I Discovered My Tolerance For Eating Bugs

Another amazingly dreamy weekend of riding from Graton to Forestville, to Windsor and back again through vineyards and pastures and fields of gorgeous fucking wilflowers with my friend, Amy, was followed by a late afternoon/early evening ride from Graton yesterday.

Without a more experienced cyclist acting as our unofficial bike guide through the tear-jerking beauty of the Wine Country, I stepped up and led Amy through a short, 15 mile loop from her home on top of Graton Road to Sullivan Road, back to Graton Road, on to Frei, to Guerneville Road, to Hall, to Stafford, to Occidental and back up the hill to her house, where buffalo burgers sat, waiting to be cooked and consumed along with the Sierra Nevada's in the fridge.

The weather was perfect and we praised daylight savings for provinding our new riding slot just before dinner. As we set out, gliding mostly downhill in the 65+ degree weather, bare arms brushing with the glorious breeze, I had a moment of bliss that spread, in big-ass smile form from ear to ear. Just as the joy of riding reached a peak, however, what I may have mistaken as a swarm of locusts came out of nowhere and began darting down my throat for the following 30 minutes of our ride.

Gross.

As poor Amy's nose inhaled what we were sure was a paleolithic-sized moth, several small fly-like creatures lodged their ways in between my teeth everytime I opened my trap to take a breath. My face was pelted repeatedly with the smoke-thick army of monster insects and by the time the attack came to an end, I had swallowed about 7-9 unidentified creepy-crawlies and was left with slimy green and red inards across my face and knuckles- evidence of the battle that late-afternoon riders are sure to face in the glorious Sonoma County springtime.

Super, duper gross. And, lesson learned.

Back in the Saddle, Revisited...

My bronchial feelers are mostly better, I've discovered, and I am thrilled to be crawling out of yet another 2+ week long chest cold that has held me hostage and away from my bike for weeks on end. That said, I've discovered some things about myself, my time and my motivation and fears around riding this bike.

First, there is nothing more irritating than feeling an increase in energy that coincides with the rising temperatures outside and planning a lovely ride that falls through at the last minute. Several times in the last few rainy/sunny weeks, my new-found love for saddling up on my two-wheeled wonder has been pushed to the back burner because of the cold hard realities of motherhood. I'd rush home after depositing my kids at school, fill my water bottles and stretch my shiny spandex pants up over my pasty white thighs only to have the school call, asking me to pick up a little sick kid. Frustration, I am embarrassed to admit, tends to overshadow the love and compassion I should have for my kids in these moments. I feel like I am falling behind on my training- I feel like I can't meet my goals and fall short in my motherly love during my drive to school. It is hard to shake, that feeling of annoyance, but I let it humble me as it does in most situations I am presented with as a single mom.

Next, the bike has brought some interesting situations into perspective. Both with relationships I have with the people in my life and the relationship I have with myself. On the days that I am sick or slowly recovering from my recurring health bullshit, he sits there, propped against my bookshelves, daunting me like an old vindictive lover- reminding me that I am getting older, that my body can't and won't bounce back as easily as I would like. I want to shove it in the closet, but instead torture myself with never-ending staring contests that it inevitably wins. I tell it to fuck off, that it is an asshole and that "someday soon, I'll show you, mother fucker". I fall into self-pity and start rationalizing this unspoken dysfunctional behavior. I consider throwing in the towel and walking away. Then, just when I am moments away from accepting my fate, my defeat, I start to breath again, apologize for my harsh words and take my two-wheeled wonder out for a spin. Then I love him again. He helps me clear my mind of self-loathing, helps me process my doubts and insecurities about my life's direction and my ability to give into the passion, sweetness and sincerity that I have found with a new lover. He reminds me that I am strong, a survivor- complete with an almost audible "Eye of the Tiger" playing on loops in the back of my mind. He brings out my confidence, makes me laugh and reminds me that I have two legs and recovering lungs that can take me anywhere I set my worrisome little mind to.

This bike has also surprisingly revived an old friendship with my ex-husband. For years, we had nothing to discuss other than the logistics of child-sharing. Now, we compare routes and tires and tips on calorie-boosting and touring. My daughters look on, amused by the conversations and likely in awe of how smooth our transition has been from tense, feuding exes to casual friends with something finally in common.

So I've been back out on the open road quite regularly again. Often, I am alone, riding against annoying headwinds, working through various scenarios and past hurts in my head. Other times, I am riding with friends, through winding, climbing Sonoma County hillsides speckled with wild mustard and chirping birds. I am gaining confidence, speed and endurance and hating myself a little less with every ride.

On The Road Again

I am finally pulling myself out of my dreary winter blues and constant, rotating head colds and back onto my bike.

