tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33603724779215965552023-11-16T09:41:40.802-08:00Confessions of a Lapsed TriathleteThe Badger is Back.Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-61946028837864711212012-01-21T19:39:00.000-08:002012-01-21T19:39:24.509-08:00Interlude.It feels pretty weird to be sitting in front of the computer again for the purpose of blasting my life out onto the internet. And scary. And cathartic.<br />
<br />
Why such a long break? Maybe because I ran out of things to say about heartache, cancer and bike racing. <br />
<br />
Or maybe it was the uncharacteristic lack of major drama in my life over the last 8-9 months. I went to work (which I enjoy), spent time with my friends (whom I enjoy) and rode my bike (what I enjoy). I drank too much, discovered yoga (which has changed my life-more on that later) and had approximately a relationship and a half. I survived my first three trials (actually, I killed it) and learned to do a tripod headstand. 2011 was a good year for just keeping the boat afloat and on the river.<br />
<br />
I hit a year of remission on October 17, 2011. I cried a lot that day.<br />
<br />
Somehow I feel like I quietly became a different person over the last year, and I'm struggling to describe it in writing (having sat here for 45 minutes now, writing and rewriting and erasing). I think the best way to put it is that I'm finally learning to get out of my own way.<br />
<br />
I'm the most consistently peaceful and stress free that I can remember being, ever. I still have my moments of excruciating loneliness and road rage, but those are fewer and far between.<br />
<br />
So, this blog. I think the best way for me to work through the new way of being that I am experiencing is to write and to share the things that my damaged self has a hard time expressing in words.<br />
<br />
So bear with me for a while as I hash this out and incoherently wax and wane poetic about whatever yoga book I am reading. But rest assured, I do plan on racing my bike this year and no mountain bike ride is complete without Lindsay crashing into something.Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-36105661959759222952011-04-19T15:19:00.000-07:002011-04-19T15:28:29.865-07:00The Badger is Back<div style="text-align: justify;">Yeah, yeah, yeah, I haven't blogged in four months. I don't want to hear it. The Badger don't care. She had a lot of shit going on. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before I go much further, you should probably know where this Badger nickname originated. Readers, the reason why the interwebs were invented:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4r7wHMg5Yjg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">How I was introduced to this video in the first place is a fairly amusing story. I have a bartender friend that had been trying to convince me for weeks that a 15 minute Cross Fit workout, performed maybe three times per week, was a sufficient workout regime.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"A workout regime for what?" You ask. This was my exact question.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">His theory was that you only need to be fit enough to escape from something or chase down something that you needed to fill your basic needs. In my mind, this theory was flawed for at least two reasons. First, set aside the fact that very few modern human beings are ever placed in situations where performing twelve burpees and ten rapid repeat dead lifts are useful escape strategies. What is the point of making the escape, then dying of a heart attack immediately afterward because your aerobic conditioning taps out after 8 minutes? Second, the latter rationale is bullshit. Under that rationale, we'd all just need to be fit enough to operate a motorized cart around Wal-Mart. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That video is what he sent me to prove his point. Discuss amongst yourselves. I think he wins the argument only because he has decided to disregard the basic rules of rational discourse.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Back to the nickname. I got to spend the weekend in the Dalles a few weeks back with some of the lovely ladies of Sorella Forte. We watched this video approximately 80 times and somehow the ladies started calling me the Badger. Probably because I really just don't give a shit. And because I eat cobras for breakfast</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I like this nickname. Its ridiculous, fits right in with my notoriously cantankerous nature and gives me an opening to do something I always thought would be cool....glue a pelt to the top of my bike helmet.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So yeah, the Badger is back...blogging, at least. Racing bikes is a different story. I want to want to race bikes, but it just hasn't been happening for me yet. Which is too bad, because I now own a carbon fiber Ferrari:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9Pe2zYy8Gp0fNFY1U4ocuUFtN9v1FOGW03AoOKx47iWbn-cV_AV6ty-pSAz6byUeMCSsYq_KMeoeGss8JbX_AXL2OFd8cq60O8-9viRnuDsB7A2RYIFKWaDhZ2s-TBwufxzizi9Saqo/s1600/carbon+fiber+ferrari.