A Post In Which It is Obvious That I've Already Checked Out, Although Vacation Isn't for Four More Days.

Most important news up front.  My October 1 MRI was clean.  I am officially in remission.
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Now onto less important items of note. 

(Correction from the last entry:  I got third at Alpenrose, not second.  Yes, I am a terrible liar and will suffer in the afterlife as a result.)

So yeah, my vacation in the B's lasted about a week.  I thought briefly about trying to pull the cancer card and weasel my way out of the upgrade.  Then remembered that, six months ago, I didn't even think I'd be racing at all this year.  So I took that upgrade with a smile and a side of "get ready to get your ass handed to you."

But rather than put my big girl pants on after Alpenrose, I raced my singlespeed with the men and did one Cat 3 Race in Washington.   

In mid-October I did back to back races at Heiser Farms and Rainier.  Those of us who finished both mud fests should get the insanity version of the Hardman Award. 

Heiser was 90% mud.  Pea soup mud that was at least an inch deep and up to six inches deep.  And smelled suspiciously similar to livestock feet.   I tried to keep up with the guys on the first lap, but after three spectacular fishtailing crashes, modified my goal to "Keep Moving in a Forward Direction."  I never really got my heart rate up from pedaling, as 50% of the race involved fishtailing downhill, 35% entailed pushing my bike (and 15 pounds of mud) uphill and I was laughing too hard to get up to speed for the last 15%.  

Want to feel like a little kid again?  Go mud wrestle with your bike for 45 minutes.  Pure joy. 

Rainier was just stupid hard on the singlespeed, even after I swapped out the 42 front chainring for a 38.   Lots of mud, lots of "running" and that huge $)*%ing climb in the middle.  It was a big reminder that, as much as I want to fool myself into thinking otherwise, my body is a long way from completely rebounding from the cancer treatment.  I am pretty comfortable keeping my heart rate around 85%, but any spikes over that drain my tank pretty quickly.  And I don't have the power that I used to.  (Patience, grasshopper, patience.)

I didn't race the third weekend in October because I HAD MY PORT REMOVED.  Doctor's orders were to take 4-5 days off of exercise to let the incision heal, so I went to San Fransisco to watch my sister-in-law run the Nike Women's Marathon.  The fact that (1) she ran an awesome race and (2) it was inspiring to see 20,000 women of all shapes and sizes complete the event (3) does not change the fact that running is stupid.

My final "real" weekend of racing was SSCXWC weekend.  I qualified for the Sunday race, but after having a great race in my Category in the morning, decided to call it a day and drive home.

More of what I do best:  Running.

I didn't race an A race until Hillsboro last weekend.  By then I cared so little about the whole cyclocross scene that I dropped out after two laps.  Apathy and a two-day old hangover trumps 60 minutes of racing any day of the week.

And like that, my abbreviated 2010 racing season comes to a close.  I lost interest in Nationals after I remembered how much it would cost and that I'd be off the bike for two weeks leading up to the race because of my New Zealand trip. But I will be heading over to Bend for Nationals weekend to heckle and party. 

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Other than that, life has been full of things that aren't exactly blog-appropriate or I was too chicken shit to sit down and write about honestly.  There was the aftermath of break-ups, hook-ups and festering personality conflicts.  Then there was the "no-duh" realization that I have spent the last four years using bikes and boys as a distraction from dealing with all of the heavier stuff in my life. 

So I made some big decisions.  First on the agenda is selling my condo.  I like where I live, but its a  place in which I didn't intend to live for as long as I have.  Its also space where I've been through four breakups and cancer house arrest.  I need a fresh start, and if I don't do it in small doses, I have a feeling I'll implode and  move myself and the furballs to Iceland.

Gratuitous Cat Photo. 

Iceland, the home of Bjork's "music."  This is scary barometer of the intensity of restlessness I've been dealing with and the lengths to which I will go to get that worked out. 

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This rushed post will be the last one for awhile.  As I said above, Amanda and I are getting the hell off this piece of rock and heading to New Zealand for two weeks.  We have tickets to see U2 in Auckland, plans to do a 100K bike event (we're going to wear our State Champion jerseys in order to demand the global respect that rightfully comes with OBRA dominance), will drink a ton of wine and, I shit you not, I have been bullied into going to a Jack Johnson concert.  Granted, I told Amanda that I'd only go if I could get drunk and belligerent and yell "Free Bird" after every song.  This is a risk that she seems willing to take. In turn, I am willing to accept the risk of letting her drive a car on the wrong side of the road.

We'll try to post pictures on Facebook, but look for an epic blog post once we get back on American soil on December 4.