it's good to have a goal

it's good to have goals.
some people give you all kinds of rules for your goals, such as that they be measurable, written down, specific, attainable, and that you can explain why the goal motivates you.
I find that when a goal is important enough to me, it's enough for me to hold it in my head (and heart) and quietly work toward it in the best way I know how.
I often set goals for riding miles each week, or to make it up a specific canyon so many times during the summer, or similar events.  and today, I reached a goal that I've had since oh, about august 27th.

after my accident last august, I was off my bike for 6 weeks.  many things change in 6 weeks, including  fitness level, ability, muscle strength, and endurance.  when I began biking again I constantly had to remind myself to be patient.  constantly.  
I wasn't very fast, and it didn't feel great.  in fact, it was hard and it hurt. (the muscles around my ribs and scapula lost most of their strength and have become the first place to ache as I ride.)   but I wanted to get back to what I knew I was capable of, I didn't want to let that crash take away everything I'd worked so hard for.
so I kept riding, trying to accept whatever I was able to do on each ride.  I obeyed my physical therapist and (mostly) rode only every other day.  I tried to add a few hikes on my off days.  I got a little faster, and I reached a point where I could ride for two hours without exhausting myself.

back before I could really get out and ride again I knew that--more than anything--I wanted to be able to ride up Big Mountain before the fall riding season ended.
none of my rides told me that I was ready for that.
the furthest I went was to the beginning of the switchbacks, which is about 2.25 miles from the top.
then last weekend I rode my mountain bike 4 days in a row, and did a strenuous hike as well . . . and I felt okay.

and today, today, I rode up big mountain.  without stopping.   woo hoo!
on august 25th I had two large-bore chest tubes removed, on august 26th I was discharged from the hospital, and today, october 27th, I rode from home to the top of big mountain and back.
I met my goal.

there've been many days I thought it wouldn't happen, or that it would take me forever and I'd have to keep stopping along the way.  I was never certain I'd make it, but I knew I would give my all to make it happen.

it's good to have goals.
it's awesome to accomplish your goals.
and it's especially good to keep a little woo hoo in your heart as you reflect upon what you've worked so hard to achieve.  so do.

four days three falls

I am not a mountain biker.

have I said that before?

some would tell me I need to change my thoughts and words to "I am a great mountain biker" and then I would become one . . . however, I believe in speaking the truth.

I am not a good mountain biker.  yet.

the white rim trail is a jeep road that takes one from the top of Canyonlands National Park down the side of the colorado river gorge--about 1500 feet down--where a trail winds along another "rim" another 700 feet or so above the river itself.  there are campsites along the trail---every 10 miles or so---and the campsites we had permits for were all in the first 30 miles of trail.  therefore, we did an "out and back," retracing our path on the final day for our exit.

during our descent down the gorge I squeezed my brakes so hard I thought my hands would give out, and I experienced more than a little bit of fear.  picture a road cut into the side of the grand canyon wall . . . this is how we descended.  thankfully the road isn't technical;  it's just darn steep.  I survived.

after we set up camp we went for an exploratory ride, searching for the "thelma and louise" jump-off spot, looking over cantilevered edges down into the winding river far, far below.  I kept up pretty well on the uphill, and got skunked on the downhill.  call me chicken:  I retain a bit of fear about falling.

funny, that.

the second day we rode to our next campsite, then went out on another exploratory ride, during which I encountered a slightly-too-technical-for-me uphill and . . .  I fell.  just a little fall, the kind that happen when you're barely moving and then all of the sudden you're no longer moving and gravity pulls you down.  of course it was onto my left side--the injured side--but I gained little more than a few scrapes and a lovely bruise on my left hip.  

that night I fell again, but it was only off my air mattress while I was trying to fall asleep.

the third day we hiked from the white rim trail to the top of the gorge, as a third of our party had to leave and this was the quickest way to get them back to their cars which were parked at the top.  again, picture a narrow trail cut into the side of a grand canyon wall . . . with thirteen of us hiking up it, the toughest (not me!) taking turns carrying the 5 mountain bikes that had to be hauled up. unbelievably tough, these friends of mine.

the final day I fell again.  squirrelly sand got me, sucked my tire in then sent me off the road . . . this time, however, I fell on my right side.  whew.  a little scrape, some sand in the mouth, another blow to the ego . . . but that was all.

so, four days, three falls.  I wasn't always comfortable on my bike this trip, in fact, a significant portion of the time I was anxious and even a bit afraid.  I didn't want to get hurt; I didn't want to fall.  but fall I did.

it's said that growth occurs only in the area outside our comfort zones.  neale donald walsch (conversations with God) goes so far as to say life begins at the end of your comfort zone.  