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9Pe2zYy8Gp0fNFY1U4ocuUFtN9v1FOGW03AoOKx47iWbn-cV_AV6ty-pSAz6byUeMCSsYq_KMeoeGss8JbX_AXL2OFd8cq60O8-9viRnuDsB7A2RYIFKWaDhZ2s-TBwufxzizi9Saqo/s400/carbon+fiber+ferrari.bmp" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I love this bike. It corners like a dream and would climb like a Contador but for the fact that the ass on top of it hasn't really been bothered to get into climbing shape.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've started one race this year: Piece of Cake. I flatted twice in the first four-mile gravel section and hitched a ride back to the start. I was signed up for Cherry Blossom, but got the flu three days before the start and spent the weekend catching up on Top Model (i.e., watching the Jade/Joanie/Danielle season for the sixth time), shotgunning kombucha and reading Stephen King novels. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here's the catch with Cherry Blossom. I was actually relieved when I got sick. This is not the thought process of someone that should be racing bikes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, for now, I'm just training. The mojo will come back in its own sweet time. I've started a consistent yoga practice and am a regular at a weekly strength class that is so rough that I only need to do one class per week. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And....drum roll...I've got a new gig imposing my demonic will over an indoor cycling class offered by my friend Julie's coaching business. I love it. Nothing like being despised for a good, healthy reason. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And finally, the cancer update. I hit my one year cancer-versary on February 24. My first six-month mammogram came back clear and I just have to keep popping pills and showing up for periodic gropings by my oncologist. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For now, cancer is just about managing the side effects from the meds (honey badger like hormone fluctuations) and figuring out some of the lifestyle issues that go along with my last 4.5 years of treatment. The oncology physician's assistant more or less bullied me into seeing a oncology social worker about fertility issues. I was hoping to remain in denial about all of this until it became relevant (I know, mature strategy), but apparently having cancer does not remove me from having to make post-cancer adult life-planning decisions. Sheeeeee-it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life is good and, for those of you that cared, I'm sorry for being absent from this blog for so long. So much of the winter was wrapped around searching for a new job (which I got) and dealing with personal issues that were not-safe-for-internet.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the Badger is back, and thanks for coming back as well.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-57850789639095313132010-11-15T15:39:00.000-08:002010-11-15T15:53:35.622-08:00A Post In Which It is Obvious That I've Already Checked Out, Although Vacation Isn't for Four More Days.<div style="text-align: justify;">Most important news up front. My October 1 MRI was clean. I am officially in remission.<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Now onto less important items of note. <br />
<br />
(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.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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%. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Want to feel like a little kid again? Go mud wrestle with your bike for 45 minutes. Pure joy. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw-YsAFEoUrmGaYT0TCSgok07bfKdViV1mXXDdFhL1_D8EaE6s5cBiNftjy_-aUUsdcwaOzL37XFR5fyUwdc-iCN-tmwrGZppoTinlnhkuNarImtAaNy8obonZF2ckX6XsiJZ3VLgwTU/s1600/runup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw-YsAFEoUrmGaYT0TCSgok07bfKdViV1mXXDdFhL1_D8EaE6s5cBiNftjy_-aUUsdcwaOzL37XFR5fyUwdc-iCN-tmwrGZppoTinlnhkuNarImtAaNy8obonZF2ckX6XsiJZ3VLgwTU/s400/runup.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More of what I do best: Running.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">-----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_MyqchMZc0SCywEqVnkbOO3CvVTrcc1TErKJ_LwmjjGxWWj-6sZS30MX0mdoS9ONcyClpgfmf2CTv-PJ_ERhE5p3bGG-TZZpoZJI0EiC6zk0KzrW9EGfHhB-t3XYndCnebOOCf1M68k/s1600/catttttttttttttts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_MyqchMZc0SCywEqVnkbOO3CvVTrcc1TErKJ_LwmjjGxWWj-6sZS30MX0mdoS9ONcyClpgfmf2CTv-PJ_ERhE5p3bGG-TZZpoZJI0EiC6zk0KzrW9EGfHhB-t3XYndCnebOOCf1M68k/s400/catttttttttttttts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous Cat Photo. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-17557054342537641872010-10-05T09:53:00.000-07:002010-10-05T16:35:43.603-07:00Revenge of the Skinsuit, And Other Stuff.