat there, not really absorbing what he was saying. Grandma got it. In her calm and pragmatic way, she said, "So what you're saying is that I am dying."
The doctor made a "It's as you have said" gesture. Grandma knew. The family, not so much. The next two months (the final two of her life) were a heroic effort on the part of everyone to feed Grandma cancer-fighting, uber-healthy foods, vitamins and herbal remedies, all in an effort to improve her state enough that she might even be able to tolerate more chemo and extend her time with us.
Grandma had lived 86 years of a beautiful, loving, fulfilling life of contribution. She was at peace, but we wanted more of her. She was a paragon of everything we valued, loved and held true, and we wanted to preserve it. She succumbed to the cancer on January 6, 2010.
Likewise, when my mother was deteriorating this past year, we put her on hospice (still somehow believing that this was maintenance more than end-of-life care). In August, the care facility called me to tell me they thought her fever and other symptoms were caused by her beginning the process of "active dying" rather than an infection or other ailment. When a patient is on hospice, they receive comfort care, but are not given what are considered life-prolonging treatments. That means, for example, they are not sent to the hospital or given CPR when life-threatening symptoms present.
I, as Mom's healthcare power of attorney, chose not to revoke her hospice and send her to the hospital, in large part because I felt that her MS and dementia had made her quality of life such that it was cruel to force her, through the wonders of modern medicine, to keep holding on. ("For what?" was the question I kept asking myself.)
Nonetheless, a week later when I was sitting beside her bed mere hours before her death, the confidence in my decision left me. I sat, listening to her death rattle, singing, talking, reading to her -- anything I could think of, but my mind was racing. Maybe if we gave her a super-antibiotic...maybe a respirator... maybe we could still reverse the dying process... maybe, maybe, maybe. She passed away that evening, August 15, 2012.
Which brings me back to the woman on the plane. I know these all seem disjointed. I was telling Adam about all of it, tears streaming down my face, trying to connect my thoughts. He very wisely pointed out that the connector may be the will to survive and not wanting to accept death. "There is a reason they call it morbid obesity, Jenn," he said. True that. I know for sure that I was not really living at 350 pounds.
Ways I couldn't live at 350 pounds:
1. I didn't like to be outside in the summer because I couldn't tolerate any heat.
2. I couldn't enjoy festivals or amusement parks because I couldn't fit on the rides and I tired so easily from walking.
3. I couldn't hike up to any vistas during road trips.
4. I couldn't relax in a hot bath because I couldn't "fit" in the bathtub.
5. I couldn't lie on my back to relax because my "chins" cut off my airway.
6. I couldn't really enjoy sex or intimacy.
7. When my daughter was an infant, I couldn't nurse her well because my stomach was too big to hold her against me.
8. My back, hips, knees and ankles hurt all the time.
9. I had trouble playing the piano or doing crafts because my hands were so puffy and my fingers were so fat.
10. All my thoughts centered around my weight, my body, and what I was going to eat or not eat.
11. I had high blood pressure, metabolic syndrome, thyroid problems, pre-diabetes and sleep apnea.
12. I struggled with simple tasks like fastening my bra, walking up a flight of stairs, tying my shoes, even wiping myself (I know..eww!).
And probably the worst of all...
13. Aislynn is my one and only miracle child, and it is very likely that my inability to have any other children was due mostly to the weight I carried on my body. She is an only child and will never have siblings because I couldn't overcome my food addiction and eating problems during my child-bearing years.
So I think Adam is onto something - like someone who has cheated death and been given a second chance, I want so badly to help others who are in my situation... to see them with their own second chance at living. My brother Matt pointed out that a lot of times, how we behave in relation to others really comes back to ourselves. I mean, Grandma was at peace -- we were the ones who wanted to extend the joy of her in our lives. With my mom, I knew -- knew -- inside that she had long left a life worth living, and yet in her last hours I wanted her to stay for my own sake.
And maybe my feelings about the woman on the plane are also based in part on the very real fear and anxiety I have that without vigilance and daily attention and constant goals, I could return to that half-life, half-death existence I had created for myself. That makes sense, because my other prevailing thought throughout the flight was, "I need to get home and get on my bike!"
I want to live and live well. And maybe when I figure it all out and reach my final health goals, I can help others do the same.