I have a long way to go to become a great mountain biker, and I might never get there.  but if I don't spend some time outside what is safe and comfortable, I'll never get one bit better.  just as babies fall hundreds of times before they become consistently stable walkers,  I guess I'll keep trying, risking, and occasionally, falling, as I continue my own growth through this life.

life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
yikes.  I'd better get moving.

cycling to nowhere

after my crash, I went into the hospital, and my bike went to its own version of the hospital--the store where it was purchased--for a Crash Damage Assessment.
the bike had less wrong with it than I did, and managed to just need its front wheel trued, and a new left shifter.  it stayed at the shop for quite some time, though, and when it finally came home ten days ago I almost got teary looking at it.
last week it came inside the house and john set it up on a trainer so that I could spend some time getting used to being in the saddle again without all the stresses of actually being outside on the road.
the first day I spun for 30 minutes.
the next day, 45.
the third day, 60.
and I think that's my max, because the monotony is almost more than I can take:  one needs mental strength to pedal so hard for so long to go nowhere.
I sweat more inside, and I drink more inside, and I look around--most often, unsuccessfully--for distractions more when I'm inside.
I'm prepping, you see, because I have a goal.

a week ago I had a follow-up appointment with the trauma/general surgery clinic.  they took and examined a new chest xray, and proclaimed me sufficiently far enough along the healing path to be released from their care.  woo hoo!  and then I asked,
when can I get back on my bike?
the doctor looked at me, his face a cross between amazement and exasperation, and the resident next to him said,
most people don't ask that question.
well, I said.
six weeks, he said, we like you to have six weeks from the injury.

six weeks will be up this coming saturday, and as such, I am planning on an outing.  as in being outside, on my real bike, on the road, and as my mountain-biking friend says, rubber-side down.

I have quite a few feelings about being back outside on my bike.
I've missed it terribly:  the exercise, the challenge, the accomplishment, the beauty surrounding me, the fresh air, the solitude, the meditative time out in the natural world.
but I also know I don't ever want to crash like that again.  I don't want to go so far as to say I have fear, but I definitely will begin again with caution.
maybe a nice flat (flat-ish as there is nothing flat around here) ride.  I am not eager to descend quickly, and not even really eager to descend.
I'm sure I'll get over this, eventually, but I also hope to retain a bit of caution.  I never, ever, want to return to the emergency room due to an accident.

so, I'm practicing becoming steady and comfortable on my trainer-grounded bike, so that I can soon be on asphalt and chipseal again, spinning my legs around, breathing fresh air and listening to the great big world.
my bike's ready.
in 5 days, I will be, too.

logan to jackson by car

it's lotoja weekend.
in less than two hours I'll hop in the car and head off to logan, where we'll spend the night so as to be ready for the big lotoja start line early in the morning......
where I will wave my friends goodbye, hop back in the car, and be their support for the day.
this will be a new experience.

I've been working on myself, trying to accept my feelings of sadness, disappointment, and loss over not being able to ride, while trying to induce feelings of enthusiasm to experience the other side of the race.
it's semi-working, and I haven't cried yet.  I'm hoping that when I get to logan, when I see all my friends and acquaintances and am amidst all the hoopla, I will buck up and just be grateful I'm walking and not in a wheelchair or something even worse.
it could be worse.

john has supported me during this race for three years, and he has always talked about enjoying the people, the enthusiasm, and the energy of the day:  how great it is to see riders tackling and accomplishing this big goal, and how the other people doing support are such good sports about everything.  I've said before that I think it's probably harder to do support than to ride:  we cyclists are in a hurry and often grumpy or stressed or just plain unhappy, and when it's all over, we're the ones who get the reward and those who supported us have to get by with just our "thank you's", when we remember to utter them.  it's a darn long day, either way.

so it's my turn to play support girl.  I think it's better than my just staying home, but I hope it doesn't wrench my heart too terribly.  my goal is to really focus on all the cyclists to see how they come to the feed zones, what they say and do, and what they're like when they leave:  this is something I don't generally get to do.  perhaps I will learn a thing or two.

