pink bike full of life
craves full attention from mom
jealously weaves spell
autumn sun so warm
driving home lulled into space
CRACK: heartbreak above
forks bent like noodles
pink paint wrinkled on steel lugs
greetings, disaster
r&e first hope
snooty and a king's ransom
more tears in my beer
a real hero found
subject: sad bridgestone needs help
reply: let's fix her
fairy godfather
help my little girl be well
signed, a mom's sad tale
Anyone who knows me well knows that broccoli has the effect of kryponite on me (as in Superman, not the bike lock). Never in my life have I been able to be in the same room as the vile vegetable, or any of its cruciferous family members. It reeks, it makes me gag, and when it's being steamed god help me find HEPA filter stat.
I raced at South Seatac this past weekend and after seeing pictures of me suffering for 3 long laps, Zack said my facial expressions looked like I was "being force fed broccoli." It was probably the hardest race I've ever done. I had to run. A lot. The sand seemed to have crept further into the park. A lot. They threw in an extra run-up that made me want to throw up. A lot. It was fast, it was relentless. I got lapped by Denny's duct taped punk ass (rock!). If it weren't for Jane making a special guest appearance in one brief corner of the singletrack, I would have crawled under a tree and wept at how pathetic I was feeling that day. I have no idea why. I didn't have an ounce of competitiveness, not a wisp of fire, no nails to chew on. But Jane inspired me on and helped me visualize passing a few more girls. By the last lap a bit of my old self was back and I chased down a few girls one by one. They seemed to drop like flies, esp the ones who had started so strong. It certainly wasn't my old form from last year where I'd start from the back and pick them off one-by-one until I was in the top 5. No, this year I have yet to crack the top 10. Maybe the girls are just that much stronger this year. Two of them were upgraded to Cat 3 after Sunday, so maybe that will give me some space to move up next time and to find my fire again.
No, not as in "celeste green." As in "celestial." I was at work ridiculously late tonight and had the 10 mile ride home ahead of me. I left the building mentally spent, but knowing that at least it would be dry and I could enjoy the Indian Summer evening not worrying about the cold or misery of driving rain. I hopped onto Rosemary and we made our way down the road out of the campus. I rounded one of the buildings and looked up at an amazingly clear sky full of bright stars. The new moon was a few days ago and I was somewhat protected from the city lights, so the stars jumped out to greet me. Biggest of all was the Big Dipper hogging up the northern sky above. I smiled and thanked the stars for their show, for giving me a present to remind me of life's preciousness. I immediately wondered what the sky looked like in other parts of the world and what the stars looked like above Mumbai this time of year. As Rosemary and I rolled down the trail we had repeated glances of the Big Dipper. I felt like a sailor making her way across dark seas and relying only upon the stars and my sextant. With the Big Dipper I knew my way home. I could close out the trees and asphalt and city around me and know where I was headed by the steadiness of old Ursa.
We made it to my parking lot and again I looked up past the trees and the Big Dipper loomed above. I memorized its angle compared to where I left work. I wish I could navigate by the stars only and not rely on human-made infrastructure. It's like a 6th sense is activated and yearning to stretch. Maybe this winter when we lie among northern plateaus and the stars as magnificent as those above a new earth.
I had a dream the night before the first CX race of the season that we were all meeting at The Gap before the start of the race. The other women racers were buzzing around the store picking up the latest fall fashions and I kept looking all around thinking, "I don't have any money...I don't like these clothes...I don't want to buy anything here...". So I go to the sale rack and those clothes are even more tacky (hence they're on sale) and I feel even more out of place. Finally the other racers are done shopping so we meet at a big table and get the pre-race speech. A 1-2 racer I've heard all about is sitting next to me and she makes me really nervous. Will I do ok? Will I kick ass? Will I be as strong as I was last year? I have put so many expectations on myself. The race begins, but I don't see it in my dream. It's over and I end up 50th out of 100 women. The 1-2 racer came in 6th. I'm utterly devastated. In my first race last year I came in 5th out of about 30 women. And today I came in 50th. I call Dane and tell him my sob story. Usually very empathetic, he doesn't really give a crap. "Yeah that happens," is all he can muster. I hang up the phone totally dejected. I'm not what I was last year....