Thanks, blog.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
My Gorgeous Reality Check
I'm sitting in the Phoenix airport, on a layover that is experiencing several hours of delays. Normally being stranded alone in an airport would be enough to send me over the edge, but I am sufficiently excited about what has been accomplished the past 48 hours that it would take 10 more hours of delays, loss of all power and air conditioning at the airport, the batteries on all my various electronics dying and a small hysterical child vomiting on my shoe to ruin my mood. None of which has happened yet, knock on pleather.
Over the past two days I went from northern Washington to the Oregon border in Astoria, following the route that I will ride in September. My friend Fred decided last minute to ride along, which was a happy and welcome addition because 1) I was able to take notes, mark mileage and plan hotel and rest stops while he drove and 2) his sister Nancy offered to drive support vehicle in September, which means I don't have to worry about figuring out how to haul 40-50 pounds of gear on this maiden long distance ride -- hoorah!
The trip was so valuable. First, it gave a very realistic (albeit daunting) idea of what the route looks like and the training that will be needed in order to accomplish the goal. I naively thought the hilly roads I have been traveling in Wyoming were perhaps worse or at least comparable to the climbs in September. No and no. The entire ride endures long, steep climbs the likes of which I have never even experienced, let alone practiced. I also found out just how long each day will be (what do you mean we have only covered 24 miles so far ?!?!?). I stumbled upon another book on long distance riding that has a training schedule for people wanting to work up to a "century" (100 miles in one day). Needless to say, I will be starting that training right away.
Despite the difficulty of the ride, I will say that it is comprised of view after view of the most stunning scenery I have ever seen, including incredible vistas of Puget Sound and the Pacific Coast.
We also talked to several cyclists who were in the process of doing the Pacific Coast Route, including one who was on day four of his two month ride from Canada to Mexico. The discussions with these adventurists allowed us to pepper them with questions about their experiences and gave some great insight into what lies ahead. We asked questions about the physical and the mental preparation, gear, maps, rain and weather considerations....all kinds of helpful things.
From a topography standpoint, this trip has everything... Bridges and ferry crossings, forests, farmland, lighthouses, cities...never a shortage of cool things to look at. So at least while I am gasping and sucking wind and quite possibly weeping, it will be while looking at a whole lot of "pretty". (Following are just a few of the sights along the way!)
Over the past two days I went from northern Washington to the Oregon border in Astoria, following the route that I will ride in September. My friend Fred decided last minute to ride along, which was a happy and welcome addition because 1) I was able to take notes, mark mileage and plan hotel and rest stops while he drove and 2) his sister Nancy offered to drive support vehicle in September, which means I don't have to worry about figuring out how to haul 40-50 pounds of gear on this maiden long distance ride -- hoorah!
The trip was so valuable. First, it gave a very realistic (albeit daunting) idea of what the route looks like and the training that will be needed in order to accomplish the goal. I naively thought the hilly roads I have been traveling in Wyoming were perhaps worse or at least comparable to the climbs in September. No and no. The entire ride endures long, steep climbs the likes of which I have never even experienced, let alone practiced. I also found out just how long each day will be (what do you mean we have only covered 24 miles so far ?!?!?). I stumbled upon another book on long distance riding that has a training schedule for people wanting to work up to a "century" (100 miles in one day). Needless to say, I will be starting that training right away.
Despite the difficulty of the ride, I will say that it is comprised of view after view of the most stunning scenery I have ever seen, including incredible vistas of Puget Sound and the Pacific Coast.
We also talked to several cyclists who were in the process of doing the Pacific Coast Route, including one who was on day four of his two month ride from Canada to Mexico. The discussions with these adventurists allowed us to pepper them with questions about their experiences and gave some great insight into what lies ahead. We asked questions about the physical and the mental preparation, gear, maps, rain and weather considerations....all kinds of helpful things.
From a topography standpoint, this trip has everything... Bridges and ferry crossings, forests, farmland, lighthouses, cities...never a shortage of cool things to look at. So at least while I am gasping and sucking wind and quite possibly weeping, it will be while looking at a whole lot of "pretty". (Following are just a few of the sights along the way!)
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Mapping it out
In my hotel room in Lincoln City, OR tonight. My co-worker April and I are here checking out tourism, visitor services and a kite festival. Lincoln City sits right on the Pacific Ocean, so we have had a whole day of "Fun!" "Cuuuuuuuute!" "Gorgeous!" and "Wow!"
