This week when the realization hit that I no longer have an office where I can go to to work, that I can no longer go to the gym and that even CompuTrainer classes aren’t happening at Great Basin Bicycles anymore— I had a “moment” of panic. Granted, there are other reasons I am stressed, too— like many of us, I don’t know how this is going to shake out financially, and with half of our household income coming from a small business that has been mandated to close its doors (although thankfully not online orders) I, like a lot of people, don’t know what to expect.
In regards to this blog, though, I really broke down, wondering how I was going to uphold my end of the bargain for the CCC— training for it, fundraising for it, spreading awareness and generally being the best representative of the Arthritis Foundation in day-to-day life that I can be. Well, obviously circumstances have changed. But, life doesn’t stop. You and I and everybody have got to figure out how to keep going.
And that’s when I had this incredible epiphany starting yesterday that has really changed my perspective on this whole situation. It was inspired, in part, by an essay I have written and revised so many times I can recite the 4,950 words back to you verbatim that deals with some of what my experiences were growing up. And although my stepfather didn’t always say the kindest things to me, I will never forget the one thing he said that has stuck with me for my entire life: Why do you assume that change is going to be a bad thing? He posed this question when the news was delivered we were moving again, a mere 18 months after arriving in a house and I had just started to make friends. This would have been the sixth move in five years. Change is just change, he said. It’s not always bad and it’s not always good. The only thing you can know for sure is that it will be different.
I heard those words in my mind as I was sitting in my home office, alone, and something inside of me clicked. If I can’t go to the gym and I can’t ride inside, what can I do? It was a very similar answer to the dilemma: what if I can’t buy lettuce at the grocery store anymore? What can I do? Well, folks, I planted lettuce and the seedlings are up. Yes, that’s right: I’m growing my own from seed (something I have always wanted to do, and now that I’m home basically all the time, I can monitor the plants much more than I could before. A dream deferred.)
Regarding the other: what can a person do when you can’t run or ride inside? The answer was so simple. I will do what athletes have been doing long before global pandemics and likely for long after: I can run and ride outside.
And in a second, I realized that, ironically enough, this situation could enable me to live the life I have always wanted. I can lead a nearly monastic existence, which includes deep study and solitude, a rigorous physical training routine that involves solo rides and runs and resistance training with what I have at home (houseplants, cats and cat litter). And then the garden and the chickens: learning to exist closer to the earth, seeing the life processes play out day by day. Aligning planting seasons with the diurnal journey of the sun. Once I realized this incredible gift I’ve been given, I could not be more grateful. This is the life I’ve always wanted.
I think, like everybody, it was shocking how fast everything changed. One day, we could buy toilet paper and the next there was not a roll to be found. It reminds me of other changes that can happen in your life and change everything, which is part of the reason why I’m dedicated to raising awareness and funds for the Arthritis Foundation. Although I don’t have arthritis, I can appreciate the struggle it presents in life, something that can surface and “change everything” for not just a day, but for an indeterminate amount of time.
I can only work through metaphor and comparisons and so I imagine having arthritis is like the day I was hit by a car. I was on a 80-mile training ride, and the car crossed over a double yellow to pull an illegal U-turn. I was cruising at about 23 mph in my aerobars, and I reached for my brakes as soon as I saw what was happening. I still went over the hood of their car, landing on the shoulder of the road, my bike crumpled beside me. The crash broke a rib or two, and panicked, I hopped back on my bike and rode the 40 miles back to the car powered by anger and fear.
That crash changed everything. I was signed up for a Half Ironman as an elite entry, and when I tried to go to the pool the next morning to swim, I nearly drowned at the first flip turn at the far end of the pool. Running was too excruciatingly painful, too— it felt like someone was trying punch a hole in that side of my body with every stride.
I think the defining moment of that injury, though, happened when I tried to go to the gym to stretch and roll myself out with a foam roller. I got down on the floor, and due to the pain of my broken rib, I literally couldn’t get up off the floor. I felt like those old people in the commercial who say: “Help me I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” only I really couldn’t get up, and it wasn’t funny.
I can’t imagine dealing with pain and inflammation as life-changing as that crash, but people with Arthritis do, every single day. Not only do they “deal” with it, but they sign up for rides like this one (which is 525 miles, by the way) despite the circumstances and despite the pain. I have so much admiration for those folks who live with a condition that constantly throws the kind of life-changing curveballs we’ve all been delivered due to COVID-19.
From what I’ve read and seen, the CCC riders with arthritis roll with the punches. They make the best out of it. They find a way to train and to spread awareness while holding down jobs, taking care of families and living their lives. Honestly— that attitude has inspired me to do the same.
For the first time in I have no idea how long, I rode my bike outside. I went to Jack’s Valley Road, down in Douglas County because it’s big and wide-open and I could practice ample social distancing while riding along at my own pace. My goal? To ride 50 miles at a steady pace, no stopping and no drafting on two bottles of water and a lot of hope that this new training model—this new way of life— is something that I am capable of doing.
It was beautiful out. I wish I would have stopped and taken more pictures, but once my cleats clipped into the pedals, I had no desire to stop. The Sierra Nevada range was covered in white snow and the cattle hunkered down in the wide range of sage and bitterbrush, divided by barbed wire fences. Hawks circled high in the blue sky above. In the little town of Genoa, people were out: walking their dogs, walking, speaking to each other. It was like the sun gave everybody a hall pass to get outside. The climb up Emigrant Trail (which doesn’t look like a climb) got me into snow territory and I could feel the temperature drop by several degrees.
My cadence and pedal stroke felt good to me— I held 77-89% efficiency despite riding in an aero position. This bodes well for training; although I don’t have the punchy-power of a racer anymore, my endurance base is still there. And OMG it felt so good to get outside and to use it.
When I got home, I filled two planters with radish seeds and planted some white onions out front. The chickens are calling for me to let them out of their run so they can free-range around the yard. The bees in the apiaries created whirl-wind orientation flights, sending out new worker bees to look for nectar sources from the early spring blooms, especially dandelions.
Working from home in my home office.
Even though it is not ideal to raise awareness and to train for an event during a global pandemic, I have confidence that we will all find schedules, methods and thought process to help us through this in the way that is best for not only ourselves individually, but for our communities.
I am honestly so excited to have all this solitary time. Having hours when I am not driving means that I have that time to devote to my sports… in the way in which they were intended to be practiced.
I honestly can’t wait to let you know next week how things are going— if the radishes sprout, if the chickens continue to lay a record number of eggs, and if I see progress as I train outside on the bike and the run.
I hope you stay safe, and healthy. For friends reading this whom I don’t get to see for a while, I miss you all very much. I miss my Orange Theory Fitness friends and coaches, I miss those who ride CT with me and with Rich. We will get through this. It’s time to make lemonade, friends! :-) (Or lemon bars. Or anything lemon-flavored that is your favorite.)
I hope you keep following me here, and if you feel compelled, become a part of my journey to the starting line of the CCC in October 2020. Much love and e-hugs to you and yours.