Life as a Daring Adventure

"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable."  Helen Keller

Sometimes just turning my face is all the bravery I can muster.

But sometimes I have a little more in the tank. I do know how to dig in and hang on, and sometimes I can push and do. I am inordinately proud to report I have stuck to my Kanza 100 training plan since I started it last Wednesday.

Oh yeah, the, uh, 100. I'm not done feeling ashamed - and you can say what you like about how I ought or ought not feel - for dropping from the 200 to the 100-mile gravel race in June.

I know, I know it's the right thing to do, and yeah, I do want to actually finish a freaking race for ONCE since 2015's Half-Jackrabbit (in which I was not DFL thank you very much, thanks to riding partner TS who saw the cowbells and photogs lined up at the finish and tucked in behind me, the chicken gentleman. Because they weren't there to cheer the DFL, the Dead Fucking Last, oh no.  We were such slow riders, they thought we were the first finishers from the full course, rather than the last finishers on the half course.)

A photograph from the Half-Rabbit has been my iPhone background screen since 2015. It was my first gravel race; I had no idea it would be the only I'd ever finish for YEARS. I'm not changing it until I finish another race. Kanza 100 could be it.

Trying to be pumped, I am, I am. I AM. I rode my training hours last week on the trainer in front of days of a Game of Thrones marathon, but I rode them ALL, including the intervals (short higher-paced segments with shorter prescribed rest segments in between).

I modified the training plan since I jumped into a 12-week plan with 8 weeks before the race. (Admitting that to the race director last week was the final straw she needed to encourage me to switch from 200 to 100. AND SHE WAS RIGHT. BUT I GET TO BE SAD ANYWAY. BECAUSE I SUCK MY BODY SUCKS IS FREQUENTLY UNCOOPERATIVE.)

The training plan is set up in hours and pace according to perceived effort, not in miles or miles per hour - and it's so much better for me, a very slow rider, this way. My speed will improve with the interval training. I'm not racing against anyone but myself this year, yes, for this whole YEAR. This isn't training for a podium finish, people, just for a finish. And a new background photo on my flippin' iPhone. That might just be taken in Emporia.

"It's All Mental"

For once, I'll get right to the lede: if it's all mental, then we're bigger failures than we thought. And I'm saying "we" when I mean "I" because it seems gentler I guess?

If succeeding, if finishing a very challenging physical task like a gravel century is more mental then physical, if it's, as many say, "all mental," and I [don't choose to]* finish, then it's not because my body can't do it, oh no, it's because I'm a mental weakling, or lazy, or just not dedicated or determined enough.

*[because another thing they say is there's no such thing as "can't"]

As if dealing with the physical shortcomings weren't overwhelming in itself, we're going to tell people they just didn't try hard enough?  Can we not?

The "truth" coming from any elite athlete about what it takes to finish 200 miles and 6,000' of gravel in 22 hours or less isn't Truth -- it's an anecdote, a personal truth from an elite athlete. The people who finish that kind of race are a subset of the general population and they are a physically healthy subset who has physically trained for that race. So I don't care if 99% of the finishers tell you the same thing - that finishing Dirty Kanza -- or finishing a Death Valley marathon, or climbing Denali, or hey, how about beating fucking cancer? -- is all mental. You are hearing from the winners, those who were physically strong or fit enough to survive, and their opinions are skewed.

I don't know what I'm so mad about except that I feel ashamed with no one to blame but myself. I knew or should have known that attending the gravel camp in my current state would be an exercise in humiliation. It was a long winter with minimal riding, I'm still trying to manage this tremendous weight gain, and wow was that extremely unfortunate timing with the labial tear/abscess.

Not only did I drive 6 hours and spend vacation time and hotel money to attend, what I left behind while gallivanting about the Flint Hills with the celebrities of gravel was a weekend helping address flood damage at the cabin - a place I was needed and would have been appreciated instead of embarrassing myself -- the fat girl at camp, watching her portion sizes at the buffet because everyone else is.

Maybe it won't sound like I mean it, but the camp is truly top-notch, excellent as long as you're in physical shape to keep up. I wasn't, and that's on me and not the camp. I guess I'll save my glowing recommendation for another post; it may fall flat in this one.