Then my alarm goes off. Race time!
I toss all my crap in the car, put Pomegranate on top, and Janna and I take off to pick up Jane. We zip down I-5 through the Tacoma Aroma and find ourselves back at Ft. Steilacoom. It's a beautiful day! Pure sun, warm temps, leaves beginning to change, and all sorts of old friends milling about welcoming you back to another season.
I was familiar with the course from last year. It was the hardest one for me on my singlespeed, not even taking into account being ridiculously hung over from the previous night's Messman's Masquerade race, where I got to know a particularly dashing masked man. Ft. Steilacoom's course is the hilliest of the bunch. A great big hill in the middle of the course with an enormous runup and then 2 small hills right after in case your legs had anything left. For those with gears they can ask for some sympathy from their derailleur and shift, but for those of us with one gear those 2 little hills suck the life out of you. Last year that was the one place where 2 people passed me. I figured this year wouldn't be much different.
Two warmup laps went pretty well. The runup was dusty and loose and beginning to warm up in the direct southern sun. The top side of the course had lots of gravel road, not my favorite, then the rest was fun singletrack and 3 long straight sections where I knew people would have an opportunity to pass me.
At the start I saw Denny line up with the men and I shoo-ed him to get farther up in the starting line. They had over 60 men and I knew he's a strong rider and would do well in front away from the others who had no idea what they were doing. There were a lot of places for bottlenecks and someone like him deserves a better chance in front.
As for the women over 40 of us lined up at the start. Sweet! It was great seeing everyone smiling and nervous for the next 45 minutes of exertion. Someone asked what the cards were in my front wheel. I said, "They're spoke cards from races that my boyfriend put on. He's in India now for a post-doc and can't see me race, so this is my way of bringing him with me." All the girls around me let out a round of "AWWWWWWWWWWs". hahahaha.
Dane assumed his favored position in front of the women and counted down the final seconds. BANG! We were off!! I tried my best to spin like mad and stay out in front, away from the pending bottleneck creeping up behind me. I did well staying in the top 10, but the shifting of gears resigned me to my slot. We easily got into a line of riders without much changing of position. The first time up the runup, no one was going anywhere fast. We all trudged up. The sun was hot, the trail dusty and endless. People yelled encouragement, but the blood was pounding so hard in my head I couldn't understand anything. I heard Janna and appreciated her shouts, but they weren't quite the rope I needed to pull me up the rest of the way. At the top the runup leveled off a bit, but still had a grade to it. All the girls had a difficult time getting back on their bikes. Wheels didn't move in a straight line, pedals didn't cooperate, people stopped. Once we were off again, the 2 small hills were ahead. I made it up both without getting off, but it wasn't pretty and I almost took someone out by hitting their rear wheel. Lovely.
Once at the top of the plateau, I could breathe and enjoy riding in the leaves and in the sun. I remembered the abandoned building and tower, the twists and turns through the big maples that had left a foot of colorful leaves on the ground last year. This year there were 2 barriers waiting for us. I did a great job actually leaping over the barriers rather than The Tinkerbell. Over more gravel roads and down the singletrack, through the woods and around the field, over more barriers where Jose greeted me!! He was one of the highlights, yelling my name and ringing his dang white cowbell right in my face. There was no escaping him and I laughed so hard. Then it was off down the road towards the announcer (10th place) and on for another 3 laps.
The nice thing about a CX race is the participants get really strung out. I heard there were well over 100 racers on the small course, but you wouldn't know it. I had some people in front of me, but we never got all over each other. Everyone kept their space and passed when able. Like when I messed up going down one of the gravel roads and took the wrong line that bounced me all over the place...two girls raced right pass me and I never caught up with them. It's stupid things like that that make the difference in placing. RATS.
At the top of the plateau on my 3rd lap, I saw Jane hobbling next to Maura with her arm in a makeshift sling. "Jesus Christ are you alright?!!?!" I yelled as I rode past. Jane mumbled a "yeah" and I kept going. I could have stopped, but I knew she would want me to keep going for one more lap. It turns out that she toppled over on one of the small uphills while trying to pass someone. She fell into the ditch by the side of the trail and her ribs hit the lip of the ditch. She was in an immense amount of pain after the race and we took her to the Ballard Swedish ER (such service!). A few xrays, Lara bars, and flirtations with nurses later, the doc came back with his diagnosis. What we thought would be a severely broken rib or 2, turned out to be a bad bruise or slight hairline fracture. Jane's on some fun painkillers and ready to ride again next week.
