Catch Elyse on TV, Sunday 11/2/08

Elyse will be interviewed on the "People to People" program this Sunday, November 2, discussing "nonsmoker's" lung cancer. The program airs on Channel 2 WSB-TV, the Atlanta ABC Affiliate (Channel 3 on Comcast Cable) at 6:30 a.m. Elyse says she put in a plug for the Team Dream 2009 project, and I have it on good authority that the famous Dachsunds--Dash, Dewey, Dot, and Sammy Davis Jr. Jr.--may make an appearance.

Don't forget to tune in or set your TiVo for Sunday, 11/2/08 at 6:30 a.m. on Channel 2 to see why we're doing this project!

It's Not About the Bike

This post, at least, is not about the bike. The exciting news of the week is that Team Dream 2009 now has a shop on Cafe Press, with TD09 gear such as t-shirts, hats, mugs, mousepads, magnets and stickers. All proceeds from sales of Team Dream 2009 merchandise of course will go to the National Lung Cancer Partnership through the Team Dream 2009 project.

Spread the word, and show your support. Click on the TD09 link on this page, or go to www.cafepress.com/teamdream2009 to see our cool stuff!

100, M-F***er!

So yesterday was my first-ever century ride, a prerequisite to next year's little cross-country excursion. It was the Beautiful Backroads Century in north Georgia, and certainly lived up to its name, featuring some stunningly beautiful scenery. It also became a test of my will, determination, and sense of humor . . . .

Mile 0: Ran into Marsha and Steve, and their friends Herb and Kathy at registration. They were doing the metric century (66 mi.) and invited me to ride with them. Hopefully this bit of serendipity will be an indicator of how the rest of the day will go.

Miles 0-55: Riding with Marsha, Steve, and the gang helps the time go quickly. The conversation is varied and interesting, and it's fun to get to know Kathy and Herb. I realize it takes me an extraordinarily long time to get up the hills, but I fly down the descents and manage to keep an average speed near theirs. I appreciate the moments of sheer joy riding down hills, through country with incredible vistas, past the local wildlife: horses, llamas, and the biggest cows I've ever seen. Must be some nuclear feed they've got up here.

Mile 50: It is strangely NOT comforting to reach the halfway point. Although I should be pleased because every inch brings me closer to home, I can only think that there are 50 more miles to go. Parts of my body that I've never met before are suddenly screaming for attention.

Mile 55: The last rest stop. The century route will split off before the next rest stop, so I say goodbye to my buddies as they carry on. I slam more carbs (were those peanut M&Ms? they sure taste like sawdust) and climb back on the bike.

Mile 58-ish: Marsha later says she hit the wall here and could only think about how I had more than 40 miles to go. It's somewhere around here that the century route splits off from the metric century. Point of no return: Should I do it? The route is a loop; the only choice would be to finish. I make the turn and don't let myself think about it.

Mile 62: It's strangely quiet on this part of the course. Before, we were seeing the occasional cyclist. Now, no one. Suddenly 2 guys appear from the other direction. "We're all going the wrong way," they say. I turn around and follow them a mile to the last intersection. After a few minutes of consultation we determine that, no, THEY were going the wrong way; trying to do the metric century, they were way off course. Damn. Again I turn around, and continue the course. I know I should find something funny in this, but I can't.

Mile 70: Wow, THAT'S a hill. My general rule of thumb: if I can't go fast enough up a hill to stay upright on the bike, I walk. Smart, huh? Small irritation -- one of the race volunteers chooses this moment to appear and ask if I'm ok. Nice to be taken care of, but embarrassing. Why can't he show up when I'm at least sitting on the bike? Oh well, at least there's a rest stop coming up soon.

Mile 71: The race volunteer shows up again. Um, they're closing the remaining rest stops and the course monitoring. He gives me all the water he has left and offers snacks (declined; I pull gluten-free pretzels out of my bag). We chat for a minute and he warns me that the rest of the course is hilly and not that pretty (very true), and that most people cramp up somewhere near mile 85 or 90. Great. Something to look forward to. I wonder if this means there'll be no food, free beer, and massages at the finish.

Mile 80: Walked up one other monster hill, but otherwise stayed on the bike. Ok, damn it, if there are no more rest stops I'll make my own. Note to self: ask for part of my registration fee back. I'm starting to feel better about finishing, but sometimes have to fight through panic. If they've closed the course, there's no SAG wagon if I just can't go any further. The only choice is to keep going.

