Humble Bumble

Oft I write here bitching and ranting in my personal twisted style of humor the things that annoy me, frustrate me, anger me, hurt me, or just plain stress me out.

Rarely do I publicly do the whole "touchy feely" thing of calling out the love for the people who support, love, like, cheer me on when I am not racing and am just being me.

Maybe because that happens every day and the things that piss me off or hurt me happen so infrequently.

That being said, these really awesome people get "lost" in the name of blog-writing humor and although I try to tell/show the important people in my life how much I appreciate them, there's no reason why I shouldn't also declare it for the world (or the 10 or 12 other people who read my blogs*).

*Above number does not reflect the several blog stalkers and other complete strangers who attempt or assume to know me based solely on what is written here or my photos. Derrr.

While I have a small and wonderful circle of friends who may or may not also be friends with each other, there are a few people who are there no matter what and who are my constants.

People who I know I could go to in a second if I needed something. Anything. Even though generally I don't.

(This is sometimes perceived as "shutting people out".)

It isn't, but I understand the perception.

Ty and The Sass, by far are the most outstanding humans I have known in some time.

Both strong willed and steadfastly independent and headstrong...and yet complete opposites of each other and sometimes me as well. I am a very fortunate woman to be gifted with children such as these.

Then there is Lisa.

Through thick and thin (and believe me there was some pretty thick shit in our time) she is my rock.

So much more than I think she ever thought she would be but everything I knew she was even 23 years ago.

Words cannot express how happy I am that she lives only a mere 6 hours away (even though I think they should move closer).

This amazing woman (and her family) are family to me and I could not imagine my life without them in it.

We are opposite in sooooooo many ways but total mirrors when it matters...she's just tinier.

She's one of the few people I would give an organ to...if my organs were acceptable for human reception. (I'm sure at some point they will stop glowing from all the poison...if not I may spend the afterlife as a night light.)

Then there's Shannon.

What a selfless woman!

Strong. Sexy. Brilliant. True.

I have cracked up, cried, and danced my ass off with this woman.

From the minute we met, we were instant friends...which may be the one good thing that ever came out of that 4th of July party that year.

Shannon is one of those friends who you want to tell everyone about and at the same time keep her to yourself. She is magnetic.

With her long-time circle of close-knit friends I am not sure why or what she saw in me, but I am very fortunate to call her my friend...and I doubt anyone who knows her would disagree.

Steph.

If I had to name one person who changed my life over the past year or so, Steph would win this one hands down.

Every time I pin on a race bib, the experience is made better when she is present. Whether kicking my ass or cheering me on, she is my Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society.

There isn't a time that I get on my bike anymore that I don't think of her and wish I was riding with her when I'm not and get giddy when I am.

She has been there through all my cycling suffering and pain and may be one of the few who never gives up on me. The fact that I know this every day, whether we talk or not, makes her pretty damn special.

The fact that I have been around to see all that she has accomplished with "ideas" over a short period of time fills me with pride.

The day that I was able to introduce her and Lisa was monumental for me and one of the happiest I have had in a long time.

Her husband Phil is a pretty cool cat too...even though he made me cry in my first race. (Wait! He was being nice while I was sucking and it made me cry...he wasn't being a dick! Don't hurt him!)

*giggle*

Then there's Ish.

Another one.

We knew the day "they" made us share an office that it was a done deal.

Ish is my sweet Latin brotha from anotha mutha.

One of the few men I have met who is prettier than me. (WOW! That reads really arrogant!)

*snarf!*

Ish and Rodney are my loves!

I would do anything for these men and they for me.

I was lucky enough to be there at the start of their amazing relationship and will be the godmother of something of theirs at some point...(even though that something is trending more and more toward a bird or a fish.)

Ish and I have tortured office folk back in our corporate days and I am pretty sure we left a few with a twitch...at least I hope so...though a few had a twitch to begin with...

*snicker*

Jay.

Day in and day out this man cheers me on whether on the bike or on the bathroom floor.

I'll admit, when I met him I didn't think he had it in him.

...then again he told me he was 24 and I am no cougar, so he was ruled out as anything more than a friend. (Turns out he's a weeeee bit older than 24 so game was ON!)

He likes to act like he's a badass (I mean...he IS a badass...) but he is a true friend and wonderful to me and my children.

Now while that may be because he is a kid at heart, it works.

I won't pretend that we shit butterflies and fart sparkles, but we have a lot of fun and play hard...