After we are all done getting inspired and motivated and chock full of new ideas to bring home, I am going to drop April off at the airport and then spend an extra two days driving (and mapping out) the course I'm going to ride in September. I will be able to see the road conditions, the climbs, the amenities, everything.
As a friend of mine reminded me, I don't want to be surprised by the first swallow of salt water. This is in reference to the San Diego triathlon we did last year, where I somehow managed to miss the fact that the swim was being held in the salt water bay rather than a fresh water lake. I gulp a huge amount of water when I swim, so that was a nice little shocker.
The funny part is, it was in San Diego, which, HELLO...is in Mission Bay Park, next to Sea World, the air smelling like salt... And I still didn't get it.
Yeah, I have a lot of smart alecs in my life.
Nite, blog.
After we are all done getting inspired and motivated and chock full of new ideas to bring home, I am going to drop April off at the airport and then spend an extra two days driving (and mapping out) the course I'm going to ride in September. I will be able to see the road conditions, the climbs, the amenities, everything.
As a friend of mine reminded me, I don't want to be surprised by the first swallow of salt water. This is in reference to the San Diego triathlon we did last year, where I somehow managed to miss the fact that the swim was being held in the salt water bay rather than a fresh water lake. I gulp a huge amount of water when I swim, so that was a nice little shocker.
The funny part is, it was in San Diego, which, HELLO...is in Mission Bay Park, next to Sea World, the air smelling like salt... And I still didn't get it.
Yeah, I have a lot of smart alecs in my life.
Nite, blog.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Itchy Scratchy Rant
Before I even start this, I want to say thanks to those of you who have been reading this blog and for the comments I have received. I knew I could coerce, beg and otherwise guilt my brother and at least one of my sisters into skimming it once in a while, but to have people voluntarily reading some posts -- wow. Boggles the mind. It's also nice to have so many people rooting for me to do this, and it has accomplished the most important goal -- giving me some accountability.
I purposely started out with that little positive note because I am still feeling cranky about riding, blogging and fitness in general. I have a LOT of complaints. A lot. In fact, I am just going to make a list here of everything that is plaguing me in the hopes that writing it all down will be sufficiently therapeutic to get it all off my chest and me off my butt and back onto the bike today.
So, the list, in no particular order:
1. I hate morning people. So why the heck am I awake and blogging at 6:37 AM? I think it's the biking. I seem to be sleeping less and less. And I like sleep.
2. I have about 20 mosquito bites from the other night's ride. Mostly on my hips, butt and thighs, which isn't surprising, considering that 1) those are my juiciest, meatiest parts and 2) that's what is largely (no pun intended) exposed as I lean over my bike.
3. Those mosquito bites aren't especially in places I want to be seen scratching, and certainly not as I go about my professional and official day as Director of Cultural Arts and Events. In no way is that art. It is possibly an event, but not a pretty one.
4. I have only lost 10 of my 40 pounds (mostly in blood, clearly). It just seems that between all the biking and the healthier eating, the weight should just be FALLING off, as if magic. I mean seriously, it should be like, gee, there went another five pounds, imagine that!
5. So now I am having to slather on tons of 45+SPF sunscreen AND bug spray, which probably means that this whole health quest is just going to end with me having cancer or some kind of rare, exotic disease brought on by subcutaneous toxic poisoning.
6. I have a crick in my neck. And my calves are sore. And my shoulders. And my toes.
7. If the wind blows me over when it's just me and my bike, how am I ever going to ride with panier bags on the sides of the bike? I'll be like a giant, bug-bitten, sunburned wind sail, tossed to and fro at every whim of Mother Nature.
8. The panier bags are going to weigh about 40 pounds. So I am losing 40 pounds (well, 30 now), just to put 40 pounds back on. THAT MEANS I AM STILL GOING TO HAVE TO BASICALLY CARRY THIS SAME CARCASS UP ALL THOSE HILLS.
Egad. I'm sitting here racking my brain and can't come up with any more. Maybe I should have broken each of those down into points a, b, c and d so that they look more impressive. Eight is not actually as bad as I thought when I started out making the list. (That is the beauty of lists... don't get me started on the functionality and psychological impact lists make in my life. I love them. More about that another time.)