<div style="text-align: justify;">Wow....someone got a little bit behind on blogging again. Lots of big things have happened in the last five weeks, the biggest of which was I FINISHED TREATMENT. It still seems really weird to write that in all caps because that last radiation appointment was very anticlimactic. I sat under the microwave for 60 seconds, the clinicians gave me a guardian angel pin and then I cried in the car for about 15 minutes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And now, here I am, floating in a sea of "Now What?" </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here's "what," the bullet point version. Some adventures, some bike races and a lot of alone time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>I raced Kruger's Kermesse at the end of August. I'm thinking of it as my first real post-cancer race, even though short track was really my first time lining back up. I had expected to finish in the back of the 15 person group. Instead I got second and might have won if we had another lap. Kermesse races are awesome...all the fun of dirt, but without that running nonsense. I wore my new short sleeved skinsuit as I was still too chubby to fit into my kit. Made some new friends, drank some beer and slept like a baby.</li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>The day after treatment ended, I drove to Bend to spend the weekend with my teammates. My original plan had been to do Cycle Oregon, but I made the (wise) decision to postpone that for another year. Me + tent + putting up said tent by myself after riding for 80 miles = probable catastrophic nuclear event. The girls and I climbed South Sister on Sunday:</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH27o2aJfkh34Z1pP0tq0DrCyhd6Rf_f6z6KhJiHpyhZyGhUKqs4tWYmFpEFHte_cjTSlaJn2GY11N2_QoHAi-dZQqq9OBBicJCxTLAtqcy05z0EDjoYqTRbbJtcGqBjulUJeSMY3aFc/s1600/DSC01000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH27o2aJfkh34Z1pP0tq0DrCyhd6Rf_f6z6KhJiHpyhZyGhUKqs4tWYmFpEFHte_cjTSlaJn2GY11N2_QoHAi-dZQqq9OBBicJCxTLAtqcy05z0EDjoYqTRbbJtcGqBjulUJeSMY3aFc/s400/DSC01000.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
South Sister is much more of a trek than I had anticipated. Straight up for 7 miles. But the view at the top was totally worth it:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNpq1_KnER6f-Cb_a0y675x9dMV16ZTWD-9wKrIZfm5vRjfmgirr0TnHESsBkSDy4jbxpG-1fzSr6NhtIzBqdOgTF0cJRy-iqVytEbBFXwIM9KBNN_Hk_TWjE4W78ZlBhd2e_ozMZ-u0/s1600/DSC01027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNpq1_KnER6f-Cb_a0y675x9dMV16ZTWD-9wKrIZfm5vRjfmgirr0TnHESsBkSDy4jbxpG-1fzSr6NhtIzBqdOgTF0cJRy-iqVytEbBFXwIM9KBNN_Hk_TWjE4W78ZlBhd2e_ozMZ-u0/s400/DSC01027.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The reason that I have made this picture extra large is to point out that I am wearing the completely wrong footwear for the occasion. I sprained my ankle on the descent and then got horrendous shin splints from wearing borrowed boots and limping 6 miles out of the wilderness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But for that view? I'd do it all over again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Saturday night Amanda hosted a "intimate accessories" party at her house. Between the hike and the ankle and three glasses of wine, I got pretty tanked and almost died when the very masculine, 50-something year old friend of the consultant slammed a suction-cupped glow-in-the-dark dildo onto Amanda's fireplace. And just let it sit there bobbing for the next 15 minutes. Thank god I was dehydrated or I would have peed myself. </div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>The next weekend, Amanda and I went yurting on the coast near Newport. Yurts are rad. It's all the fun of camping (nature, peeing outside, listening to RV generators hum all night long), but without tents. We basically ate our faces off in Newport (Local Ocean=best meal I have ever had on the coast), drank a few bottles of wine, read books and slept a lot. </li>
</ul><br />
<ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>Two weekends ago I rode in the Echelon Gran Fondo out in the Columbia Gorge. 100 miles with one very long 20 mile ascent that started at mile 45. I rode in the Chris Horner peloton for about 30 miles, but didn't actually get to meet him because each time I got close to the front, some middle age wingnut in a Primal Wear jersey porkchopped me for the spot next to Chris. I wanted to get some face time in and all, but it wasn't worth being injured by a guy in a Grover jersey. </li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;">Part of the event was an OBRA sanction hill climb "race." You could start whenever you wanted since the event was chip-timed. A big group of testosterone left together, but I waited for Julie and Rich and we headed up the hill about 20 minutes later. I had no intentions of racing, but settled into a good pace as soon as we started gaining elevation. I climbed most of the way alone and felt great until running out of water about 2 miles from the summit.</div><br />