Denny ended up taking 7th out of 63 dudes. Yo Denny!! Who knew manpris, a tshirt, and a beard could show up so many squids. I did!!
As for me, it wasn't the runup or overall conditioning that put me in 13th place at the end. It was stupid mistakes on my part. Not taking the right line, watching my wheel instead of where I was going. That and those 2 stupid hills after the runup. Just like last year. I didn't get 50th place, but in the top 10 would have been better. Next time. No more stupid mistakes. And one gear will be all I need.
A rear brake cable hanger. Ask your average bike rider about a rear brake cable hanger and they have no idea what you're talking about. Why should they? They walked out of the fancy shop with a bike off the floor all ready for its first ride. They have no idea what pieces and parts make up their new shiny bike. It rolls. It moves. They ride and show it off to their friends.
But some of us know the harrows of a rear brake cable hanger. Like when you're putting your new bike together at the shop and think you can finish the brakes up at home. You have brake cables. Cable housing. 4 little farrels. You get home and realize you have no stinkin' rear brake cable hanger. Nowhere. You open boxes and look through abandoned bags, but it doesn't exist even though you were sure it did. That little piece has delayed your build for another day until you can get to the shop and purchase that little gizmo.
And tubes. I spaced on tubes that would fit 32 tires. Something else to get from the shop. It's these little things that the every day rider doesn't have to think about. The fancy shop already put their tubes in their tires. Such a no brainer. But I like having a brain that can figure out what needs to be fixed on my bikes and how to do it. What little gizmo I need to complete everything and where to get it and how to ask for it. You get a more intimate relationship with your bikes, and a lot better relationship with the shop people. You don't just drop your bike off to be fixed (safely in an SUV of course) and sigh heavily when they say it will take 2 weeks. You ride up (because you ride everywhere) and ask for some advice and recommendations and off you go to get better aquainted with your rig. Sometimes the ideas work and sometimes they don't, but that's the fun about putting bikes together yourself.
My new CX machine is almost complete. I'm testing out a stem that I already know is too long at 110 mm. I'm thinking 80 or 90 would be better. I'll get that dang rear brake cable hanger tomorrow. And some proper tubes. And once I'm home and think I'm ready for a test ride, there will be one last minor detail that I've forgot for the build. So back to the shop where the employees will laugh at me and give me a hard time because they can relate. That's what happens when you have to think for yourself.
And that's ok.
Unless you count taking my special man and his bike to the airport so he could move to the other side of the planet for a year.
But I am so happy for him. I am so PROUD of him. So many people limit themselves in what they think they can do, but he is limitless. I've learned a lot from him in this respect and it is one of the things I admire so much about him. If you restrict your boundaries, you're only pulling on the strings that tug at the end of your life. Let go and learn and wander and grow. I plan on visiting him this January, which isn't all that far away. I know he'll show me a whole new world and I can't wait to experience its sounds and colors.
And if I get really sick he's promised to take good care of me. I think they call it "bonding." I'm all about bringing people together, but I could do without the intestinal destruction.
Today I officially defected from my previous elitist, insulting, condescending team of 160 members to a wonderfully small team of 20 dedicated women passionate to racing and to each other. The lead sponsor happens to be the largest purveyor of store-bought coffee in the world. I happen to have been a barista for them 10 years ago when I worked at the Aquarium but needed benefits (Hey, they were good! Only work part-time and it even covered my naturopath.) While I am not a fan of corporate coffee and like to support the small local cafes, this team does a heckofalot of good to each other and the community. They work on the MS-150 ride and I'd like to look into another charity event with the local community kids. I think that turning some underprivileged kids loose on track bikes at the velodrome and teaching them some cool bike skills would be a lot of fun.