Okay, enough. Time to quit crying like a girl and get gritty again. But thanks for letting me vent, blog.
I purposely started out with that little positive note because I am still feeling cranky about riding, blogging and fitness in general. I have a LOT of complaints. A lot. In fact, I am just going to make a list here of everything that is plaguing me in the hopes that writing it all down will be sufficiently therapeutic to get it all off my chest and me off my butt and back onto the bike today.
So, the list, in no particular order:
1. I hate morning people. So why the heck am I awake and blogging at 6:37 AM? I think it's the biking. I seem to be sleeping less and less. And I like sleep.
2. I have about 20 mosquito bites from the other night's ride. Mostly on my hips, butt and thighs, which isn't surprising, considering that 1) those are my juiciest, meatiest parts and 2) that's what is largely (no pun intended) exposed as I lean over my bike.
3. Those mosquito bites aren't especially in places I want to be seen scratching, and certainly not as I go about my professional and official day as Director of Cultural Arts and Events. In no way is that art. It is possibly an event, but not a pretty one.
4. I have only lost 10 of my 40 pounds (mostly in blood, clearly). It just seems that between all the biking and the healthier eating, the weight should just be FALLING off, as if magic. I mean seriously, it should be like, gee, there went another five pounds, imagine that!
5. So now I am having to slather on tons of 45+SPF sunscreen AND bug spray, which probably means that this whole health quest is just going to end with me having cancer or some kind of rare, exotic disease brought on by subcutaneous toxic poisoning.
6. I have a crick in my neck. And my calves are sore. And my shoulders. And my toes.
7. If the wind blows me over when it's just me and my bike, how am I ever going to ride with panier bags on the sides of the bike? I'll be like a giant, bug-bitten, sunburned wind sail, tossed to and fro at every whim of Mother Nature.
8. The panier bags are going to weigh about 40 pounds. So I am losing 40 pounds (well, 30 now), just to put 40 pounds back on. THAT MEANS I AM STILL GOING TO HAVE TO BASICALLY CARRY THIS SAME CARCASS UP ALL THOSE HILLS.
Egad. I'm sitting here racking my brain and can't come up with any more. Maybe I should have broken each of those down into points a, b, c and d so that they look more impressive. Eight is not actually as bad as I thought when I started out making the list. (That is the beauty of lists... don't get me started on the functionality and psychological impact lists make in my life. I love them. More about that another time.)
Okay, enough. Time to quit crying like a girl and get gritty again. But thanks for letting me vent, blog.
Monday, June 17, 2013
O for 2 and Feeling Salty
I thought about not blogging tonight, first because I have been annoyingly prolific with the blogs lately, and second because I am in a pretty brutal mood about this whole cycling thing at the moment.
But....I can't just journal about this project when I am feeling elated, buoyant or accomplished. After all, it's supposed to be real.
So, here it is. I have now attempted this 30 mile ride twice, and I have failed twice. In a row. One day after the other. Yesterday, of course, it was due to the crash. Tonight, I headed out to Lake Viva Naughton AGAIN and Adam and Aislynn drove out to meet me at the turn around AGAIN, but still no dice. When I got 13 miles out, I found out my phone wasn't working. It was turning on, but not recognizing the sim card. I took the battery out and still no go. I repeated that process (I know.. definition of insanity) and still no go.
Adam had long since passed me in the SUV and was no doubt already enjoying the beauty of Viva Naughton in the early evening. I was way late due to the fact that I had finally succumbed to the agony of the steepest climb on the route and had to get off my bike and walk up it. I had gotten up it before, but this time as I was slowly, slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y climbing it in my granny gear, I was attacked by mosquitos. I started swatting them off me (there were about 12 of them on my thigh at once - ugh) and slowed to a stop. And it was a really, really loooooong hill. And then there was the whole stop-to-restart-my-phone-several-times thing (have I mentioned Einstein's definition of insanity?).
So it was no wonder that as I continued riding, Adam came back in the SUV to see what was taking me so long. I showed him my phone, set my bike down on the side of the road and hopped in the car. My technology genius husband couldn't get it going, either. For some strange reason, that really validated me.
Adam asked what I wanted to do, and I told him to put the bike in the back. "Really? You don't want to ride back??" He was surprised. I mumbled some excuses about the sun going down and not having my phone just in case, and Adam went to get the bike from where we left it.