Today, I headed west on my new bike with my friend, Miles. We ventured from Santa Rosa, down the Joe Rodota trail to Sebastopol, continued west to HWY 116 and looped around back home down Occidental Road, Stafford Road and finally Hall Road until we met the bike trail again. An easy, quick ride was just what I needed to get my lungs working again, and work they did on the first half as we rode against an annoying wind only to be greeted with drops of cold rain on our way back into Santa Rosa.

Plans for this week include another "easy", 20+ mile ride tomorrow (Weds) and my first attempt at Chalk Hill Road in Healdsburg on Saturday.

Damn it feels good to be riding again.

One Step Forward, Fifteen Steps Back

Getting older sucks. Getting older while acquiring a collection of weird and annoying health issues sucks even more.

It seems that the health issues I was forced to address last year do not want to quietly walk away and disappear into the night like I had hoped. Instead, they linger inside, hiding inconspicuously inside tiny crevices, just waiting for my immune response to falter in the slightest so they can forward their advances on my poor, unsuspecting energy reserves. This, along with the inconsistently wet and cold weather, makes training more challenging that I had imagined, and in turn ignites depression and immense frustration.My adrenal glands still hate me and try as I might, the relationship continues to take huge efforts to repair. What others experience as short-lived winter colds hit me like arctic blizzards, leaving a trail of damage in the form of exhaustion that lasts for weeks.

About 18 months ago, I was diagnosed with Adrenal Fatigue, a stress-caused disorder that weakens immune response, disrupts any regularity with menstrual cycles and causes severe exhaustion and depression. After months of following a strict health regime, I felt miraculously cured, although I didn't seem to have the stamina I once enjoyed so much. My biggest mistake during my bout of health was assuming I could treat my body carelessly and bounce back from illnesses with ease. Therefore, I began staying out late, dumping wine and fancy cocktails into my body throughout the summer and pushing my body to run and exercise more than I could handle. Now I am paying the price.

After a recent infection and sinus cold, I noticed that my body was feeling as awful as it had when I walked out of the Dr.'s office last winter. Since Adrenal Fatigue isn't treatable with western medicine without side affects, I decided to dive headfirst into acupuncture and Chinese herbs to get me back on track. I called my friend, Derek Doss and set up an appointment in his new office. After a thorough assessment, Derek determined that in addition to my weak-ass adrenals, I also have Yang and Qi deficiencies. As I stretched out and got needled up, I realized that I have to take it easy and start training all over again if I am going to both heal my body and gain the strength and stamina it will take to ride my bike 100 miles in one day.

I am committed to getting treatments on a weekly basis, which also includes giving myself daily moxibustion treatments, wearing ear seeds and taking Chinese herbs to kick my body back into gear. I am also practicing yoga and re-starting my training by building up to long distances over time instead of jump-starting with the epic rides I had begun last month. With any luck, I'll be back in action shortly and ready to conquer the rolling hills and mountains of Sonoma County.

Yes!

I'm registered!

I'm Sick. Poor Me.

I haven't been on my bike in a week.

It has been pouring buckets here over the last week so I decided to take a day to have some fun and get caught up on some yoga the rest of the week. I even took advantage of the downtime to trade in the fancy Tarmac for something I can actually afford to keep- a very lovely Specialized Allez! I went in to Norcal Bike Sport for my fit on Wednesday and will pick up my sweet new ride on Wednesday to hopefully take her out for a spin to Graton.

And I am sick. Poor me. Sore throat, headache, cough, sniffles and even a super fun new rash across my chest, under my arm and on my back. I thought I had poison oak a few weeks ago and the exact same rash reappeared with a vengeance after a night of tossing back wine for the first time in a month. My acupuncturist thinks it is stress-induced eczema. I think God hates me and suddenly and irrationally cursed me with a wine allergy. Boo Hoo.

Why Am I Doing This? Or: I think I Need An Inhaler.

I have been obsessed with checking the weather forecast, quite compulsively, for several years now. Based on my peek at the 3 sites I stalk regularly, it was supposed to rain at some point today which led me to my decision to take a day off and just sleep in and chill out with my kiddos. I woke at 5am, read a few chapters of "The Uses of Haiti", got more depressed and fell back asleep until 830am, which never, ever, ever happens. When I woke, my 9 year old was asleep next to me and I snuck to my computer to yes, check the weather along with my email. My Yahoo inbox had a message from NorCal Bike Sport's Jen Toland about this morning's ladies ride to Oakmont and since the rain had yet to fall on my sleepy little street, I figured I would get my ass in gear and join them. After all, Jim Keane had taken me to Oakmont on my first ride and it was a piece of cake. I had even rode out that way last weekend with my friend, Amy Brush and again felt that I would do just fine on what I expected to be a leisurely ride, full of chitchat with some potential new cycling buddies. What I failed to take into account was that Jen is totally hardcore and knows I need to be pushed a bit to meet the goals I've set for myself. I was in for some serious ass-kicking.