I forgot about the whole "race" aspect until there was a photo posted on facebook that night.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6ae35hJIDj06poXV8Yh-JWCU7-CtVzqUvh-W1uNuXTPpVyUfi6lJ2q6BhGmxHRvW4CDtz8sg31lRJB_j3QlYZdVuUMyviYjXuboDbhyphenhyphenWZP2sRCHcgr_mEXnb90SHfoKFEdQZj6CNJLw/s1600/gran+fondo+results.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6ae35hJIDj06poXV8Yh-JWCU7-CtVzqUvh-W1uNuXTPpVyUfi6lJ2q6BhGmxHRvW4CDtz8sg31lRJB_j3QlYZdVuUMyviYjXuboDbhyphenhyphenWZP2sRCHcgr_mEXnb90SHfoKFEdQZj6CNJLw/s400/gran+fondo+results.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Because the event awards time bonuses for fund-raising (I raised over $3500 for Livestrong and the OHSU Knight Cancer Institute!), I had 20 minutes chopped off of my already respectable time and finished in ninth place....overall. Three minutes behind Chris Horner. Hilarious. Even more hilarious is that I must have also been the fastest female with an OBRA license that completed the whole 100 mile ride, because I also "won" the hill climb with my non-bonus time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>Finally, I started racing cross last week. I'm operating under the theory this month that racing is a lot more fun than training, so why train? I did three races in five days and was very pleasantly surprised with how my body is rebounding from treatment. </li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;">First up was Blind Date at the Dairy on Wednesday night. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDcebGDUp0Ds7xskEuEqfmYkMDl0adjYbZomqReyza3YiujWVqtDJXXdec5vziWuqE6lICg4nbStAXNtlL7WI7DyJZ5je58gwuRoUI3gax_Gbm598upMioIqia9AJ__hOU0VjoEVqIYw/s400/blind+date+%231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Stephen Fitzgerald</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDcebGDUp0Ds7xskEuEqfmYkMDl0adjYbZomqReyza3YiujWVqtDJXXdec5vziWuqE6lICg4nbStAXNtlL7WI7DyJZ5je58gwuRoUI3gax_Gbm598upMioIqia9AJ__hOU0VjoEVqIYw/s1600/blind+date+%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div> I rode my singlespeed and had a great race (other than looking like I was doing the truffle shuffle over the barriers) until the last half lap. I was on a choppy, rocky section--a point on the course that was the physically furthest from the finish line--and felt my back tire go flat. I rode on it for another minute or so until it rolled and I was forced to hoof it back to the finish line. This involved running when people were watching and walking when no one was looking. Man, I hate running. However, I hadn't had a race flat in the last three years, so I suppose it was my turn. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Saturday was the David Douglas CCX race in Vancouver. I am really getting into this Saturday race stuff...new courses, small fields and no bathroom lines. The course had a lot of great, fast flat sections and swoopy singletrack. The "highlight," however, was the run-up that you couldn't see the top of until you were almost there. That makes for about 60-90 seconds of run-up. Man, I HATE running. I finished a respectable fourth place after crashing in the first lap and sort of dinking around on the third lap. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sunday was the shitshow know as the Cross Crusade Series opener: Alpenrose. I love Alpenrose and have <a href="http://trigrrlsalmanac.blogspot.com/2009/10/fat-fast-and-dangerous-alpenrose-2009.html">done really well</a> on that course for the last two years. With over 200 women in the race, and over 60 in my category, I just wanted to get a few points to reserve a call-up for the 2 or 3 crusade races that were on my schedule for the rest of the fall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRELdBKjRn2QaIMNDCD7IIYnoXP9NYpJJRx-gTMVHQeQRGVZbxKfsly9Z-RJOy4NGWdAK21IzW91dxeypbq7Ue0mm9Al57v-jrQtLawnx84iNvusJrXCRDU0_UR2DO_M9DAoH8OzTQT5I/s400/brujo+start.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Jose Brujo Sandoval (I am easy to spot in photos--just look for the Euro-trash neon yellow sunglasses.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRELdBKjRn2QaIMNDCD7IIYnoXP9NYpJJRx-gTMVHQeQRGVZbxKfsly9Z-RJOy4NGWdAK21IzW91dxeypbq7Ue0mm9Al57v-jrQtLawnx84iNvusJrXCRDU0_UR2DO_M9DAoH8OzTQT5I/s1600/brujo+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is what the women's field looked like. Insane.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The wonderful thing about cross racing this year is that I am not wasting a whole lot of energy being nervous before the race. I ate a big waffle and shot the shit with friends I hadn't seen on months. Only pre-rode 1/4 of the course and my warm-up consisted of rolling around the parking lot for 10 minutes and standing in the bathroom line. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fijHe4RV8WA8ouvGoK-qO2yffzKl7CpF-xZ-vqMWgkAisFUtBoidXm9qS8fwDVOT1BfLBiekCkaeFZJ5VN7GYMqZjcsO-mXmGNOFH97BmQGHHqsxXI-KclKRAKOuB9jZgM4sQ9vW_Lw/s400/brujo+profile.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Brujo. (Look at how much hair I have now!!)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">I got a little anxious once we lined up, but mostly because I thought I was going to wet my skinsuit. Which, after I lost about 10 pounds in the last month, now fits considerably better than it did at the Kermesse. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here was my race strategy: get in a fast first quarter of a lap to get out of the riff-raff, then settle into a pace that I could keep for 40 minutes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikh84dnFVVSExn8UnL5jipBvzrH9c02CKy1lh29pyIa5d-tJekv2ZH6n3XVX2JqV8DgRRJ-ZkyOl0N8bkGG11DZ5UZKnkH3QN4dFZVYspm8-Le_qbl9tEP2QMxgEjmUxlxMmfd1orObkg/s400/34717_1401683208103_1413019746_30915681_2455514_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Tim Schalberger. The entry into a two-barrier truffle shuffle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since we began catching Master A riders in the first lap and lapping beginners almost immediately upon starting the second lap, it became hard to tell who was chasing and who was being chased. I knew Elise and Sarah were right behind me and that Anna Christiansen was probably making us all look like amateurs up front, but had no idea who else was in the game. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLco9QsnZazCtvi9fSgCVaHvFcMR72PBi9QfOxJFBIG4CGG3xgY3kp07it5KsGpa4QOBiHfJt_5vnhUyeMOSU2NLLNizMcAK3R7ar6EkDSbJmoRzSQEh7MQPvOjmY7xWur0lzNqcTcb3A/s400/5052407683_92e3eb4948_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Rich Rosko</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLco9QsnZazCtvi9fSgCVaHvFcMR72PBi9QfOxJFBIG4CGG3xgY3kp07it5KsGpa4QOBiHfJt_5vnhUyeMOSU2NLLNizMcAK3R7ar6EkDSbJmoRzSQEh7MQPvOjmY7xWur0lzNqcTcb3A/s1600/5052407683_92e3eb4948_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was pretty sure I was in the top 7-8 riders after the first lap, and top 5 after the second lap, but then my math got a little fuzzy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WZCHQr2gHcuFS78IUT4rdbFFcYWpRWp_1GXsjRYNGuA3CQy8vfTel1zJdBm6itjkLozA2WmQnLMVCNMrQ9e3Tf2MdeUtWuauzxNOqSIdw1c_xTORL-menS1fTj_xa-hVbBvOVDtwytw/s400/dave+roth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="266" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Dave Roth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'd pass some people, then I would get passed, then pass back. Then oxygen deprivation kicked in and math became impossible and irrelevant.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GmFVeynFg0yyp2qCjXO9n0GNcGvne32vECUiXHkjpFlgi_sFF-85dK8mez1wSkiYrCal6R-KSFj-65Rul0cJ58SNCjKYiyS853o-5gH9HYZn8T8lIrMPwYOBBDKD6eFTBK6QHioP56Q/s400/credit+stephen+fitzgerald.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Stephen Fitzgerald. The skinsuit...how to look fast without actually being fast. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GmFVeynFg0yyp2qCjXO9n0GNcGvne32vECUiXHkjpFlgi_sFF-85dK8mez1wSkiYrCal6R-KSFj-65Rul0cJ58SNCjKYiyS853o-5gH9HYZn8T8lIrMPwYOBBDKD6eFTBK6QHioP56Q/s1600/credit+stephen+fitzgerald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I rode the race completely clean and rolled in right in front of Elise. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, as with all races where there are dozens and dozens of riders, there are hugs and high fives and the speculation begins. Where did we finish? Who beat whom? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Turns out that the only person that beat me was Anna Christiansen. That's right, this cancer patient on a single speed got second place at a Cross Crusade race. What was the best about the day, however, was racing with my friends and rejoining the collective suffering that is bike racing. Suck on that, cancer.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-73807501921254120212010-08-27T09:18:00.000-07:002010-08-27T09:18:02.707-07:00Accidental Semi-Fame.<div style="text-align: justify;">When I was in high school, it was always my dream to have my face on the front page of the local paper's sports section. I was a decent all-around small school athlete. We didn't have soccer or cross country programs at my high school. In the fall, your choice was volleyball or cheerleading. Notwithstanding my height (5'6" in sneakers), I was a decent volleyball player, mostly because I was fast and strong and willing to dive headfirst into chairs. But never a standout. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Basketball was my thing in high school. I was just another short, insecure and awkward girl in braids until I hit my freshman year. I spent the previous summer at one of my uncle's camps playing with boys and generally getting my ass handed to me. But when I started playing with girls again, I had grown three inches and figured out that I was the fastest person on the court and threw the meanest screen in three counties. It was a revelation. I was never tall enough to play the position that suited my love of banging around in the paint, but I was quick and fit and fearless. Won some all-state and all-league honors, but never made the front page.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My high school basketball career ended on a sour note when we lost by one point in a playoff game because I had fouled someone who made both free throws as time was running out. I came back to basketball in law school and played on three straight intramural championship teams. I still obsessively follow college basketball, but haven't played since I broke my wrist in 2004. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I started running track in junior high school. Softball was the other option and it was pretty obvious from my short lived little league career that I couldn't throw a ball for shit. My dad and his sisters were all runners in high school and I know he was pretty pleased when I decided to run track. At first, I just wanted to keep in shape for basketball. But then I started winning races and was hooked. I won almost every 200 meter race I ran in junior high and became one of the best high school quarter milers in the area by the time I was a senior. The best, though, was a phenomenal talent....and my teammate. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My track coach (one of the best human beings on this planet) suggested during my senior year that I try training for the 800 meters. He justified this by claiming that most small school 800 meter runners were 1500 meter runners that were stepping down and that my 400 meter speed would be an advantage. But I also think he wanted to give me a chance to step out of Andrea's shadow. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My big moment in local high school sports history finally happened during my last race at the state track meet. I had finished fourth in the 400 meter race after I ran a crappy final corner. And I was not a happy camper. I had easily qualified for the 800 meter final, but didn't want to run it. I was 17, hot and stubborn and pissed off. I don't remember what my coach said to me other than to just run in third or fourth place until the last 200 meters, then take off like by butt was on fire. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere in my parent's closet at home is a videotape of that race. Starts with a closeup of a nervous girl in double french braids and striped knee socks, digging at the track with her spikes. Then we are running. I do what I was told and hold my position in third or fourth place until the last 200 meters. The great thing about the video is listening to my coach's commentary throughout. When we hit the 150 meter mark he's positioned somewhere behind the camera, screaming at me to go. There is no possible way that I would have heard him, but in the instant that he starts hollering, I pull out into the second lane and put on the afterburners. I held on and won by about 3-4 meters. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My dad was working the track meet that year and got to be the person that got to hand me a small slip of paper with the number 1 on it as I passed through the finish line. I still have that slip of paper. One of the best moments of my life. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My front page article came during week that I graduated from High School. It was a good article chronicling my high school track career, which culminated in winning that state championship and later setting a school record in the 800 meters. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Last Saturday I rode the Crater Lake Metric Century with my friend Jennifer. The even organizer is a friends of my parents and when he got notice that I was going to be riding, the information was passed along to the local paper. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOazbsgl1CeGoonU7VxIW1wNrjV4K_cBUBjX5rqH2xKFiMZrC1O07M3JPsL0X8Kvgd-Kjs6JshTy8z7mRM6lVwkvru0zcHli265QcAmjuUJqj3-Fd8UFXk_akgDqunlKYogg9HYMIJyY/s1600/45170_428772287112_135723302112_4898468_3824147_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOazbsgl1CeGoonU7VxIW1wNrjV4K_cBUBjX5rqH2xKFiMZrC1O07M3JPsL0X8Kvgd-Kjs6JshTy8z7mRM6lVwkvru0zcHli265QcAmjuUJqj3-Fd8UFXk_akgDqunlKYogg9HYMIJyY/s320/45170_428772287112_135723302112_4898468_3824147_n.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here it is: my second appearance on the Herald and News Sports Section front page. The full article can be found<a href="http://www.heraldandnews.com/sports/local/article_9582f4f4-acf2-11df-bc40-001cc4c03286.html#vmix_media_id=15466608"> here. </a> Not exactly the way I had pictured things turning out when I was 14, when I wanted fame for being good, not just for showing up. It is funny how life changes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----<br />
Finally, another fundraising plug. On September 26, I am going to be riding in the Portland Columbia River Gorge Echelon Gran Fondo. The event raises money for the OHSH/Knight Cancer Institute and Livestrong. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My plan is to continue to celebrate the end of my cancer treatment by finishing the 100 mile ride. My goal is to raise at least $2500 dollars. I also think I get to meet Chris Horner (for all of you uninitiated in the world of pro cycling, Horner is from <st1:city><st1:place>Bend</st1:place></st1:city> and was the highest placed American at the Tour de France this year), <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am halfway to my goal and need help from my friends and family. If you would like to donate to help stomp cancer , <a href="http://echelon.kintera.org/gorge/lkandra">you can do so online at this link</a>.</div><br />