But the real truth is, I was afraid. Really afraid. After yesterday's fall, harmless though it turned out to be, I am scared to death to be stranded, hurt, hit by a truck, chased by a moose (or cow, or llama), you name it. It turns out for all my sounding my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world, I am not, in fact fearless. Just the opposite.
How can I ever do this if I can't overcome my own fear, my own thoughts, my own doubts?
So today I end this blog, scratching mosquito bites and feeling frustrated, mad at myself, ashamed, discouraged.
Night, blog.
But....I can't just journal about this project when I am feeling elated, buoyant or accomplished. After all, it's supposed to be real.
So, here it is. I have now attempted this 30 mile ride twice, and I have failed twice. In a row. One day after the other. Yesterday, of course, it was due to the crash. Tonight, I headed out to Lake Viva Naughton AGAIN and Adam and Aislynn drove out to meet me at the turn around AGAIN, but still no dice. When I got 13 miles out, I found out my phone wasn't working. It was turning on, but not recognizing the sim card. I took the battery out and still no go. I repeated that process (I know.. definition of insanity) and still no go.
Adam had long since passed me in the SUV and was no doubt already enjoying the beauty of Viva Naughton in the early evening. I was way late due to the fact that I had finally succumbed to the agony of the steepest climb on the route and had to get off my bike and walk up it. I had gotten up it before, but this time as I was slowly, slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y climbing it in my granny gear, I was attacked by mosquitos. I started swatting them off me (there were about 12 of them on my thigh at once - ugh) and slowed to a stop. And it was a really, really loooooong hill. And then there was the whole stop-to-restart-my-phone-several-times thing (have I mentioned Einstein's definition of insanity?).
So it was no wonder that as I continued riding, Adam came back in the SUV to see what was taking me so long. I showed him my phone, set my bike down on the side of the road and hopped in the car. My technology genius husband couldn't get it going, either. For some strange reason, that really validated me.
Adam asked what I wanted to do, and I told him to put the bike in the back. "Really? You don't want to ride back??" He was surprised. I mumbled some excuses about the sun going down and not having my phone just in case, and Adam went to get the bike from where we left it.
But the real truth is, I was afraid. Really afraid. After yesterday's fall, harmless though it turned out to be, I am scared to death to be stranded, hurt, hit by a truck, chased by a moose (or cow, or llama), you name it. It turns out for all my sounding my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world, I am not, in fact fearless. Just the opposite.
How can I ever do this if I can't overcome my own fear, my own thoughts, my own doubts?
So today I end this blog, scratching mosquito bites and feeling frustrated, mad at myself, ashamed, discouraged.
Night, blog.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Pride Cometh Before a Fall
The thing I feared the most on my rides happened today. I crashed.
I wanted to ride 30 miles, and today was the perfect day for it. Sunny, warm, mild -- perfect for a ride out to Viva Naughton and back. Perfect, that is, until about 3:30pm when I was actually getting dressed for said ride. As I pulled on my padded bike shorts, I heard the wind against the house, but dismissed it much as I dismiss those early cold symptoms as if ignoring the germy taste in the back of my throat will actually ward off the impending cold.
I put my bike on the car rack and headed over to the Event Center parking lot, and as I traveled Hwy 30 into town, I nervously watched the tall grasses that were bent over from the force of the wind. Once in town, I noticed the tops of the trees moving sharply to the east. Shoot. I arrived at the Center and went inside to grab my ipod, taking a minute to check weather.com and finding the winds at 25-30 mph. Shoot.
Shoot. Shoot.
I had no doubt that riding was a really bad idea at this point, out on the open road, up and down rolling hills with no trees or buildings to block or even slow down the wind. But I so wanted to do the ride that I talked myself into going anyway, reasoning that perhaps it would die down a bit as I rode.
It didn't.
The headwind as I traveled northwest toward Viva Naughton was bad enough. It was like trying to run forward while someone pushed on my shoulders. But the winds that blew at me sideways were the worst, causing my front tire to wobble dangerously and my bike to jump on the road as I coasted downhill. So very scary.