...Possibly too hard for the common observer who may not realize we are playing, but generally we do not leave marks.

All I need to do on any given day is call him for a second in the middle of my hell and usually without saying (or sometimes even knowing) anything, he helps me.

Even when focused on his race, he takes the time to kiss me and tell me he loves me.

Sometimes all people see is him yelling for a water bottle or a wheel, but races are an hour or 3 of our day. There is so much more that goes on and he doesn't really get credit for that stuff.

The man carries me when I fall, holds my hair when I puke, and runs to the store when I need things to make the aforementioned not happen.

He helps me prep my gear before races and has brought me to new levels of bike geekdom.

Often people wonder how the 2 of us could be a couple since we are also opposites...TOTAL opposites...

But he is no different than Lisa or Steph or Ish or Shannon. He is my friend. He gets me more often than not.

These are my peeps.

There are more in my small circle whom I love and adore like Anna, Andre, Angela, Craig, Christine, and Jessi...the list goes on...but I am all tapped out on "cumbaya" for the night and I just looked at the time.

Maybe it was watching my littlest graduate Kindergarten today.

Maybe it was crapping and puking my guts/brains out today.

Maybe it was the whole ER/strained heart muscle thing that made me want to put it out there...

I don't know.

The truth is, if I show you any attention or affection at all, I mean it. I don't like most people, so if I communicate with you, I actually like you.

And now, because I like me, I am going to bed.

G'night.

Modern Healthcare: An Addict's Dream

While I feel that the list of things wrong with healthcare today is long and plentiful, I cannot stop scratching my head over last night's trip to the ER.

Now, the situation was one that I have dealt with before. You know, where the medical professionals ask you what your symptoms are and get you to the point where they hover between wanting you to self-diagnose or immediately insist that no matter what you "think" may be wrong with you, because you did not go the extra miles for medical school, you are of course an imbecile and immediately incorrect.

Example: I walked into an ER on July 22, 1992 with "severe stomach cramps 3 minutes apart". (I had learned in my 2 previous visits that to imply that I was having contractions was just wrong and stupid.)

So on that night I was met with the smug sneer of a female doctor of foreign descent who aggressively checked my cervix and declared:

1. "...there are no contractions registering on the machine." (Ummmm...turns out she had the belt in the wrong spot. derrrrr.)


2. "...you are not even dilated." (Possibly true, but who can believe her by the end of the story?)

She instructed me to go walk around for 2 hours and then check back with her.

Within 30 minutes my "non-contraction stomach cramps" were 45 seconds apart and Tyler was born from my un-dilated cervix about an hour and a half later.

OOOOOPS!

I know you are thinking that I was in some third world country doing missionary work at the time (*snicker*) but I was in fact in Ft. Lauderdale, FL.

(Not exactly a "small town"!)

Sooooooo, when I walked into the ER last night, I was more prepared than the average bear...or so I thought.

I even brought the list of all the meds I am taking with their doses and time of day.

There were several "red flags" that made Jay and I decide to hit the ER, both in my medical history and in the facts of the day.

I had awoke with what we thought was a back ache but as the day went on, we realized that it was more and more a chest pain that was shooting to my back and impeding my breathing.

I could only get about half an inhale and half an exhale without a sharp stabbing.

When Jay and I checked my heart rate, it was 107.

We didn't like that number, so we checked with a different heart rate monitor.

107.

We scratched our heads. I have low blood pressure and my resting heart rate is mid 50's to 60.

Not 107.

So when we enter the ER with this info and my history of blood clots and tumors, we feel confident that all will be solved...no matter how ugly.

100 questions, 15 vials of blood, 5 hours, 3 nurses, 2 EKGs, 1 doctor, 1 CT Scan and a partridge in a pear tree later, we know nothing more than we did when we sat dumbfounded looking at the "107" on both heart rate monitors.

Well...we DO know that we had a difficult time convincing them not to give me pain meds.

They seemed very confused by Jay and I. (We get that a lot actually.)

"We'll give her something for the pain."

"She doesn't want anything for the pain," Jay told the nurse gently.

(I had already gone over with her the things that I could not take, pain meds being the top.)

"What if I check and make sure that there isn't anything synthetic in it?" she asked me in her sweet and naive way as if Jay had not just spoken.

(Such an adorable little drug pusher!)

"No, I really would prefer to not have the pain meds."

I felt bad for her. I almost wanted to take the drugs just to make her happy. She was so nice.

The doctor himself irritated me more.