Mile 85: This was to be the last rest stop and I'm slightly off course because there's not a rest stop. Some sort of family picnic in the park. I briefly consider stopping to beg a hot dog but get back on course. Only 15 miles to go. Now I know I can do this. And hey, those hills seem to have gotten a little smaller.

Mile 90: The last self-supported rest stop. I briefly consider skipping it, but force myself to do it. The last thing I need is to bonk in the last 5 miles. I didn't think it was possible, but those peanut M&Ms taste even worse than before. I may never eat them again. And I've run out of water. When it's time to get back on the bike I am close to tears. At least I haven't cramped up. But cramps could show up any minute.

Mile 92: Two miles extra, thanks to the jokers at mile 62, so now I have 10 to go. I count down the miles, and yell to keep from crying: "10, m-f***er! I'm gonna kick your ass!" "9, m-f***er! You can't beat me!" You get the picture.

Mile 99: "3, m-f***er! Take that, asshole!" Oops, that was in front of the Baptist church. And there were people outside. I also develop an Elvis twitch in my lip that refuses to go away. I start giggling uncontrollably. It must be a real sight: some nutcase riding . . . really slowly . . . on a bicycle, probably drooling, and certainly twitching and cursing like a sailor.

Mile 102: It's so close I can feel it. I come around the bend and there's the parking lot. Have you ever watched a marathon or some other endurance contests and felt sorry for the poor bastard who comes in last? Well . . . that's me. Dead-ass last. There was my car, all alone in the parking lot. No bands playing, no crowds cheering, no beer, no massage, not another human being in sight, not even leftover food. Just my car, waiting. I've never been so happy to see it in my life.

So . . . what now? I'm going to try not to think about it. I'm going to take a lot of aspirin in the next few days. And I'm going to remember that sometimes you just have to put your head down and get through it. Sometimes when the rest of the world has given up and gone home, you just have to keep doing what you know is right. Sometimes you have to laugh. Sometimes you have to scream obscenities. Sometimes finishing dead-ass last feels as good as finishing first, because you finished. Lance Armstrong was right: it's not about the bike.

100, M-F***er!

Anticipation and trepidation

Tomorrow's the big day: my first century ride. 105 miles through the hills (mountains?) around Cartersville, GA. I'm approaching the ride with anticipation and trepidation. Certainly I know I can do it -- they say if you've ridden 65 or 70 miles you can do a century, no problem. But lately I've been dreading the long rides. Not because they're long, but 5 or 6 hours on a bike just gets boring when you're riding alone. Of course that makes me nervous about the 80 mile per day average we're going to do on the big trip, but surely there will be enough people to talk to . . . won't there?

What If It All Goes Right?

Today I did an easy recovery ride, to work the soreness out of my body from yesterday's long, HOT 60-miler. Anyone who knows me well, however, knows that it's difficult for me to just enjoy a slow ride to nowhere, even if it has a specific training purpose. So I used the time and relatively slow speed to work on things that I never practice: bike handling skills, evasive maneuvers, cornering techniques, inducing spinouts to see if I could recover. In other words: training for When Something Goes Wrong.

It got me to thinking. We spend an extraordinary amount of time in our lives preparing for When Something Goes Wrong. We save for a rainy day. We stock up on canned goods, bottled water, and batteries. We keep up our professional network. We wait for the other shoe to drop. And yet for all our preparation, sometimes things go wrong despite our best efforts. Some things, like Elyse's cancer, happen regardless of how prepared we are for When Something Goes Wrong.

It seems strange that we spend all of our time obsessing about what to do When Something Goes Wrong and don't spend nearly as much time preparing for When Something Goes Right. We don't dare to imagine what our lives will be like then, When Something Goes Right. We don't prepare ourselves for our own successes, and for the lives that success brings us.

This bike trip is no exception. I have spent time training and preparing my body in case Something Goes Wrong and no time preparing for When Something Goes Right. I need to ask the questions: Am I prepared to embrace the life-changing experience of cycling across the country? After I've successfully done something few others have dared, am I prepared to delete the words "I can't" from my vocabulary? Permanently? Am I prepared to move on with my life as it was before, knowing that with a little more effort I can change the world? Scary questions. Scarier answers. Guess I'll find out.