I'm really looking forward to racing with these ladies this year. I admired their cohesiveness and teamwork for some time and when the opportunity came up to defect, I couldn't help but be honored. So we'll hit the CX scene first this fall, then they'll brainwash me onto the road in the early spring (the koolaid sez this is a good thing), and then we'll conquest the track.
I just need to add some Bailey's to my drink.
Zack and I made a road trip down to CA to visit the Grandmother, jump through hoops at the Indian consulate for his visa, and most importantly to do a little nature bonding before his big departure. The hoops were a little bigger than planned which made our time in the woods a little shorter, but meeting a 1,500 year old tree and his younger friends in Northern CA more than made up for it. What a magnificent creature. I cannot imagine what a forest of these giants must have looked like at one time. Touching them takes you back in time, makes you forget anything outside of their forested habitat. Ferns rest at their feet, absorbing any sounds you manage to speak. So peaceful. So necessary.
As if coming back to racing after missing the whole season from chronic fatigue couldn't get any more surreal, I got upgraded to Cat 3 on the last night of track racing.
The MVA threw us a bone and generously allowed the Cat 4 ladies to do one whole big stinkin' race on the last Friday night of the season. Seventeen gloriously fit and muscled women lined the rail to give the crowd a hell of a show. It was by far the fastest, best race of my colossal racing career. Lots of attacks, lots of speed, lots of close calls. Major thrills in the 3x5. Rock Star Jane took the first sprint, as I knew should could and would. I snuck my way past another girl and took the second sprint at 32 mph (hello...where did everyone go? It was like a bullet train), but then I fucked up and didn't get with the lead group for the last sprint until it was too late and took 5th or so. That last lap will haunt me til next year. Position, position, position. Don't sit back cuz it WILL be too late. Jane and I ended up tied for 2nd overall in the race and she was quite thrilled.
Afterwards in the beer garden, the announcer botched up my name and called me to their booth. I had no idea why, feeling more like being called to the pricipal's office. Maybe it was the MVA apologizing for being such asses to women's racing. Instead I found myself with the USCF official who politely informed me that I had enough points to upgrade and asked if I'd like start the next track season as a Cat 3. "Are you kidding???" I was absolutely stunned. Bright lights, lots of people, even more bikes, and an official asking if I wanted to hit my dream for the year after being on the sidelines for nearly all of it. (That was a yes.)
So I got a tiny line-out on my USCF card crossing out the "4" and replacing it with a neatly penned number "3", her initials and today's date. I'm carrying it around like a proud parent. I keep looking at it in total disbelief. I don't know what was in those vitamins, but they were good.
Showed up @ Marymoor last night for my return to track racing after 3 fat and lazy months off. At Sunday's workout Hyun prompted me to replace my 16 with his 15 so that I could get the power I needed to race. Spinning like mad at 30 mph on my 81" wasn't going to do it in a real race. Winding up on the track it felt pretty big, esp on my weakened quads, but at speed I could tell it would make a difference. We did a bunch of jumps and efforts in the hot August sun. I felt dynamite, like I didn't do much of anything, and even took Rosemary out for a spin that afternoon.
Last night I wasn't feeling quite so spunky and resigned myself to just sitting in and getting back in the groove. Butterflies started to flutter as I watched the 14 other girls warm up and chatter on the infield. Many people came over to say hi and wonder where I'd been all season. Even Phil hobbled over to catch up and wish me well. My man came with me last night to cheer me on, but rather than get amped to race, I was starting to feel mighty cozy on the blanket huddled next to him warding off the evening's chill wearing his jacket. Finally Carol rode by and said, "Come on! Let's warm up!" It made me feel so welcome and I laughed at the thought of sitting on my ass all night.
First race was an 8-lap scratch, so that's 7 laps of nothing followed by 1 lap of all-out. I was content just sitting in and watching the wheels ahead of me. We rode in a tight pack bumping and wrestling for position, just like Nascar (like I'd know). No reason to make major effort. It felt great just to suck off wheels and chill. The pace wasn't particularly challenging and at the bell lap a few ladies went off the front and I chased on someone's wheel. Now we're movin'! I was waiting for the group to put in some more effort, but by Turn 3 I was growing impatient so I went around and zipped past the group. I figured they'd jump and grab my wheel and suck me up at the end, but when I turned back my head I was a good 10 meters ahead of them all. Ha. Ok. Did I really win? I seriously thought I fucked up, but everyone headed to the infield so I guess it was over. I asked Jane if I really did win and she just gave me a high-five, so I guess that was a yes.