He kept digging through my records as if the answer to the pain would be there.

Hey jackoff, it it was in that file, I wouldn't have driven my sweet ass over here to pay you to tell me what the fuggin problem is.

JEEEEEBUS!

He seemed frustrated that I didn't have a blood clot in my heart or lungs.

(I, on the other hand, was thrilled!)

It was as if he had latched on to that hope from my file so that he wouldn't actually have to think for the night.

I feel his pain. Can you imagine the shit that an ER doctor sees on the final day of Memorial Day Weekend?

But still, I wasn't some drunken fucktard who thought that the river in a storm would be "adventurous" and "fun" and made more so with a few cases of Nat Light.

I am a sober, athletic female who deals with pain daily and tends to brush off most pain until Thursdays when Dr. Tim can work his magic.

Why was this doctor being lazy?

I shrugged it off and felt worse that I just spent 5 hours in a cold, dry, stinky building in a cotton assless nightgown watching cycling YouTube videos with Jay instead of sleeping.

I knew Jay felt the same way.

I was surprised then to have the doctor tell me that I "probably" have strained muscles around my heart and that he is going to prescribe me some pain meds.

(SERIOUSLY?!?!?!)

Do these people not listen/read?

I ask, "Assume that there is no pain. How would you treat this problem?"

He was genuinely puzzled.

"Ummmm...well...we would give you an anti-inflammatory, like Naproxen, which you can't take or Tylenol (which I cannot take but he cannot seem to comprehend that I cannot take)....*pause*...I can give you Vicodin, Percocet, Tylenol with Codeine...Which do you prefer?"

*Shaking my head in amazement but just want to leave and go home, I give him a free pass.*

"Why don't you just write me a script for whatever you think is best and I will fill it or not fill it at my discretion," I tell him.

(He does not see this as the cute little pat on the head that it is and I feel like a giant asshole though I am trying to be kind. However, the medical bill I will receive in the next 2 weeks reminds me that this is crap.)

This seems to make him happy and he walks away with a small spring in his step as if he won that little battle with the poor helpless patient.

I look at Jay and we both are thinking the same thing.

• It's sad that the medical profession is too willing to treat the symptom instead of finding the problem.


• This place is an addict's dream! Come in with chest pains and have the tests come up clear and they will whip out the narcotics like a free day with the Oompa Loompas!

We shake our heads as the sweet nurse reads us my discharge orders and know that I will be talking to my real doctor within 48 hours.

As we fall into bed at 2:30am, we are exhausted and happy. Had we been addicts, we would have been chillaxin' at a 24 hour Walgreens getting our funk on and NOT about to be sleeping, pain or no pain...

As it was, we are apparently "purist squares" who are unnaturally willing to waste "good drugs".

Oh well.

Riding the Pain Train Through The O'Fallon Gold Cup

I woke up that morning cramped up and feeling particularly unsexy.

No better time to drive out to O'Fallon, MO and race.

The sun was shining and the day felt calm.

It was exactly the greeting that I needed to keep my car from U-turning and heading back home to the warmth and comfort of my glorious bed and man racer.

Everything ran smoothly.

Jay switched out my wheels so that Trent would finally get to ride on both 404s...

(I will later wish that I had practiced cornering with the 404 in the front.)

Ehhhh...it is what it is.

As we awaited the Juniors race to complete, Kate, Alice and I discussed/decided who would win our race.

I know in your mind the obvious choice is ME (this is where you nod your head in agreement instead of falling off your chair piddling your pants in a wild fit of uncontrollable laughter, dammit!), but since the winner was awarded beer (which I hate) and my only goal for this race was to not die, it seemed clear that today would not be my day.

PLUS, if I am going to do well in a race, there are just certain people who I want there racing with me. Some of them weren't there.

Ehhhh-hemmmmm!

"We" had recently decided/agreed that I would only race crits. No road races or MTB races. "Maybe" a time trial now and then. No stage races. This is all in an attempt to save what little energy and immune system I have left.

Let's face it, Hermann destroyed me.

I am pretty sure I still have mud and worm guts in my lungs.

That being said, I'd do it again. I'm that much of an asshole.

My lungs are tanked.

Soooooo, before this race, I discussed with Dr. Tim all that was going on.

I discussed it with Dan, my coach.

We agreed that I would take asthma medication prior to the race to clear me up, as well as Tim's bottle of natural magic, before and after the race.

I was obedient.

I wore my wind vest.

I wore arm warmers.