There's a song called "What If It All Goes Right" by Melissa Lawson. It's becoming my own personal theme for the Team Dream 2009 ride:

What if it all goes right

What if it all works out

What if the stars line up

And good luck rains down

What if you chase your dreams

And it changes your whole life?

Yeah, what if it all goes right

What if you climb to the mountaintop and touch the sky

Grab a cloud as it passes by

You might fall, you might fall

But then again you might fly

What if it all goes right?

Part of trying to change the world is accepting the possibility that it might all Go Right. It's reaching up to grab the cloud, knowing that you could just as easily fly as fall, and knowing where you want to go when you fly.

Cheers.

Perspective

Last Sunday's training ride was 55 miles. In the mountains. It was long, hellish, painful, and I was REALLY glad when it was over. Even so, the scenery was stunningly beautiful, and I was able to recognize and appreciate the view even when struggling up those mountains. I was able to thank Whoever for the blessing of being alive and able to do this.

This week was a rest week, so the long ride was only 30 miles. "Only" 30 miles. Three short months ago I thought 15 miles was a long ride. Now I'm grousing about doing "only" 30! (So, ever obsessive, I did the 30 at a full-out sprint. Note to self: "rest week" means fewer miles, not fewer miles at gut-busting pace.)

Honestly, until now I've never really believed I could ride a bike across the USA. Sure, I've been telling people it's gonna happen. But I've SEEN the mountain in Jerome, Arizona that we're going to climb. There was always that small, nagging voice wondering if I could really do it. Today the answer is "hell, yeah. I can really do it."

But the point of this post is not to recite training stats. It's to reflect on the fact that 3 short months ago my life was so different: heading into another fun summer, the only stress was figuring out how to fit my planned vacations into a productive work schedule. Everything was looking up. That was BEC (before Elyse's cancer). Now I look back on it and wonder what the hell happened. I also recognize, however, that if not for Elyse's cancer I would be a very different person right now. Elyse's cancer, and its emotional and professional impact on my life, has revealed an internal strength I never knew I had. I never wanted to run a law practice, but I can do it. I never wanted to be a cyclist but somehow I IS one. I never wanted to inspire and motivate people but somehow I've managed to do just that.

Elyse's cancer has revealed a very different Amy. And that's not entirely a bad thing.

What's extraordinary?

Congrats to Kristin Armstrong, USA's first cycling gold medalist in the time trial since Connie Carpenter in 1984 and only the second USA cycling gold in history in this event!

So, as you can see I've been watching the Olympics. For someone who hates to watch sports on tv, I'm strangely mesmerized by the Olympics every 4 years. Ever since I was old enough to sort of know what was going on (Mark Spitz, 1972, when I was 7) I've been fascinated by the athletes, the Games, and the whole spectacle. Sometimes they got me in trouble (Mom's couch cushions make great high jump mats, 1976, when I was 11), sometimes they motivated me to go out and do something like take up running again (Mary Decker, 1984, when I was 20), and sometimes they just left me awestruck by a human being's potential (any Olympics, any time). I always find something to ponder, even in the cheesy Olympic Moments, which I hate, even after the Atlanta Debacle, and even after nonstop beach volleyball in primetime this year.

This summer I'm wondering what makes these athletes so extraordinary. Is it their freakishly perfect bodies, seemingly designed by God for their specific pursuits? Is it their sheer will and determination to succeed? Is it their ability to respond positively to the greatest pressure imaginable by giving the performances of their lives? Is it all of these things? And are these qualities the province only of elite athletes?

I've always wanted to do something extraordinary. I thought about climbing Mt. Everest, but I like my fingers and toes too much to leave them on the side of a mountain 13,000 miles around the world. I thought about running a marathon, but really, running isn't my thing. Besides, a marathon isn't so extraordinary any more. Until this summer I never really found that one thing that I could use to challenge my heart, my soul, and my will, and emerge victorious on the other side.

We are all capable of doing something extraordinary; we just don't dare to think we can. Maybe it's being a compassionate lawyer in a profession full of sharks. Maybe it's raising open, honest, loving children. Maybe it's facing an uncertain future with grace and courage. We don't think we can, and often we aren't challenged or forced to summon that courage, gather our wits, and embark on that extraordinary journey.