I acknowledge the self-flagellation here. I rode almost 100 miles of tough Kansas gravel over the 3 days, I worked hard. But the schedule was 200. And once again I was miles behind the group with the camp assigning me essentially my own ride guide because I am so fucking slow, taking that guide from the group.

Those who finished their century on Saturday were celebrated, no matter how late they came in (as well they should be !)  One man crashed at the bottom of a tricky descent, splitting his helmet and knocking himself out about mile 50.  He was taken to the ER, checked out, and returned, at his request, to the halfway point to finish his ride in a borrowed helmet. Which he did. He's 60 years old, by the way, but with the calves of a climber. You know that insurance commercial with the cyclist who's insured his legs? Like that.

I am down.  Well, I WAS down, but something has grown from rumination over it and this post over these past several days since returning home.

I realize more than ever that I am the right person to write the blog I want to write, this very one about a regular human trying hard, getting knocked down, and then trying again just to get on her bike and make the wheels go 'round. And I mean a real regular human, not an athlete or a celebrity or a pretty, clever thing. Just me.

Well shit, I guess I buried the lede after all.

It's April ! You know what that means?

April is. . . the Official Month of Missed Deadlines?

No! (or at least, Not Only That!) 30 Days of Biking has begun!

I've already missed my potential April 1st bike ride and my planned April 1st blog post, so... right on schedule, I'm late.

I have a FABULOUS excuse for not riding in that I'm technically not cleared to?  Though Dr. G acknowledged it wasn't her area of expertise, she still tossed off a "2 weeks off the bike" recommendation for healing; tomorrow just makes one week. Close enough! I am going to try - *try* - a few minutes on the trainer this evening and we'll see how it goes. TBH, I'm nervous because what's coming this weekend with Camp DK (200 miles of Kansas Flint Hills gravel over 3 days, 50/100/50) is no joke.

Let's talk about 30 Days of Biking, because I think this is a truly wonderful program with benefits to riders of all levels.

This is a program started by a couple of dudes in Minneapolis who wanted to spread the joy of biking. Simple as that. Along the way, they raise money for charity and this year it's World Bicycle Relief, which provides sturdy bicycles AND bicycle repair training for young people and adults in developing countries. (Google "buffalo bicycle" or check out WBR 's site - good stuff.)

www.30DaysofBiking.com is the site when you're ready to "make the pledge." What does that mean? You enter your name and maybe your e-mail address and pledge to ride your bike every day in April. That's it. If you're willing to make a few social media posts about it, more's the better, but it's not required. It just makes it more fun. The pledge is FREE, a donation to World Bicycle Relief is completely voluntary. Also free (if you explore the site a little bit) is a template for you to make your own spoke cards. I had 100 made a few years ago to leave at bike shops & share with others. I had them printed on card stock & laminated & I get a kick out of people noticing them in my spokes & asking about them. I probably get a bigger kick out of noticing them in other peoples' spokes.

No ride too big or small, indoor or outdoor, and if you miss a day, well, it's on the honor system - just tack on a ride after the end of the month. Like I'm going to do !

I like it because it helps build a habit and it fosters a supportive community of riders all over the world. I love that following the hashtag #30DaysofBiking or #30DoB on any of the usual social media sites will reveal posts in multiple languages. Note on Facebook the page is "Joyful Riders Worldwide," changed from a "30 Days of Biking" page because it turns out the friends we make all over the world during April are people we still enjoy chatting with in May... or July... or January.

There's no mandatory tracking or reporting, but a fun app to use in April is "Ride." It asks of you only your e-mail address, it tracks rides automatically, and it rewards you with fun daily "trophies" after rides. The trophies are little emojis that bounce into a screen and accumulate - I'm a total dork so I know if you shake your phone, the trophies will all bounce around and I find this hugely entertaining. (I live a sheltered life.)

Okay, I'm stopping!  (This is the Ann version of a "short blog post, apparently.) Go pledge !