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</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-80932254971699704292010-08-20T12:13:00.000-07:002010-08-20T12:16:18.961-07:00Ask, and Ye Shall Recieve.<div style="text-align: justify;">There is an enormous amount of release and relief that can be found simply by saying, "I am not OK. I need some help. I cannot live like this anymore."<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Break-ups suck. Cancer sucks. The hormonal fluctuations caused by chemo-induced menopause suck. Chronic fatigue sucks. Put them all together and you've got yourself a perfect storm for going completely fruit loops. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The fact that I'm anxious and depressed right now is probably not surprising to anyone that has been within 15 feet of me in the last month My schedule is pretty chaotic with trying to fit exercise, eating right, working and getting to treatment in the 8-9 hours a day that I'm not completely wiped out. I've gained about ten pounds in weird places that make my body feel unbalanced and awkward. And I'm not sure what is more emotionally overwhelming: coping with being single again or wrapping my head around the idea of intimacy with a new person in a post-cancer world. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It took ten days of spontaneous, uncontrollable weeping and the return of the terrifying "pubic hair growing on my head" dreams before I decided to take the advice that I had so freely doled out to others.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Go get some help. Talk to someone. You don't have to live like this." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lucky for me, it only took one phone call and six hours of waiting before I was sitting in a counseling office in the hospital's cancer center. Admitting that I was having a problem getting a grip, and hearing back that that grip-lessness was not at all unusual for someone in my set of circumstances, was sweet relief. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lucky for me, there is something that can be done about all of my grief and frustration. Some medication to help me cope for few months and a lot of talking to people who deal with people like me all of the time. Learn how to deal with the stress of scans and tests, the tedium of five years of hormone therapy and the awkwardness of talking about my disease with strangers that may someday want to see me naked. Ride my bike.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As of today, I am halfway done with radiation. My left boob is abnormally tan and the breast tissue is starting to harden, but my skin is still in pretty good condition. I'm using aloe vera on the area throughout the day and some emu oil at night. And I like that I have a medical excuse not to wear a bra. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I really like the ride to the hospital, now that I've got the logistics and timing dialed in. The ride is 16.8 miles round trip. Four miles of climbing each way. The climb through Washington Park and the Zoo in the way out is steeper, but beautiful. The climb along Hwy 26 coming back is exposed to the sun but the elevation gain is more gradual and gives me a chance to feel a sense of superiority over the afternoon traffic that is moving along more slowly than I am. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Finally, I am getting my hair back. Last weekend it was a mere five o'clock shadow under my scalp, but five days later my head is covered with a thick mix of both peach fuzz and real hair starters. I also have a bit of peach fuzz along my lash line and in my armpits. I'm four weeks out from chemo, so I expected to see something by now, but I've been surprised about how quickly it re-appeared. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As my physical self starts to regenerate, looks like its time to re-focus on my mental self. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-69802903501861632392010-08-11T17:11:00.001-07:002010-08-17T13:39:54.927-07:00Reality Check.<div class="post-header"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes we cross paths with people who are put in our path to give us a reality check. After sitting next to me on the MAX today, hopefully there is a guy in a BMW somewhere that realizes that his life isn't as bad as he thinks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today has not been a good day. I'm really pissed off about having cancer. My relationship with the Mexican finished disintegrating this weekend and since I wasn't sleeping already, my ability to handle life in the last 48 hours has been questionable. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took the MAX to the hospital today. I was scheduled to have my port flushed, then go to radiation. I checked in at the oncologist's office and, after checking in, sit there for 20 minutes. Upon reminding the receptionist that I was here, it was obvious that she had forgotten to notify the nurses. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So I left to go to radiation. Radiation is usually a pretty brief appointment...in and out in less than 15 minutes. But I had to see the doctor today. Basically waited a half hour (with nothing to entertain me other than a three year old People magazine) to have her look at my boob for 10 seconds and tell me it looked fine. As fine as 2/3 of a boob with a wonky nipple can look. