Resurrected Titanium

Tags

biking, health, lessons learned, life, middle age, personal

I never intended to neglect her, even as I stopped to admire her pearled finish and timeless beauty as I passed her each day.  We used to be constant companions with hardly a day where we didn’t spend at least an hour together.  She was a gift, cherished in a way that expressed my true thanks to have such a wonderful machine.  Never a spot did I allow, never a fault or blemish.  My partner was too precious, too much a part of me, to allow any harm.

Then came the other one.  The dirty pleasure who showed me things that I had never even dreamed of until I met her.  She brought me back to nature, a satisfied peace that helped me escape to a place of refuge, my body experiencing a different challenge than my pearly beauty could ever give to me.  I was taken away, away from the stress of the road, away from the constant effort that the other required of me.  Sure, she had a bigger, more sturdy frame, but the ecstasy she brought made me forget all else.  With her, it was about the experience, not so much the sheer appearance.  Soon, all I wanted was my time in the woods.  Rarely did I come back to my pearly beauty, my first love.

I had to come back.  Saturday, I donned the spandex that I had spurned during my hiatus from my titanium beauty, the Serotta road bike that I have loved for so long.  Tentatively, I returned to the garage, prepped my white steed for a ride, picked it up, still astonished at how light the bike is for such old technology — the frame is over 20 years old.  It felt strange to wear spandex again, the tight material stretched over my 56 year old frame, a bit self conscious as I rolled down the first stretch of road.  The click of cleat to pedal brought a smile as my right foot found the Look Keo pedal, a surge as the first down stroke took affect.

It was a different feeling, not unfamiliar, the speed of the light bike underneath me, the resistance of high pressure road tires to the pavement much less than knobby mountain bike tires to dirt.  I rolled along at a nice, 18 mph pace after my body warmed up, content on a pleasant but humid Saturday afternoon.  The traffic was light, the ride easy.  10 miles in, I encountered an old friend at a stoplight, a fast rider who races, and settled in behind him for another 10 miles.

Home again, I realized that my muscles were sore.  Riding the road bike works different muscles than the mountain bike.  I was happy to know they still existed, annoyed that I had let them go.

Sunday found me with a text message from my “wife”, telling me that she had visited our daughter at her summer camp, where she is a camp counselor.  The air conditioning on our daughter’s car wasn’t working, so my “wife” wanted to know what to do about it.  I drove the 90 minutes to the camp, exchanged cars with my daughter, brought her car home.

The car went to the mechanic early Tuesday morning.  Instead of hitching a ride with my office manager, who lives close, I decided to take advantage of my renewed relationship with my road bike.  I rode to work.  For more than 20 years, bike commuting was something I was known for around the office, an activity I took advantage of nearly 12 months out of the year.  But since I took my new job over three years ago, I have bike commuted only a few times, not once since we changed office locations at the beginning of 2016.

Commuting by bike is different than merely riding for pleasure.  Unless one gets up to commute before dawn, a bike commute is going to mean that I am riding in the presence of a large amount of motor vehicles.  Even a dawn ride involves more vehicle interaction than an early Saturday morning ride.  Almost immediately, within the first few pedal strokes, I felt the uncomfortable closeness of cars constantly zooming past my backside.  Years ago, riding with traffic had become second nature.  It took a bit for that second nature to kick in again.

I enjoyed the ride, parked my bike in my office, a bit of pride at once again using my hobby in a practical way.  Really, I should have parked the bike in the storage unit my company rents in the basement.  Instead, I left the bike in my office window for all to admire.  She is a beauty, after all.

Last night, my second ride home on my commute.  Approaching a stoplight where I had to cross over a second lane to get to the left turn lane, a small brained motorist behind me decided to take his aggression out on me.  I won’t share the details — they are not important.  But I remembered another reason why the peace of the woods and dirt trails has become so precious to me.  I arrived home with clenched teeth, a result of stuffing the temptation to react to the angry motorist.

I will continue to return to my pearly white beauty for weekend strolls along less travelled roads.  I am pretty sure that I don’t want the stress of commuting any more.  Oh, I could get used to it again, as I did so many years ago.  I got to the point then where I rarely had an incident.. but the roads are different now, the congestion of the suburbs more pronounced.  I ride the bike to relieve stress, keep my body in tune.  I want to keep it that way.

Back In The Saddle

Tags

biking, health, mountain biking

Miriam didn’t even frown at me.  Not in front of me at least.  My wife has learned the skill of rolling her eyes after she leaves my line of sight, a skill I thought I possessed but have been assured I do not possess.  I am a guy, a husband, after all and we often choose to roll our eyes for the pure pleasure of getting a reaction. 

Yes.  I do that.