The Team Dream 2009 ride is my Olympics. It's my chance to accept the challenge, to stand up and say "I will." I will do something about lung cancer. I will embark on a journey that scares the hell out of me. I will look at that mountain before me, take a deep breath, feel the fear, and start the climb to the top.

Then maybe, just maybe, I will feel extraordinary.

Fighting Boredom

Tomorrow's long ride is scheduled for 50 miles. Assuming I make it to REI today and stock up on emergency supplies--tire patch kit, mini pump, etc.--I'm going to ride in the country. Although I really like riding around town on ordinary days, the traffic, stoplights, potholes, and miscellaneous hazards really slow down a long ride. I want to get out on some back roads where I can just spin without having to stop for an intersection every block. If I'm riding where there ARE no blocks and stoplights, problem solved.

As much as I love cycling, though, boredom has become a problem for me on long rides. Most of the time (ok, any ride 2 hours and under) I enjoy the solitude that cycling brings. Really the only time I'm ever alone is on my commute to work, which has its obvious drawbacks, or on my bike. But after a while on a long ride the solitude gets to be a drag. I'm not worried about boredom being a problem on the cross country trip--after all I'll have all the other trip participants to chat with--but every Saturday I dread the Sunday morning long ride.

I'd like to end this post with some profound metaphor about cycling and the way it mimics life, but I can't. Sometimes boredom is just boredom, and you get through it to make your way to a larger goal. So tomorrow I'll spin through North Georgia, enjoying the scenery as much as possible, and occasionally imagining myself spinning through the cornfields of Kansas next summer. And knowing that next summer I'll probably be spinning through the cornfields of Kansas, enjoying the scenery and occasionally imagining myself spinning through North Georgia.

Obstacles

So yesterday I went out for a short training ride. Nothing big, just my favorite 1-hour course, Decatur to downtown Atlanta and back. About 1/2 mile into the ride I heard a pop and felt the slack: the chain broke. Where a year ago I would've freaked out and probably fallen over, derailed (pun intended) by fear, this day I just coasted to a stop to inspect the damage. Yep, chain completely broken with no hope of repair. So I simply turned around and walked home.

This little broken chain is a great metaphor for life. Whatever our plans, even if only to coast through a short training ride, sometimes shit just happens. We can't control it; we just have to deal with it as best we can. I could've screamed and cursed and raged. I could've let the unexpected derail my whole day. But it was only an interrupted workout, only an irritating development.

Larger issues are harder, but have the same basic principle. No matter our plans, life gets in the way, most of the time when we least expect it. When that happens, it's ok to scream and curse and rage, but at some point you have to get back to your life, whatever it is. Maybe it's a different life than you planned, but it goes on, with or without you. If the chain can be fixed, fix it and move on. If it can't be fixed, leave it behind and don't waste the rest of your time being pissed off about it. There are always other ways to get where you're going--maybe the journey won't be as fun, or as comfortable, but you'll still get there.

The Joys of Toys

The new bike is nothing short of SPECTACULAR. I can SO see myself riding 100 miles a day on it for 7 weeks. As a matter of fact I can't see myself doing that on any other bike. It's taken 2.5 miles an hour off my average time on my favorite 1 hour course, and the hills . . . . Well, they're still hills, but they don't seem as bothersome. Yes, my old bike was sufficient, and you can do anything on any bike, but this is sorta like the difference between a Chevy Malibu and a BMW. Convertible.

The training has begun in earnest. I've spent several months building base miles, riding about 5 days a week with a long ride on Sundays. This will continue, and I'll add about 1/2 hour to each Sunday's ride. This Sunday will be a 45-50 miler, maybe out in the country somewhere.

One of the training goals the outfitter has set for this cross country trip is to complete 2 century rides within the 6 months preceding the ride. I'm looking for a century in September or November (October is out; too busy that month). I'm considering the Beautiful Backroads Century in Cartersville, GA on September 20. If you've ridden that one and have any comments--good or bad--about the quality of the ride, or if you want to do the ride, please email me and let me know.

Thought for the day, paraphrased from professor Randy Pausch (what an amazing guy!): No matter what life brings you, you can be a Tigger or an Eyeore. I choose to be a Tigger.