(This is a favorite, though not recent, photo of me in my 30 Days of Biking jersey. World-class photographer Henry Gentle snagged this shot at the bike park on the Katy Trail near Columbia, Missouri. In the background you can see the SCARY TEETER TOTTER that I finally mastered right before this shot. I could post that video here but it might damage my cred as a tough bad ass as you can clearly hear the tiny "ohhh shiiiiiit" as I barely survive the teeter.)

Nuts!

Wow, first post of the year? I've been holding things in a WHILE.

I made the cardinal sin of cross-posting on another blog site but referring to this one when I didn't have a current essay, OH MY.

Let's get this party started.

"Nuts!" is the title because the last post was called "Nats!" and "soup to nuts" is the kind of stuff I write about and because if I were biologically male, we'd be talking about testicles. HOLY COW, you say, is this THAT KIND OF BLOG TODAY?

Well this is not a delicate place, mis amigos. It's gritty. I am La Grinta (it says so on my T-shirt) and we are going to get dirty.

Starting from ground zero -- from the cellar of the sub-sub-basement of the lowest building at ground zero, I am going to finish a 200 mile gravel race and you are coming along with me.

I won't shy away from uncomfortable subjects, like surgical procedures on female genitalia or sock height.

I will promise to encourage all comers, to address legitimate, on-topic questions, and if I don't know something I promise I won't pretend that I do.

Because Blogger is so cumbersome, I've been leaning hard to move to WordPress, but I am the least technological person you know, unless you also know my dad. To be fair, he once rebuilt a carburetor with only a few parts left over, so I think we're even. If and when that move happens, hopefully it will be the last move for awhile.

Some of you are joining me from CaringBridge - welcome! And some wander across various sites and land here by happenstance and some will be arriving from other links dropped in various places. Welcome.

I've not promoted the blog at all, so it's low on traffic and we probably all know each other. Just letting you know that going forward, folks reading & commenting might not all be folks we know personally. If you ever read something in the comment section that is abusive, threatening, or offensive to any protected or vulnerable person, let me know and I will remove it and follow up immediately. I don't monitor things 24/7 so please don't assume that because I haven't removed something that I condone it. Let me know.

TO BEGIN - well to begin, I think I'll investigate why my perfect bike ride fuel - 1/2 toasted everything bagel + schmear + scrambled egg, red onion, red bell pepper smells and tastes like old fish. It really shouldn't. I'm eating it anyway? I probably oughtn't.

CHEERS

Nats!

In the world of cyclocross, an obstacle course-type adventure racing that I've always wanted to try, "Nats" means "Nationals," as in, the National Championships. I was touched when my eldest son called a few weeks ago to invite me on a road trip to Louisville, Kentucky to attend these events, hashtag "CXNATS" (and shocked my mid-December calendar could accommodate it).

Henry and his girlfriend, a Louisville native, introduced me to many cool aspects of the town, including a holiday-themed light show in a drive-through cavern, some guidelines on sampling bourbon, and a blackberry chocolate ice cream for which a local shop is famous. I loved seeing examples of very old architecture, limestone everywhere, and an eerily foggy sunrise drive through Cave Hill Cemetery.  Cassius Clay, the great Muhammad Ali, is buried there. Henry and I drove a few miles through the massive cemetery sort of hoping to stumble across his final resting place, but not motivated enough to get out and ask at the office. It felt like it would break a spell.

It had rained the entire week and continued to drizzle through Friday and to storm Friday night. Joe Creason Park was a MUDDD FEST both on and off the track, but it was such incredible fun to experience. Never have I attended a national-level sporting event and had so much access to the event and its participants. It was easy to walk (I mean, as easy as I ever walk + thick, slippery, shoe-stealing mud) from the hill climb to the pits to the ramp to the finish line and see, up close, the riders and the terrain they attempted to conquer. A friend advised me in advance that a cowbell would be an appropriate accessory. What do you know, I have a giant and very loud Dirty Kanza cowbell... oh  yeah. I rang the hell out of that cowbell.

