Category: Fat Tires
Why I’m Racing Breck Epic: Don’t Count Me Out, I’ve Survived Worse
In the past, I was a fierce competitor. I went to slaughter and be slaughtered. I wasn’t smiley or chatty.
I was all blood, guts, and war.
I was ALL business from start to finish. I didn’t hear the congratulations or “better luck next times”. I was either focusing or analyzing.
I was anal, serious, mean and rude.
When I left bike racing I was pretty exhausted from the negativity I managed to create. I had accomplished plenty of feats on the bike, but they held little meaning.
As most of you know, in 2010, I noosed myself to the shower rail and took enough pills and tequila to lay an elephant on its side.
Then, I fucking lived through it.
You better believe I had some hardcore soul-searching to do after that. It wasn’t about bikes, racing, jobs, or relationships. It was about a root system inside of me that I couldn’t remove and couldn’t figure out how to live happily with. I recall very vividly the conversation with my psychiatrist (before the attempt) about how I needed to be cut free of my root system. I needed to be repotted because I couldn’t live attached to a past that reeked of hatred toward me.
[Insert Chick-fil-a consumers here].
But I lived….with the same roots. It was decision time. I knew how to end it. I was certain I could do that. What I didn’t know was how to live – really, really live.
As much as ending my life seemed like a great idea, the plot of living my life kept evading my curiosity.
Thankfully, with a LOT of human help I was able to find a new pot, an enormous one where my root system could spread, with new soil and an opportunity to move away from what was so toxic to me.
I know I’ve told this story repeatedly. Forgive me, this is my process.
How it affects my next big endeavor is this:
When the opportunity presented itself to race the massive six-day Breck Epic mountain bike stage race I was instantly intrigued. This was not something I planned for but, since I’ve been taking things as they come it worked somehow. Organically.
I’m certain other competitors have trained harder. Sincerely, good for them. I know that others are far more prepared. They’ll likely suffer less.
As for me, I’m racing alongside of them (or a bit behind) because I’M ALIVE. And I will keep cashing that in as long as I can! Shit, maybe a lifetime.
I bring with me a hefty measure of depression. It’s why I’m on the couch writing and not on my bike riding. There, I said it. I’ve been toting it around all my life.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to beat it down under the tread of my tires and remember that life is bigger than sadness. And my head is stronger than my demons.
I’m a puny new single speeder racing with some of the strongest ladies in the country for a World Championship jersey. And I’m absolutely honored to do it! Plus my cankles are something of an asset. And my rattail has super powers!
I’ll be smiling.
Don’t count me out. I’ve survived worse.
Note: I promise not to make all my Breck Epic blogs about depression and sexuality. I’ll throw in a flat tire and epic projectile vomit for sure!!
B32, It’s Electric
There’s nothing wrong with a last minute decision, especially one that leaves you smiling all day. That’s what the B32 race was for half the racers who participated in it. Race Director, Thane Wright asked the question of last-minute-decision-makers and hands went up all around me. I was in good company at Sunday’s Breckenridge 100. The B32 version.
This race was nothing I was prepping for and everything I could ask. Loop 2 of the B100 was the B32 course and arguably the most fun of the three loops. It had challenging climbs, ripping single track descents, extremely good support, exceptional course marking and a mass of racers competing in all levels and distances.
I raced single speed which is a new endeavor for me. The competition between three of us was top notch and there was no time for taking it easy. This short course was guns blazing and the need to leave nothing for a second lap. The experience was also unique because many on the same course had been racing since 6am and boy was our respect high for those racers.
As I said, I’m a new single speeder, but no stranger to Colorado mountain bike racing. I set my sights on pushing my own abilities and I let the trail sweep me along. I was focused on holding my smile as I held my line. It made for a terrific day of racing.
We B32-ers had a comfortable mid-morning 10:30am start from the Ice Skating Arena in Breckenridge. The electricity of pre-race was in the air and the bumble bees were buzzing wildly in my stomach. I hate waiting. I love getting that first climb out of the way so I can settle in. The B68 crew departed fifteen minutes in front of us and that put everyone on course from the grueling 100 milers to we one-lappers.
A neutral rollout pulled us neatly out of the parking lot we were packed into and strung us up the initial road climb. Gears clicking, knobby tires humming, deep breathing, occasional conversations, cowbells and tiny hands clapping along the climb. We entered the flat dirt road traverse in less of a thick pack and then balled up again on the next climb. The trail was nice and tacky from the rain on Saturday making for perfect conditions.
I powered my way through the thick rocky side of the fire road and pulled ahead of several riders, including one of the other single speed women who was hammering up and over to the fire road descent. I found out after the race that she was on a 26” rigid single speed. She easily took the hardcore award!
The dreaded Little French Gulch climb was so early in this lap that it was far more manageable than when many of us did it the week before in the FireCracker 50. I kept my wits about me and climbed much higher before getting off and hiking. Chasing and being chased was huge motivation. I was sandwiched between racers and fully aware that anything could happen in a backcountry bike race.
Hundreds of us ripped trail for the next three hours. We rode nose to tail like pack horses up the Colorado Trail climb. Everyone was cordial, breathing heavy and cordial. Passing and being passed was smooth and there was lots of it happening throughout the entire lap.
The descents were so fun it was maddening! It was hard not to laugh. I felt such a thrill and flow. And honestly it seemed like no time before we were making our way through the final mellow climb back into Breckenridge where the venue and supporters awaited.