As I cooled down in the infield, Phil teased me with "I'm SO sick...I'm SO tired...I'm just going to sit in...". Zack walked toward me with an astonished, shit eating grin on his face. I just smiled and said "Oops" and laughed it off.
Race #2 was a 2-lap heat where 5 girls race for 2 laps, then the top 2 finishers went on to a final round with the other heats' winners. Again, I just sucked wheels the whole way, although Carol pushed it a little more. My quads were a bit irritated with my previous effort so they whined a bit and I momentarily thought of blowing the race so I wouldn't have to do the second heat, but I finally told myself to shut up and forge on. Carol made a jump at Turn 3 and I rode with her towards the finish until I was clear enough with no one challenging either of us so. I backed off, took 2nd, and waited for the winners' heat.
I wasn't terribly motivated for this heat. I'm not a sprinter, I still had a 4x4 to do later, so I wasn't out to blow myself up or win. We started pretty slow, but they pushed it the bell lap and I let the sprinters have it. I rounded out in last or second to last place. No biggie.
Last race. 4x4 progressive points. The first person across every 4th lap gets a progressive amount of points - 2, 3, 4, then 5. Being a greedy, competitive person I planned to hog the third and fourth points. The first 8 laps I again just sat in the pack and sucked wheels. Some girls went nuts for the bell laps, but why? Why have the pack go all out only to slow down to 18? Let the 2 girls have their points and tire themselves out. I'm not wasting my energy. Finally my lap came up. The girls weren't pushing, no one seemed to want it, so I just went ahead at Turn 3 and took it the whole way with no one in site. I looked at my computer and hit 30 mph. Ok. Time to slow down. I waited til the pack came under me, then sucked wheels again for 3 more laps. Ding ding ding ding! Bell lap! Let's go! A few girls dashed again and I sucked one of my teammates wheels. What the hell? Is this as fast as you can go? Screw this, I'm taking off. If I win this lap I have a chance at winning the omnium and I want it. I blasted ahead and had no one around me. Not one person on my wheel. WTF? I roared over the finish line and knew I'd done good today.
After a nice cool down and lots of continued teasing, I checked the final results. Fuck an a. I did win the Omnium. 14 points and the next girl had 10. No too bad there sicko. I saw Phil and he called me a sandbagger. Hey I was supposed to be a Cat 3 months ago! He said with tonight I was already 1/3 the way there, and some points from last year would count too. I'll race again next week and hopefully do well and prove last night wasn't a fluke. That'd be rad if I could be so close to upgrading, not that it matters much in the winter. Otherwise I'll be in good form for next year. When I race the entire season. Sandbagger.
God I just inhaled a whole chicken breast smothered in feta and avocado and downed it with 2 glasses of raspberry lemonade and cleansed my palette with the last half of a chocolate bar. So much for not eating after 6 p.m. I was HUNGRY and my body wasn't having any of this willpower stuff.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Food.
I started training again 3 weeks ago and so far so good. It's been wonderful to be back on the track and enjoy the camaraderie that I missed all summer. Summer...where did it go? It's like I've been in a time warp and it's still April, but the rest of the world has moved on. I looked up one day and saw Jenny's sweet new DeSalvo. "When did you get it?" I asked. "A few months ago..." she answered. Uh, yeah. It's been a few months since I've been out. Two other women that I was supposed to move up with this summer have already made it to Cat 3. And now I'm just a Cat, I dunno, is there a Cat 6? All the other girls are burned out as hell and want the season to just go away. Me, I'm like a puppy excited about all the new stuff around me. Yea workouts! Yea Marymoor! Yea jumps and 10 lap efforts! Isn't this fun! I can't wait to come back and do more! Come on girls! The season's just begun!