I did not eat anything that would/could screw up my stomach...

I rode some hills to warm up and clear my head.

I rode up to the line.

Jay kissed me and blew kisses to all the other racers.

(What a man whore!)

I heard Buddy talk but it was a blur.

The whistle blew and we were off.

Immediate descent into a tricky right that immediately ascended.

It wasn't the climb, but the turn that wigged me.

I don't wig on turns.

I like turns.

Two things:

• I didn't trust/know my front wheel well enough. (Dammit!)
• I fear wrecking on my right side.

The former is something that I knew and something that Jay and I have discussed. You have to trust your wheels.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with my wheels and I have ridden them before...on my time trial bike. They have never both been on Trent.

I hesitated on that turn...

...which meant I had to work harder on the ascent.

I was fine and still in a good position, but less comfortable.

The back side of the course was a DREAM!

Perfect for recovery and speed.

We were all together as we came around and stayed that way until the 3rd lap or so (I think) when Kate turned it up on the back side of the course.

Here we go!

Initially, I went with her and Alice.

My lungs didn't think that was a good idea, so they stabbed me.

I flipped my lungs off and climbed up the hill past the Start/Finish.

I heard Jay yelling at me to keep it steady.

He was right.

That was my goal for the rice.

Don't burn out. Don't kill yourself.

I hated that hill and loved the descent...but I still didn't get comfortable with that first turn.

It (me) slowed me down EVERY lap.

I stopped looking at my Garmin halfway through the race.

The poor volunteers at the top of the hill after that turn looked afraid that I was going to cry/faint/die each lap.

At some point they stopped encouraging me to hang in there, but I think that's because they were afraid that the sound of their voices would scare the shit out of me and send me into cardiac arrest.

Coincidentally, I think they stopped after I rolled to the side with 3 laps to go and almost puked...

I kept it in...but know I made a strange and scary sound as I rolled away in a sad attempt to finish strong.

I could still see Holli up ahead and considered catching her and really suffering or using this race in the way in which I had originally intended.

Jay kept me grounded each lap and I stayed steady.

I heard Carrie and Chris and the rest of the Team Rev clan cheering us on.

It made me smile.

They're calling my name!

I'm still in it!

I saw Teresa at the top of the climb and she cheered me on.

"I'm winning!" I told her with a smirk.

I didn't feel particularly strong...or weak...I just knew that the pain was almost over.

As a completed my last lap, I thanked Hannah for cheering me on the entire race and knew it was time to turn it up for another 40 seconds of pain.

I dug a little deeper and took the last turn into the final climb and proved to myself that I was not done.

Jay is there at the Finish.

He knows.

He knows I'm in pain. He knows I'm not done.

I go ride. Alone.

I try to breathe.

I cool down and finally, it comes.

The tears and the vomit...in the Baptist church parking lot.

I hugged the grass and shivered and let my body fall apart.

It was glorious!

Fuck it. Like it or not, I'm a racer.

Later that night, I sat at the dinner table outside with Jay and The Sass and had a yummy meal and some much earned red wine and finally got my piece of chocolate.

All was right with the world.

Nothing Says Podium Like...

...racing within the first 24 hours of Mother Nature delivering a monthly bitchslap.

Nice!

Thanks MoNa!

I really like wearing super tight clothes that show every ounce of my being whilst retaining water and surfing the crimson wave.

AWESOME!

I am grateful that this race is not a time trial and I don't have to wear that skin suit!

I am also really super happy that my race kit is predominantly black instead of white.

*thumbs up to Dan for earning sensible costume design points*

I think it's safe to say that I will not be out of the saddle much this weekend...

It may not be safe to think that I will be passive in this race, as I cannot take pain killers and will be wound tighter than an 8-day clock when my race goes off really early Saturday morning...

...assuming I am walking upright by then.

I will attack.

I may cry for "hurting your feelings" when I do, but I will still do it.

Heck, I will probably cry as soon as Buddy blows the damn whistle.

Crying.

It's what I do...for at least 5-7 days.

If I wasn't so scared of being wrecked by Cat 4 men (think back to the Tour of StL), I would sleep in and race with them in the afternoon, but I really can't afford the blood loss...

...at least this week.

*snicker*

Jokes aside, I am actually really looking forward to "jumping" back into the game.

It is allegedly not supposed to rain, so it should be a good time....assuming all of us ladies haven't synced our cycles.

*shudders*

I guess we'll see...

Hide the handguns and bring on the chocolate...just in case.

*wink*