Thought for the day, courtesy of Amy: when life hands you lemons, make Limoncello.

Ta ta from Tigger.

Christmas in July

My new bike was delivered today: a shiny new Trek Madone 5.1. Full carbon frame, Shimano Ultegra components. And best of all, it's gray with PINK highlights. The only thing better would be gray with purple highlights. Guess I'll have to get a pink helmet and sunglasses to match the bike . . . .

It better ride like a dream. After a week of customization at the shop, an hour and a half of fitting, and more time to install a computer, it feels like I'm just paying other people to play with my toy.

I'll test it out tomorrow morning for a short ride before my early mediation. Maybe I'll even post a picture or two soon. Look out; I'm unleashing my inner bike geek.

Oops!

Note to self: get a bike computer with GPS for the new bike.

Sunday's scheduled training ride was 40 miles: a loop from Decatur to Dunwoody and back. Although I was up early, the morning was cool and overcast, so I wasn't in a hurry to get on the bike. First mistake. After screwing around on the Internet, having coffee, pumping up the tires, etc. when I started the ride it was 10 a.m., the clouds had dissipated, and it was getting hot fast.

The first 30 miles were great--I felt strong and rode fast. Well, fast for me, anyway. Riding a new route was interesting and I really enjoyed the first 1/2 of the ride. After a quick Smoothie King detour in Dunwoody I headed home feeling great. By the way, the problem with any long-ish ride is when you get to the middle and realize you have to do it again to get home . . . .

Somewhere between Chamblee and north Decatur I took a wrong turn. Instead of heading south on Shallowford Road I was on Chamblee-Tucker and going the wrong way fast. I cruised by Northlake Mall before being able to get back on track, but by this time it was early afternoon and traffic was heavy on my planned route home. I decided to detour through a neighborhood. Good idea, wrong neighborhood. Surely, I thought, one of these quiet streets will lead to a street I know and I'll be back on track. Note to self # 2: Despite best intentions, a full Cambelbak, a bottle of Gatorade, and a smoothie may not be enough to get you through a long ride. Especially if you're lost. Hill by hill, turn by turn, I kept riding, refusing to accept that I might be lost.

Now I know how it felt for Moses to wander in the desert for all those years. "No, Aaron, we're not quitting. I KNOW the promised land is just around the next corner. Ok, it's just over the next hill. Ok, maybe it's the next street. I can hear the traffic of the other tribes. It's gotta be here somewhere!"

Finally when I had nothing more to drink I gave up and called Vallerie to pick me up. I was so lost that even SHE couldn't find me; she drove around for a while before finding the right streets. I've never been so glad to see that VW wagon come driving up.

Later, at home, I used a mapping program to figure out how far I'd actually ridden. 40 miles. Exactly.

Changing the World

The exciting news from this week is that our fundraising efforts topped $10,000.00 this week. We've received more support than I ever thought possible. So many people are seeing our site and supporting this idea that I'm starting to actually believe we can do this!

I never really thought I could change the world. Now I've realized from this project that it is possible for one person to change the world, but you can't do it alone, no matter how inspired the idea. It takes an inspired idea, faith in your abilities, the willingness to work incredibly hard, and the support of family, friends, and strangers who buy into it.

Changing the world is like rolling a snowball. The person with the inspired idea starts it, and keeps it going, but everyone else takes a turn rolling it and keeping it going. Changing the world truly is a community effort. Thanks, everyone, for helping to roll the snowball.

Push the pedal down

Today I didn't feel like training. I'm tired and stressed and overwhelmed. There are clients to meet, phone calls to make, letters to write. I just don't have the energy for one more thing.

Most days I have unlimited excitement and energy for this project. Some days the sheer magnitude of what I've begun takes my breath away. Today is one of those days. I'm ordinary. Just another person on another day in another city. And a fat chick at that. What makes me think I have the physical strength to pedal 3,415 miles--through deserts, over mountains, in rain and snow, through cities and farmland? What makes me think I can ride 100 miles a day in all conditions? What makes me think that I can get enough people to open their hearts and their pocketbooks $100,000 worth?

Then I remember: Elyse doesn't have a choice in continuing her journey. I must continue mine. Some days the only thing I can do for her is to keep going, putting one foot in front of the other, doing the next right thing. So again today I get on my bike and ride.