When I first got back on Rosemary exactly 4 weeks ago I wondered who put on the 100" gear. I couldn't push her! And Louisa...shit the banks were like hills. But in these 4 weeks I've come pretty far. I'm not sucking as much wind, sustained 25mph is not out of the question, and I can get up the usual hills without getting passed by an 80 year old. Although tonight I couldn't complete the hill assault workout I planned in my head all day. Back in April Rosemary and I had a sweet route of 4 big city hills with the last one repeated 3 times. Tonight on the way home from work I could only muster 2 hills total and almost had to walk parts of the last one. One gear? On big hills? Was I on crack? I'll chalk it up to the 10# in my backpack and....I'll think of something else totally lame.
Five weeks til the first CX race. Back to the gym tomorrow and maybe an easy ride. Track workout Sunday and an eye towards the Wed race. I'd take a DFL just to prove that I came back from the depths of chronic fatigue and lived to turn another crank revolution. It's just for me and if I get a little emo just pat me on the head.
Susan Butcher passed away yesterday of leukemia at the age of 51, the mother of two small girls. Susan was a huge inspiration to me in my younger years. She inspired me to dream of a world beyond the midwest, of a life in far off Alaska where the days never end and moose roam your back yard. She was a real life Northern Exposure that was so real. She inspired me to dream of being a grown woman, tough and independent. She is one of the reasons I dreamed of moving west and made it happen. She is one of the rays of life that made me who I am. She climbed Denali with her dogs and a ragtag group of men yet never made her sex be an issue in her accomplishment. She could do anything men could do, and more.
Alaska. Where men are men and women win the Iditorod.
I am so saddened that such an amazing woman could be taken from us from such a horrendous disease. Why leukemia? Why couldn't she die of old age with her dogs and her husband and children in the wilds of Alaska? She was too young and had so much left to do. I am so sorry that she had to be in such pain, and that her family had to endure it also. She should have lived to see the sun set on the Alaskan tundra and watch the arctic flowers glow with color before seeing the night again. The northern lights should have danced above her family's cabin for so many years.
Susan, I'll never forget what you gave to me, even though you never met me. Thank you so much for being who you are and slicing a path in the cold Alaskan snow for all of us. You will never be forgotten.
SusanButcher.com
In one life mix:
- One tall, dark, handsome guy
- His deep, chocolate brown eyes
- His beloved bicycle
- A bouquet of rich purple and indigo blue gladiolas sticking out of his backpack
- A smile a mile wide as he stands in the door to hand you the flowers
- A bar of organic dark chocolate mixed with ginger in the kitchen
- Him loving to see you smile
Mix gently with lots of love. Store in a glass jar forever.
I had a dream last night that a bunch of us were vacationing in some busy touristy town on the water, kind of like Martha's Vineyard. I locked Rosemary up to a bike rack with a hundred other bikes so we could wander about on foot. For some reason I didn't get back to her until the next day. I found her at the bike rack locked up with a new lock and with a cotton candy pink disk wheel on her rear end with various prices written on the disk wheel in colored markers (I couldn't tell what the prices were). I was furious so I stormed into the shop she was locked in front of and demanded to see the store's owner. A fat, middle aged slob came out and said that I had left her there for too long and now she belonged to him and he was putting all the bikes on the bike rack up for sale.
"She's not for sale!" I yelled at him. He countered that she now belonged to him and he'd do what he wanted. Incensed, I tackled him and we wrestled and tumbled all over the ground in front of his store with me yelling that Rosemary was mine and not for sale and he bellowing that she was now his.
Finally, still twisted in a heap on the ground, I reached between his pant legs and grabbed his small, squishy nuts and twisted them enough to grab his attention. "She's not...for...sale!" I yelled again. "Do you understand that?"
The fat slob, realizing the severity of his position, finally relented that I could have Rosemary back and I let go of his squishy nuts and walked off to my bike.
The end.
The bike stork dropped off a bundle of joy on my doorstep whilst I was away this week. My new 2005 red Surly CrossCheck, courtesy of my dad's hot eBay hands. He won it by $2.50!! I'm going to strip off those obnoxious stickers, have it powder coated red with gold flecks and I'll call it "Mon Petite Pomegranate." I'm stoked for CX season. Give me another shot in my rump so I can get a movin'.