I'd love to talk to some of those riders and ask how the heck they keep going in all that mud. My sole experience dealing with it, during just the first few hours of this year's DK 200 was that it completely clogs up the derailleur and rear cassette. I stopped more than once to poke out and shoot precious drinking water at thick, clingy mud. How would one deal with that in a race? At the elite level, riders were using the pit to swap bikes at every opportunity, which was twice per lap. Pit crews washed bikes and readied them for another go. But even that would have been little help... from each stop at the pit it was mere feet until the bikes would be once again mired in Kentucky mud.

It was fascinating to see riders descend the steep ramp of the "flyover" and handle their bikes in the literal feet-deep mud, wrestling through a 90-degree turn where the ramp dumped them back onto the course. Initially, I thought it certain we'd see wipe-out city, but in fact the majority of riders maintained their seats and continued to pedal through the muck, most flinging a leg out to help maintain balance while entering the turn. Incredible leg strength had to play a part in any forward motion through that swampy turn, as well as confidence and a healthy dose of luck.

I feel further away than ever from a return to competitive cycling. (I write that as if I ever rode competitively, rode for the podium -- I haven't!) Okay then: a return to cycling events that happen to have prizes for winning. But while watching these amazing men, women, young adults, and children (yes! one event was a non-competitive U10 lap! Little bitty bodies on great big 29'rs!) I did feel my quad muscles start to twitch. I watched bike handling with interest. I want to get back to biking and do crazy muddy rides too. They do have a masters division, for old guys & gals like me. . . .

First things first: back to commuting. I pledge I will commute to work at least once before the end of the year, at least with the e-bike. That means one of these days:  December 21, 26, 27, 28.  ULP I might have typed a little ahead of myself. TOO LATE I'M COMMITTED. Hold me to it, people.

NY-bound

Welp, a break and brief set-back in the training while I go back to New York for the ongoing reconstruction & revision surgery process following 2016's mastectomy.  Did you know 88% of women need more than one reconstruction surgery?  And 65% need more than two? And 39% need four or more? If you know multiple women who have had reconstruction surgery, it's probably no surprise. If you don't, consider this your public service announcement!

I am hoping to heal quickly and be on a stationary bike for easy miles shortly after surgery, but there's no timeline -- no more races this year.  I have until January to decide whether or not to sign up for big races & rides.  Oh except Dirty Kanza, I'm committed to that camp (April) and that race (June).  Oh and also Ride the 5 Boros in May, LOL.  And Gravel Worlds in August.  I mean... of course THOSE.  : )

As soon as I'm cleared to work a little harder, I look forward to starting the 12-week DK training package I bought and using a fun & functional cycling training workbook. I am not getting on a scale today -- I know it's BAD.  I did abuse a measuring tape & record circumferences of arm, waist, hips -- and HOLY SHIT it's the worst it's ever been not including pregnancy. My plan is to get through this surgery, get healed, and slowly and methodically get fit. Whole30 (or, for me, "Whole almost 14") was a nice kickstarter. Pain makes it tough.  All of the medication I'm on makes it tough, but I'll just have to be tougher. One healthy meal, one pedal revolution at a time.

Our friends-group ski trip is coming up soon, and while the state of my knee may not allow downhill skiing, all looks okay to cross-country ski or snowshoe maybe? Still rehabbing the knee, elbow, foot, face. Oh I, um, harvested? two tiny fresh pieces of gravel from my chin yesterday. Startling, but strangely satisfying.  Still have a few pieces in my chin and upper lip and I don't care? I feel like I'm carrying them around for a reason right now and they'll work their way out if and when it's time? I KNOW I'M SO WEIRD.

It looks like the next several weeks need to a time of rest and healing for a lot of things, physical, emotional, social. Like I said on the caringbridge site:  October is hard, but I have a lot of people on my team (Hi team!) and I know what I need to do. I mean, as long as that thing includes riding bikes.

Thank you to my friends & family, especially my mom & sister who will be watching over the Omaha kith & kin, and to Dad who continues to so lovingly care for our touchstone, Grandma Z.

PS: The title NY-Bound is only funny if you know that after each of these abdominal / breast reconstruction surgeries, I'm in an actual, physical binder for another six months. Get it? Hilarzzz....

Home(stead)

I can't tell you how happy I am to have (finally) ridden my bike all weekend.  It wasn't going to work out for me to camp out with the Shenandoah Gang, but I had other opportunities to tackle good long rides in the perfect September sun and for that, man, I am a lucky gal.