Sounds uneventful as racing goes, but truth be told there was a level of success in keeping the drama to a minimum. No mechanicals, no flats, a couple of close calls, but no crashes. A fast girl in front of me and a fast one behind me. Hundreds of other men and women hammering out the climbs and screaming down the descents. Just good ol’ Colorado mountain bike racing at its best!
I rolled across the finish line with nothing left in my legs or chest. It felt so satisfying to leave it all out on the course where it belonged. No regrets of not trying hard enough.
Over the next couple of hours B100 and B68 finishers trickled in. It was a celebration as they each finished. Announcer, Larry Grossman, did a profoundly great job of welcoming them each home after a long day in the saddle. Lots of Oskar Blues cans later and I think it’s safte to say everyone was having a hellofa’ day. Another reason living and racing in Colorado does not suck!
Firecracker 50: One Gear All Day
Photo courtesy of MountainMoon Photography
100, a Nice Round Number
**Brief Background: Over three years ago I gave up bike racing to try my hand at society’s rat race. Turns out, the two types of racing differ widely and as much as I loved the former, I equally hated the latter. I was a terrible “rat racer”.
This was three years ago.
Two years ago in May (after a year of very little bike-anything and much rat-racing) I came up against a bout of depression that nearly wiped me off the planet. Miraculously, I survived.
That was two years ago.
Then one year ago, a mountain bike racer invited me to come do a women’s race. I wasn’t ready, but agreed to hand out bottles and ring a cowbell wildly. I may have even written cheers on my stomach like a crazy fan.
Later that same year I snuck an application in to the incredible women’s bike team who threw the race just to see what would happen. Not only did they accept my application, but it motivated me to saddle up again and ride my bike in a way I never had before. With enjoyment. Passion. Freedom.
That was months ago.
**Background over, now to present: On Saturday, June 16, 2012, I raced my first mountain bike race since 2009. I wore stealth TwinSix/YetiBeti black and red threads astride a Yeti 29er Big Top Single Speed. I didn’t go small, or weak, or without a fight. I stacked my first 100 miler with my first single speed race and then I got married and switched jobs weeks before.
I’m an admitted nut case.
Perspective is a funny thing. Perspective can take the same scenario and allow you to experience it in a completely different way. What once was pain, now is life. What once was back-of-the-pack, now is getting to race my bike. What once was, I’m not fast enough, now is watch me turn this ONE gear over all day, boys!
Saturday, was not my fastest day on the bike, wasn’t my most graceful, wasn’t (whatever you want to insert here). What it WAS instead was a second chance that literally brought me to tears of joy in the middle of a dusty race with tons of Cat 3 & 4 Men all around me.
(Thankfully, I was wearing sunglasses).
I cried out of happiness. This was a reality I couldn’t fathom. Only two years prior, I wanted to die because I couldn’t figure out how to live. And now, on my bike, in this insanely hard race, I realized I finally understood living perfectly.
The woman who breathed life back into my lungs waited with bottles and encouragement at every Aid Station.
The friend who talked to me for hours while I was unconscious in the ICU rode along with me all those grueling miles just because.
The friend who visited me in the psych ward when I was at my lowest was the one guiding me through how to finish this race strong, with a smart strategy.
The friends I may have never gotten to know met me at the finish line with cheers, hugs, and high fives.
I’ve had a lot of feats in my life, but few have felt so revelational as crossing this finish line. All I could think was, “I’m alive – that’s how I get to be here.”
My Soul’s Grinding Sounds
Tonight I sit in my dark office quietly. My thoughts aren’t raging. My mind isn’t a million dark places. I’m simply and safely sitting here. I’m reading about the happenings of others. Contemplating my own existence. Not exit.
I felt the weight of my own crashing world come directly down on my chest this last week. With all the might I could muster I stacked blocks of complication atop one another and stood close for their inevitable collapse. An addiction to drama has cost me much. I feel that tonight.
But, I feel more (and less).
You see, I have not even journeyed three decades and already I’ve given up all together and restarted multiple times. It’s just that this particular time is from farther down than I ever cared to know. Some will say a self-created low. I may even agree. Yet, I know that regardless of the bottom’s depth there is always another direction.
There is always hope. I think even in the absolute most shunned upon place there is hope in something.
I move in a different direction today. Being shroud in grief for months has worn craters in my face and thin patches in my soul. Even with so great an adversity I can redirect.
I rode my bike by a massive cemetery this evening. I stopped. Sat quietly. Starred. I felt like I knew those who lay there. Felt like one of them, just with the ability to fetch a cold sip of water or read a novel aloud under a shade tree.
Life is fluid. It goes past the grave and before conception. It flows in and out of years and history and time. As I sat at the edge of the cemetery I was overcome with a feeling of diligence to do more with my walking hours. To do enough that when I finally do lie under the earth or my ashes blow across the sea my life will still continue.
My thoughts were complex. I have yet to move into the simplicity of the moment. I know peace is out there. I know I can have the desires of my heart and give forward what has been given to me.
I know many things.
I know I know so very little.
Tonight my words come from a place of love. A place I haven’t forged for too long. Anger aside. Guilt too. And shame. I love that I know the kiss of morning and the hush of afternoon. I love the lives who rub up against mine and move me to tears with their kindness and care. I love the hearts who send their goodness across time zones and busy streets to me, in my favor.
I have wasted so many goddamn opportunities to live bountifully. I have disgusted myself by my own freakish denial of life’s goodness.
And I redirect, because I can.
Mindbanter 