A much needed indulgence after a long, stressful week. After downing half the pint I eventually shared with my Sweetie. mmmmmmm Phish Food. I love that marshmallowy goodness. Thanks to Mr. D for the pic.
I saw my doc today to go over my lab results from 2 weeks ago. I had asked her to test me for any and everything because I was still not convinced that all my fatigue was adrenal gland related. I don't work 80 hours a week, I don't have 3 kids, I don't work on Wall Street. My life is pretty stress free. So she agreed that there could be a virus behind it all and tested me for Mono, Epstein-Barr, Lyme's disease, and celiac disease.
When she opened my file she looked at me and said I had the highest levels of Epstein-Barr that she's ever seen. Then in the most serious tone I've ever heard from her she said, "You need a month of bed rest and you need to stay off that bike."
Wha??? I told her that I've been feeling really good though! I've even thought of going back out to the track to play around and to start a bit of running to get the legs ready for CX. She was totally perplexed at how I could be feeling so great with these numbers running through my blood stream. "Well, ok," she said. "If you're feeling better then you must be doing something right. Just keep taking it easy and listen to your body, but don't go overboard. If you're recovering this well you should be back in no time."
Whew. Evaded that sentence. Continued fat-and-lazy therapy plus lots of good vitamins and weekly shots of a vitamin cocktail in my rump.
So what is the EBV and how did I get it? May never know. It's a chronic, mutated form of the regular Mono virus, which I must have picked up at some point, months or years ago. When the body is put under severe duress, it wells up as the EBV. Most people are put on serious bed rest and it takes months to recover. I can't imagine what my numbers must have been like back in May when I was so fatigued it left me in tears. How I've managed to recover is a mystery. Chalk it up to mass dosages of Vitamin Z.
One theory is that I may have picked up some Mono while down at Katrina last fall, and then some sort of stress this spring made the EBV flair up. What kind of stress? Hell all I was doing was training for track. Nothing I haven't done before, but my immune system may have been compromised enough to make me this vulnerable. My doc said that in conditions like the Katrina response, the body's immune system is extremely vulnerable to infection. It happens very often in emergency personnel and the military. In fact, she said that the Gulf War Syndrome is thought to be linked to the EBV, and the Iran hostages from 1979 developed the EBV. Once they were set free and brought home they were able to make a recovery.
Now I'm not putting myself in the league of Gulf War veterans or political hostages. If I got this from doing some good in the Gulf Coast, I can live with that. Just getting the word out that it's a very common virus linked to high stress and can mask as a plethora of other ailments. Now I'm on the road to recovery and riding my bike. Lots.
Now that the CM thing has calmed down a bit I can lounge around on my bed catching up on what our Emerald City friends have been writing about the past week. Like I've emo-ed before, the support of the local cycling community has been so humbling this past week. Seeing what our friends have taken the time to write is, again, emo-ific.
- Wright Bros opened their shop as a drop-off area for witness statements and typed up a little blurb on their web site about the CM Showdown. Nice to be in the company of hot vintage bike pics on their site.
- The men of Cranked also put news about this event on their Clog. Thanks for getting the word out via your sweet mag yo. Plus y'all look so damn fine in a suit. Yo mamma would be proud.
- Bikeseattle.org had two newspieces, one with KUOW's report on the second hearing, then another about Ron "I 8> CM" Sims condemning the arrests. Too bad bikes can't vote, Ron.
- Alastair over at .83 has volunteered to put on a fundraiser race Sunday, July 30!! If I have my way, you'll be hauling around town finding witnesses, doing shots at Wright Bros (my gift to you), getting paper cuts making a thousand copies on the xerox machine, and getting your mug shot taken at the King County jail.
- And the week wouldn't be complete without a post by the coolest rocket scientist EVER.
Talked to my man tonight, who is finding some solace in the high desert safe with another extension of his family and friends. He called and it was raining heavily outside, a warm summer storm like we never have in the PNW. He walked outside so I could hear the rain better. The drops pounded the ground and sounded like a wall of water coming over my phone. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the lightning brightening up the entire sky over his head. Deep sounds of thunder rumbled a few seconds later, vying for attention from brother lightning's electric show. I told my man to sleep with his windows wide open tonight, the sounds of the clean desert rain baptising him anew.