On Saturday, Noah was with his dad, so I rode to see Grandma and she was so much better I almost burst into tears right there in her face. At meals she complained about her food and about being fussed over and I celebrated that with her, recalling only a week ago that she was so sick the family was feeding her, encouraging every bite and sip beyond every refusal, counting her total daily food and beverage intake in ounces.... It's amazing she has once again been strong enough to bounce back.

[hold for photo]

The route to Grandma's is mostly via the Keystone Trail, which I do not love, even as I feel lucky to have it. It does allow a certain mind-wandering that gravel and street traffic decidedly do NOT, and it's paved and relatively safe.

About that: I did have an experience that I'm feeling alternately scared and guilty about. Scared because of a screaming, enraged, likely drug-trippin mad Scotsman who flung his arms about, yelling FUCK YOU and various versions of FUCK THIS and FUCK THAT as he punched his fists and clomped his legs with knees high in the air, the overly exaggerated movements of a band leader, highlighting the neon yellow hi-viz vest or something tied around his ankle and kicking up the dirty pleated kilt he was wearing.  Yes, kilt.  And I felt guilty because I didn't call the police.

I saw him from a long way off, far enough away to see that all around me was nothing & no one that would come to my aid.  No golf course, no houses, no parking lot, no businesses.  The terrain at this point fell away steeply from the trail; there was nowhere to go, so I pedaled harder, barreling on at top speed as the unthinkable happened:  he stepped directly into my path, blocking the bike.  Mere feet away I started yelling back at him in as deep a voice I could still scream loudly in, "MOVE!  MOOVVVEE!!!"and OMG he did, he stepped back, enraged, livid, still yelling.  He didn't stop yelling as I pedaled hard away, deciding to stop the bike with I was a safe distance and call the cops.  When I felt like I'd ridden a safe distance, I paused the bike and put a foot down to turn & look for him and he was RUNNING FULL SPEED AHEAD RIGHT AT ME so oh hell no, I jumped on my bike and listened to him yell behind me for what felt like the entire ride home.

SHUDDER
No such drama on the Homestead Trail - it was AWESOME.  L* and I joined a group of friendly women that I'd met before but didn't know. We had a lovely ride from Beatrice to Marysville, KS yes that's right I rode my bike to Kansas !  For those of you keeping score at home, that's 78.2 miles Beatrice to Marysville thankyouverymuch and my knee, while not thrilled, did not give out on me.  (Thank you, ibuprofen and ice packs!)

The trail is very well maintained, flat, and has a good bit that's shaded and a good bit that's alongside a river or two. It reminded me more of the Katy than the Wabash, if we're comparing rails to trails.  Other than those of us riding the Homestead 100, it was not busy.  The trail has covered rest stops every 5-15 miles with picnic tables, water fountains, and bathrooms (bathrooms will be locked & water shut off November 1st).  The rest stops include images of the trail network, trail history, and other interesting information.  One section of the bike trail corresponds with the Trail of Tears and has been deeded over to the Ponca Nation.  Another section was visited by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and a quote from her describing the area is on the wall.  While I mentioned several times how "new" I found the trail and its amenities, of course it's not new at all.  Many feet --human and animal, and many travois and wheels -- wooden, steel, and now rubber passed along the route long before we did.  It's good to be reminded.

I highly recommend the El Ranchero restaurant in Marysville though will caution those of you who are looking for an ice-cold beer on a Sunday ride will be disappointed -- Marysville does not sell alcohol on Sundays.  (I congratulated myself with pizza and an Odell's Rupture IPA on return to Omaha.)  Mmmm pizza...

  I admit it: I'm very proud to have ridden this distance.  It's my longest this year, one of my longest since I got sick, and certainly the longest since I crashed in July. It made me so happy to make the trip with a good friend and make new friends besides.  It made me so happy that I could use the knee without killing it. I am back home, home on the trail!  Maybe there's cross-country bikepacking hope for this grrrritty grrravel girl yet.


*I don't use names without permission.  Unless I've given birth to them.  (Sorry, Noah!)