Why would my wife ever frown in my direction, you may be asking?  It’s true that the opportunities are rare, few, far between.  I am near perfect.  Trust me, it’s true.  When she frowns at me her reason is usually to question my better judgement, such as eating that grilled cheese sandwich that I dropped on the floor and did not pick up within the five second rule.  Or when I mow the lawn in my bicycle attire (change your clothes, would you? — but, but, but my cycling stuff is already sweaty).  Or when I try to do anything on the roof of our house — I am phobic of heights for the first few minutes I am up there.  This time had a bit of validity to it and I know that my wife frowned when she left the room, after I broke the news to her that I was going on a bike ride yesterday morning. 

A week before I was considering testing my newly repaired gut, not quite two weeks after surgery.  Even I wasn’t quite sure it was a wise move, so I didn’t go out for the ride.  However, if my gut was able to survive the Thanksgiving gorge fest, it was ready for a roll on a bicycle.

So, I suited up yesterday morning, loaded my mountain bike into the back of my PT Loser, drove to my favorite mountain bike park.  I have to confess, I was a bit nervous about the whole thing.  After all, it hasn’t been three weeks since the surgery.  But the doctor said I could try a ride when I felt ready.  I felt ready enough.  One can only couch potato for so long.  Yesterday’s weather was go outside and play weather, the kind of day where mothers and fathers boot their kids out the door with instructions to do something besides waste a perfect day inside.  Sunny.  Nary a hint of wind.  Temperatures in the upper 30s when I left, promising to reach the mid 40s by the afternoon. 

There were a few cyclists getting ready to go out on the trails as I pulled into the trailhead parking lot, one guy about my age jabbering nervously to his riding partner as they readied their bikes to ride.  That is one of the nuances to mountain biking that I am still getting used to, as compared to riding road.  Mountain bikers drive to where they ride and they work on their bicycles at their destination, making adjustments or even making repairs.  Road cyclists usually roll from their front door or to the start of the ride, their bikes readied the night before.  Only in emergencies will a road cyclist be found working on their bicycle right before a ride.  I pulled my mountain bike out the back of the Loser, inserted the front wheel on the bike, leaned it against the Loser as I put my cycling shoes on, pulled on my gloves and hydration pack.  Clicking my left shoe into the pedal, I took in the entrance to the trail, a large sigh puffing between my lips.

Here goes, I thought. 

I was in an easy spinning gear, no resistance in the pedals at all, as I spun towards the sandy entrance the rose steeply into the park.  So easy.  So perfectly easy.  My body was ready, the confidence filled me immediately as my bike negotiated rocks and roots as the trail twisted, dipped and rose in front of me.  Since I had been to the trails last, the trees had dropped their leaves completely, the sunlight showing my way.  Gorgeous.  Not only that, but the trails were in perfect shape.  Just a few hundreds yards in was the first quick descent and log obstacle, followed by a section of four twisting bumps, called a pump section.  It’s a part of the trail that is a bit above the novice level, but still simple, and I know that if I ride it fast enough I will catch air.

I did.  Fun.  No issues with my body.

Two hours of riding, fast riding, fast enough that I came back to the parking lot twice for a rest, returning back to the trails because I was having the best time I have had in the past few weeks.  The bike responded exactly the way I wanted it to respond.  Yesterday was the first ride at this particular park where I didn’t fall the entire time I was out.  It was wonderful.

I’m back in the saddle.  Riding again.  I love it.

Challenges Beyond The Physical

Tags

family finances, health, recovery

More reports from the recovery bed today.  My body is taking the next step towards recovery, which basically is that purge stage that gets everything back to working order.  I feel different today than I did yesterday.  That is a good thing.

My guess is that the other challenge I am facing with surgery is the one that most everyone else also experiences — the financial challenge.  One of the blessings I am experiencing is that the company I work for decided about a year ago to quit going cheap on the employee health plan, switching plans to BCBS, a much superior and very accepted health plan, complete in so many ways.  Since this year has been the year of surgery for me, with my foot surgery happening in January and the gallbladder removal this past Monday, I am giving that health plan a good test.  It is passing with flying colors, so far so complete that there have been little to no worries about coverage and payment.  Everything is quick and I know exactly what my responsibility is.  Because my deductibles were met earlier in the year, the out of pocket expense for the current surgery is expected to be zero.  That, my friends, is a blessing.

But, of course, a second surgery also means a second short term disability claim.  I have very little vacation or personal time left to use towards the five working day delay before the medical disability kicks in.  I may actually have to write a check to my company next week to cover the weekly paycheck insurance deductions.. and I will not get a paycheck for my time away this week.  That hurts.  At least it complicates life a bit — we have to figure out how we are going to survive through the next few weeks on what is left at the moment –$87.  Yikes.  And that is before I write that check for the insurance deduction.

Of course, our cat became sick yesterday.  He has sort of urinary thing going on.  Mir dropped him off at the vet this morning.  Yeah.  Let’s all heave a collective sigh together.  I just did.  It never freaking stops.  Never.  Ever. 