I got about eight miles out, white knuckling along, when I heard a car approaching. I turned my head to see where it was, and that was all it took for the wind to knock me sideways onto the gravel shoulder. (Thank goodness there was a shoulder rather than the deep ditches that line much of the route!) Recovery in the gravel was impossible, and down I went, falling into the road just about the time the car was trying to navigate around me. Truth be told, I think it freaked the driver out more than me. He veered left, slowed down, then accelerated somewhat doubtfully before driving off. A second vehicle also slowed down and actually stopped, and a passenger called out, "Are you okay?!?!"
By this time I had recovered enough to be standing with my bike, and I nodded and shouted back, "I'm okay!" Then I lifted my arm up and circled in the air, yelling, "The wind!" as a means of explanation as to why I had crashed.
Thankfully, I wasn't really hurt, other than a few minor scrapes. But that was enough for me. I headed back to town. Adam and Aislynn pulled up in our SUV just after I had turned around. (They had planned to meet me at the lake for a little while before my ride back.) Adam rolled down the window. "Aren't you going the wrong way?"
I explained that I just couldn't fight the wind and asked him to stay close in the car until I got back safely. The fierce tailwind helped me on climbs and conserved my energy, but made for truly frightening descents down several hills. I was extremely relieved when I got back to the Event Center. So much for both my strong will and my arrogance. And now I know that it's not just a matter of having to suffer through a more difficult ride -- there is a genuine safety issue when the wind speed passes a certain threshold.
Hopefully tomorrow the air will be calm and I can get that 30 mile ride in. Tonight I am grateful that despite crashing I am still in the shape to get on my bike tomorrow. It really could have been disastrous. Truly blessed.
I wanted to ride 30 miles, and today was the perfect day for it. Sunny, warm, mild -- perfect for a ride out to Viva Naughton and back. Perfect, that is, until about 3:30pm when I was actually getting dressed for said ride. As I pulled on my padded bike shorts, I heard the wind against the house, but dismissed it much as I dismiss those early cold symptoms as if ignoring the germy taste in the back of my throat will actually ward off the impending cold.
I put my bike on the car rack and headed over to the Event Center parking lot, and as I traveled Hwy 30 into town, I nervously watched the tall grasses that were bent over from the force of the wind. Once in town, I noticed the tops of the trees moving sharply to the east. Shoot. I arrived at the Center and went inside to grab my ipod, taking a minute to check weather.com and finding the winds at 25-30 mph. Shoot.
Shoot. Shoot.
I had no doubt that riding was a really bad idea at this point, out on the open road, up and down rolling hills with no trees or buildings to block or even slow down the wind. But I so wanted to do the ride that I talked myself into going anyway, reasoning that perhaps it would die down a bit as I rode.
It didn't.
The headwind as I traveled northwest toward Viva Naughton was bad enough. It was like trying to run forward while someone pushed on my shoulders. But the winds that blew at me sideways were the worst, causing my front tire to wobble dangerously and my bike to jump on the road as I coasted downhill. So very scary.
I got about eight miles out, white knuckling along, when I heard a car approaching. I turned my head to see where it was, and that was all it took for the wind to knock me sideways onto the gravel shoulder. (Thank goodness there was a shoulder rather than the deep ditches that line much of the route!) Recovery in the gravel was impossible, and down I went, falling into the road just about the time the car was trying to navigate around me. Truth be told, I think it freaked the driver out more than me. He veered left, slowed down, then accelerated somewhat doubtfully before driving off. A second vehicle also slowed down and actually stopped, and a passenger called out, "Are you okay?!?!"
By this time I had recovered enough to be standing with my bike, and I nodded and shouted back, "I'm okay!" Then I lifted my arm up and circled in the air, yelling, "The wind!" as a means of explanation as to why I had crashed.
Thankfully, I wasn't really hurt, other than a few minor scrapes. But that was enough for me. I headed back to town. Adam and Aislynn pulled up in our SUV just after I had turned around. (They had planned to meet me at the lake for a little while before my ride back.) Adam rolled down the window. "Aren't you going the wrong way?"
I explained that I just couldn't fight the wind and asked him to stay close in the car until I got back safely. The fierce tailwind helped me on climbs and conserved my energy, but made for truly frightening descents down several hills. I was extremely relieved when I got back to the Event Center. So much for both my strong will and my arrogance. And now I know that it's not just a matter of having to suffer through a more difficult ride -- there is a genuine safety issue when the wind speed passes a certain threshold.