I arrived at NorCal just as the ladies were preparing to leave the shop, poked my head in to say "hi" to Jim and was off with the group. This ride included five of us and started out much as I expected: mildly paced through Santa Rosa toward Spring Lake and around the lake to Channel Drive. Though I was setting my pace and my body felt good, I was having a hard time breathing, again. Also, I was riding at a much slower pace than the rest of the women, who barreled down the trail ahead of me. Noticing my slower pace and knowing that I was training and not just out for fun, Jen lagged back next to me and immediately started boot camp on my wimpy ass.

"Switch into a harder gear," she suggested.

I complied.

"Another one," she said. "Try another... or two more," she said, while still watching my legs battle with peddling up a slight incline.

"How's you're heart rate now?" She asked, smiling at me while I struggled for air.

We continued east on Channel Drive, Jen's eyes watching me like a hawk. I paused my embarrassingly weak peddling for a split second to catch my breath and Jen reminded me why I was out riding, "Don't stop peddling. You're training and you can't stop moving your body."

Though I appreciated the encouragement, I started panicking about the lack of air I was inhaling. Fuck, maybe I do have asthma. Or worse yet, emphysema!

Suddenly, we were taking a left turn off of the paved trail down toward a creek. This wasn't the same route to Oakmont that I had ridden before and I was hoping that we would just turn around so I could spare myself the embarrassment of not being up to par with these women. As we approached a road with steep climbs in every direction, I mustered up the deepest breath my old haggard lungs could hold and proceeded along with the group with Jen's promise of a coffee break motivating me along the way.

Now, I have been humiliated many times, in many ways throughout my life and felt a definitive and significant slice of humble pie being warmed and ready to be served up as I approached the climb. I started the climb by standing and was quickly shot down to the saddle of my bike, desperately clicking my bike into the lowest of low gears I had to choose from. Jen, suddenly appearing saintly and unlike the drill sergeant I started off with, remained at my side, explaining posture and breathing techniques that would surely assist me in my uphill fiasco. Though her encouragement was sincere and her advice immensely helpful, I hated myself and wanted to stop and throw in the towel for good.

"What in the fuck is wrong with me?" I kept thinking over and over in my downward spiral of self-defeat. I know how to breathe- I have been dabbling in Vipassana meditation for years, have been practicing yoga along with yogic breathing for even more years! I even managed to crank out two babies with the help of my controlled breathing and here I was, on a bike going about .00325 miles an hour on a beautiful day and I felt like I was drowning in goose down. Fuckity Fudge Fuuuck!

I was so close to crying, so close to giving up when I suddenly found myself descending down the other side of the hill, watching a little Benji-like dog chase the other riders into the street. I did it! Now, I prayed, can we just get some damn coffee and get home?

Although I was proud of myself and had a wee bit more faith in my body than I had while I was half-way up that hill, I wanted to quit. I am much better at yoga. Maybe I should just sign up for a yoga-a-thon instead of a 100 mile ride, followed by a 545 mile ride. My asshole ex boyfriend's voice even entered for a second, reminding me I was naive and out of shape and today, I sort of believed it. Long gone are my happy cardio days of dancing all night, or partaking in sex-a-thons with lovers. I am not in my twenties anymore and have done too much damage to my body by spiraling downward into depressions and forcing my adrenals go on strike from years of stress. I was bummed and felt defeated. And shit. I couldn't even head out for a beer to whine about it with friends because the medication I am on will basically make me die a slow painful death if I drink. My life sucked on that ride.

We looped around Oakmont and finally headed to the coffee shop where I was prepared to hand over my bike, call a ride and be on my merry way when I got a text from my friend, Lila:

"I've been following your bloggy blarg. Its super great.
Don't give up! Cuz the devil will be pissed if you do.."

Well, shit. There you have it. Another person having more faith in me than I have in myself.

As we wrapped up our conversations in the cafe and headed back out into the cold Sonoma County morning, I somehow managed to pull my head out of my self-pitying ass and actually started to enjoy myself- and managed to have a great conversation with Annie, one of the women on the ride- without huffing and puffing my way into a coma. Jen demanded, er, uh... encouraged me to continue the Saturday morning ladies rides as I parted ways to head home to my hot bath, Epsom salts and a hot cup of tea. Apparently, I am a glutton for punishment because I willfully and happily agreed.