I am still on that long road to try to turn my family finances around.  There are things I need to do, but the main thing is to cut my family off to accessing my pay.  Sound cruel?  It feels that way.  But it seems to be the only way.  More than one person has suggested that I open another bank account, at a bank different than the one we currently use, and an account that only I have access to.  I am slow doing that, but I know it’s the only way.  Despite the dire financial straits, my family still does not get the urgency, my wife used to being bailed out.  She does not understand that planning, self control, and a bit of common sense will go a long way to changing our situation for the better.  I keep giving her chances, giving her a cash budget for groceries, for instance.  Out of $240 given to her for groceries in two paychecks, there were no planned meals and little groceries in our family store.  How does that happen?  Yet our son is constantly stocked with soda pop, they come home with sacks from their fast food forays almost every day, and even though Mir knew I was cooking dinner with ice cream in the freezer for desert last night, they still came home with McDonalds and hot fudge sundaes after school.  Un freaking real.

I should not write about this stuff.

But a lot of that last bit of information also falls on my shoulders.  Looks like I am going to have to be the tough leader, probably a bit of a dictator, by cutting them off totally.  I am slow making the steps necessary, but I am getting there.

Soooooooo, the challenges really are beyond the physical when it comes to recovery.  Really, getting physically better is the easiest part of this whole thing.  I am getting support from my own family though, my brothers and their families, both doing very well financially, have both sent gifts to me, one of the reasons I was able to pay the mortgage this week.  My mom did make sure that there was food in the fridge when she and dad visited this past Monday after my surgery.  I need to look at the blessings.  They are there and one of those blessings is the support I get from friends and family.

And the challenges will keep coming, I am sure.

Whir

Tags

anxiety, ct scan, God, health, life, stomach, worry

English: Gallstones from gall bladder Polski: Kamienie z pęcherzyka żółciowego (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Whir.  Hum.

Comforting sounds in different circumstances, not too loud, a pleasantness that on a typical day would have me fighting the sandman for consciousness.  A glance up at the inch wide, six inch long window facing me revealed a glowing orange light, the mechanism inside the tube above me turning quickly behind the window.  Next to the window was a sticker warning me to avoid looking directly inside the window at the laser radiation inside.  My right hand sensed the cold metal of the machine under my palm, placed there a few moments ago when the female technician had instructed me to do so.  Sharp warmth coursed down my arm from an IV, moving along to my mouth, down the other side of my body to my groin, just as I was told would happen.  Confirming the information I had received a few minutes earlier, that warmth turned to a burning sensation not quite like anything I had felt before.  I concentrated on the faint vanilla taste of the thick white smoothie I had drank during the previous hour, the taste mingling with the burning sensation in my mouth.

There is a serenity that filled my mind as I lay inside that machine, strange in that I knew it was taking photos of my innards, scanning to help the doctors figure out what is going on to make me feel the constant nausea.  A few hours before my doctor had announced that what the hospital had told me last Thursday is false.  There is nothing wrong with my gall bladder even though there are stones inside said organ.  Everyone has them there or at least most do.  My body shows no signs of distress and vital signs are strong.  Doc Gary was concerned that it could be something else, so he did not want to waste time, sent me to the lab to have blood drawn for tests, then to the hospital for a CT scan.  That was fine.  I just want to find out what is wrong, do what I need to do to correct what is wrong, and move on to my normal life of work, bicycle riding, baseball, and fatherhood.  Laying inside that whirring and humming tube was going to help me achieve that healing task, so I was at peace with it.

A tinny female voice instructed me to take a deep breath and hold it.  I felt like I was in a science fiction movie.  The table I was lying on moved as the technician adjusted my position from her place behind a glass wall behind me.  The whir turned to a low hum as the machine shut down, the tech came out to remove the IV, give me a few more instructions, then asked me to pull my pants up.  I was done.  I signed a form then followed her out the doors of the scan room, down a few hallways to the waiting room.  She told me the doctor would have the results of the scan and talk to me in a few minutes.

She was right.  A few minutes later the receptionist called my name and took me to a small private room connected to the lobby, instructed me to wait next to the phone in the room as she closed the door behind me.  A few moments later the phone rang.

“You’re fine.  Just like your doctor said there is no sign of distress.  I doubt it is the stones that are your problem.  Frankly, what is probably going on here is stress.  Your doctor has already given you instructions regarding a pill for your stomach.  Let’s stick with those instructions.  Do the two week dosage.”

And that was it.  The diagnosis was what I expected — Steve is a worry wart.  Yeah, I have plenty to be anxious about, but truth is that I am turning that focus inward too much, so easy to do.  I understand why God warns us not to get lost in worry, let him take care of the small and big stuff.  I’m no lily of the field or a bird, but I get the idea.

So why in the world did I get a call yesterday with a referral to a surgeon to have my gall bladder removed?  Gaaaaaah.  I suppose that explains the constant nausea that worsened as the day went on, has not gone away.  Dang it.

It sucks getting “old”.  It sucks more worrying about it.

Oh, and GO CARDINALS!