Hopefully tomorrow the air will be calm and I can get that 30 mile ride in. Tonight I am grateful that despite crashing I am still in the shape to get on my bike tomorrow. It really could have been disastrous. Truly blessed.
Superman as a Father
I remember the first time someone asked me about my dad's disability. I was in the first grade and we were gathered in the school gymnasium for an assembly on bike safety. I was wearing a little woolen gold jumper with a plaid skirt, and my mom had given me the rare permission to wear her little scottie dog pin on the jumper.
My dad owned a bike shop and had been asked to speak at the assembly. Those were in the sweet days when it was still a little neighborhood store, before it became the most successful bicycle retail business in the tri-state area. I was so proud of my dad (even though he called me out on stage for not putting my bike away at night and leaving it outside to possibly fall victim to thieves.)
As my dad finished up his talk and began to move off stage, a classmate turned to me and asked, "How come your dad walks so funny?" I looked over at my dad, confused. He was walking like he always walked. It looked normal to me.
But it wasn't "normal". Dad had polio as a child, struck with the disease just a few years before children started receiving the Salk vaccine. By the time he was 16 he had gone through a long series of operations to try to stabilize the affected leg and salvage his ability to walk.
I now know that the reason it took me so long to know about Dad's affliction is that he never, ever complained about it, and he never allowed it to keep him from living a rich, full life. My father spent his entire life overcoming adversity, playing on a battlefield that was not level, and working just a little harder than everyone else to accomplish everyday tasks. And because of his hard work, determination and creativity, he succeeded in every aspect.
In his lifetime, my dad has built a thriving business from the ground up (he was recently honored as a Founder at the 40th anniversary of that business); he has paddled a kayak across Lake Michigan, traveled around the entire world, raised four children, written and published adventure novels based on his own adventures, and so much more -- and he has done it with optimism and verve.
When you grow up with Superman as a father, you grow up believing you can do anything. I find myself frequently asking, in the face of a new project or challenge, "How hard can it be?" This comes from my very real belief that all things can be accomplished somehow, a belief ingrained in me from childhood on.
So yes, I may be the most unlikely person to ride across the State of Washington on a bicycle. It is completely new and while exciting, a bit overwhelming and daunting, especially when 25 miles at a time is a struggle right now. But fortunately for me, I have the example of how my dad has lived his life to guide me and keep in my mind the unfailing confidence that with hard and consistent work, this too can be accomplished.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. And thank you... so much.
My dad owned a bike shop and had been asked to speak at the assembly. Those were in the sweet days when it was still a little neighborhood store, before it became the most successful bicycle retail business in the tri-state area. I was so proud of my dad (even though he called me out on stage for not putting my bike away at night and leaving it outside to possibly fall victim to thieves.)
As my dad finished up his talk and began to move off stage, a classmate turned to me and asked, "How come your dad walks so funny?" I looked over at my dad, confused. He was walking like he always walked. It looked normal to me.
But it wasn't "normal". Dad had polio as a child, struck with the disease just a few years before children started receiving the Salk vaccine. By the time he was 16 he had gone through a long series of operations to try to stabilize the affected leg and salvage his ability to walk.
I now know that the reason it took me so long to know about Dad's affliction is that he never, ever complained about it, and he never allowed it to keep him from living a rich, full life. My father spent his entire life overcoming adversity, playing on a battlefield that was not level, and working just a little harder than everyone else to accomplish everyday tasks. And because of his hard work, determination and creativity, he succeeded in every aspect.
In his lifetime, my dad has built a thriving business from the ground up (he was recently honored as a Founder at the 40th anniversary of that business); he has paddled a kayak across Lake Michigan, traveled around the entire world, raised four children, written and published adventure novels based on his own adventures, and so much more -- and he has done it with optimism and verve.
When you grow up with Superman as a father, you grow up believing you can do anything. I find myself frequently asking, in the face of a new project or challenge, "How hard can it be?" This comes from my very real belief that all things can be accomplished somehow, a belief ingrained in me from childhood on.
So yes, I may be the most unlikely person to ride across the State of Washington on a bicycle. It is completely new and while exciting, a bit overwhelming and daunting, especially when 25 miles at a time is a struggle right now. But fortunately for me, I have the example of how my dad has lived his life to guide me and keep in my mind the unfailing confidence that with hard and consistent work, this too can be accomplished.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. And thank you... so much.
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