it's an interesting experience to be injured and have to sit on the sidelines.  it's brought up many thoughts and feelings for me, and has plunked me in a strange place.  I miss cycling for the pure physical aspects of it, and I miss it for the gifts of being in nature and spaces of solitude that it gives me.  I am different these days, and the reasons are intermingled and complex:  the loss of what I mentioned above, the discomfort of broken and sliced parts of me still healing, and the mental work of trying to process everything I'm experiencing.
plus it would be really nice to sleep through a night again.

anyway, I'm off to logan.
I hope to see hundreds of grinning cyclists and happy supporters (at least at the beginning), and hope to see the same at the end of the day.
I'm sending out good vibes and energy for a terrific day for all . . .
myself included.

ow

yesterday's power camp class was a "time trial." what this means in the real cycling world is go fast and hard and try to win. what it means in power camp is high heart rate for extended time and plan on hurting.
we joke all the time in class about drafting each other, never being able to pull ahead of anyone, not getting there (wherever there might be) any faster than anyone else, and the headwinds/tailwinds provided by the fans in the room.
the only way to win a power camp time trial is to assign yourself a personal victory for spinning through it in whatever way you prescribed for yourself.
I just like to end without ever having experienced the I Am Going To Die sensation.

which is what I did, so I labeled myself victorious.
however, I did experience something else, which was the I Think I Hurt My Hamstring sensation.
this is new for me.
I've had knee issues throughout my cycling life ~ these issues come and go, and usually time, ice and bike adjustments end up solving the problems ~ I know knee pain. and I know cramps: I've not had many, but I've had a few over the years. but this muscle thing I experienced yesterday is new.
not good new, like yippee! I'm having a new experience! wow, this is cool!
new in the unknown sense, in the I never wanted to be here sense.

what happened is that about an hour into the class I suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing-type pain in the lower middle portion of my left hamstring. it moved along the muscle, in a way that made me think of a tear zipping through a piece of canvas. electric, painful, jolting me from my little zone and sending a loud message up to my brain and back down to my right leg: STOP !!

I don't need to go on and on; suffice to say I have a slight issue that I am working on.
a little ice, and a plan to apply heat on the way to class in the morning, plenty gentle stretching and some small amount of rest. I plan to be very careful, as the thought of really being injured is almost more than I can bear. I will be gentle, and give more work to my quads, and listen to my body. all the right things.

this morning's class was a combination of slow, heavy resistance work, and fast, light resistance spinning. what I learned is that my little injured hamstring doesn't like to spin around really quickly; funny, the rest of me (including the mental piece) doesn't like that part either!
perhaps I willed this upon myself . . .

fantasies and fibulae

I have two fantasies.
One, that I am a runner.
Two, that I am a back-up singer for a band.

I can sing, and maybe with vocal training I could be good enough to be a back-up singer . . . someday . . . you never know.
Now, running. Well, this may just not happen. I ran for a while my sophomore year in college. I remember thinking a mile is a really long distance. I also remember my knees not being terribly enamored of the process.
Here I am quite a bit further down the road, with those same knees. Last year I spent many weeks icing one knee or the other, and I should probably be doing the same now: my knees are complaining a bit about what I've been making them do.
I do not want an injury. Perhaps it's not my biggest fear, but I don't want to imagine my life without cycling. And that's where thought of an injury takes me.
An acquaintance of mine is a runner: she currently has her foot in a cast because she was hit by a car. Hit by a car is terrible, but not being able to run is worse.
Most of us try to avoid injury, but sometimes it happens anyway. A car hits us, or perhaps we're at football practice, being tackled by a teammate during a drill, and we fall, landing akwardly on our left ankle. Then we might get up, limping, realizing something isn't right, and go see the trainer. Who gives ice, asks questions, tapes it, makes us stand and try to walk, sees the failure. More ice, suggestions of an x-ray . . .
Yes, my 15-year-old son fractured his left fibula yesterday morning, during football practice. Argh. Small break, clean, no surgery. Phew.
But the piece of it I really love is this: yesterday was the first day of "two-a-day" week, the toughest week of football practice all year. The night before, my son was talking with God, saying, please help me ~ I'm going to need some help getting through this week.
Hmmm.
God knows I've never really wanted my son to play football . . .
and I know He's always listening . . .
I believe the saying is, "God works in mysterious ways."
Now, about that back-up singer thing ~
do re mi fa so la ti do