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then back up to the oncologist's office. I'd never had my port accessed without numbing the area first, and upon the first attempt to insert the needle, understood <i>why </i>we numb the area first. Because it fucking hurts. I jerked 6 inches in the air and the movement tore the needle out of my skin. I started crying, there was a lot of blood involved and I left the office with a huge gauze pad taped to my chest. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Which brings me to the guy with the BMW. First, even though the train was packed with commuters, he had his stuff spread out on two other seats. He was gracious enough when I asked him to move his things, but then he wanted to chat me up about how bad his day had been because his BMW was in the shop and he had to take the train.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This, in my opinion, was a full-on demonstration that some people live on a completely different planet of self-awareness than the rest of us. This planet is called Planet Paris Hilton. A planet where a lost day of BMW driving is a catastrophic event that must be shared with the puffy-eyed and exhausted woman sitting next to you. You know that woman, the one with a huge gauze pad sticking out of her shirt and no eyebrows. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I managed to tolerate this for about three minutes. Finally, it was one huff of frustration and complaint too many.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You have to be fucking kidding me," I said. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">At this point, BMW man finally exited orbit and made contact with planet reality. I think he finally looked at me, really looked at me, and became deeply ashamed. I don't purposely like making people uncomfortable, but it is my guess that, for once, I may have made the world a <i>better </i>place by feeling sorry for myself and completely losing my shit on an innocent bystander. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-13791547935458756492010-08-04T12:49:00.000-07:002010-08-04T13:20:00.392-07:00The Return of the Race Report<div style="text-align: justify;">I usually don't like writing race reports where nothing unusual happens during the race. But, as you know, Monday's race was unusual and exciting for the simple fact that I was out there thirteen days after my last chemo treatment and three hours after my second radiation treatment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The race itself may have been uneventful, but the evening was not without some unintentional cancer side effect hilarity. First, I had wardrobe issues. After my diagnosis, I sold most of my 2010 team clothes to my teammates, keeping just a few items for cyclocross season. I don't ride much in my team kit, primarily because I think the shorts are the work of the devil and I have three brand new custom Hincapie kits (courtesy of my firm and R's employer) that are infinitely more comfortable. And a wee bit larger. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I brought my team kit to the race Monday night and it turns out that the ten pounds I put on during chemo make a huge difference in how my kit fits. Two days later, I still have elastic marks on my thighs and as for the jersey, lets just say that I chose to race in a cotton T-shirt rather than spend 30 minutes with the hem of the jersey creeping up around to my neck. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I also learned that I need some different sunglasses. I am down to approximately 10 eyelashes, which are essential to keeping wind and dirt out of our eyes when we ride. The D-List sunglasses that I use for short track did not cut the mustard Monday night. If you noticed I was crying on the course, those were not tears of joy or pain. I was just trying to clear my eyes out so I didn't run into a tree, another racer or the portable BBQ by the course. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When the whistle blew I let everyone start before I did, then started navigating the course at my own "race" velocity. My plan was to do two laps, then quit and rest up for the team relay. However, this plan was quickly short circuited as I began passing people. Just a few people, most of whom had crashed or had a mechanical, but it was enough motivation to try and ride out the entire 30 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Short track is hard enough with a healthy cardiovascular system. Throw in a lack of fitness and some stupid cancer, and by the fourth lap, my lungs and legs harmonizing through a full on rendition of "What the Bloody Hell is This!" "Shut up Legs" may help Jens crush souls through the pain, but if my legs had shut up, I would have stopped completely and faceplanted into the dirt. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But I finished without crashing or having to put a foot down and I wasn't last. The latter fact shouldn't even matter, but it does.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To be honest, my body wasn't ready to even pretend to put in a race effort. (No kidding, says you.) And I'm not sure that it wasn't detrimental to my physical system in the short term. But mentally, the effort and the resulting hiccup of fatigue was worth it. I needed to get back out there and test my mind and my body. And I also needed to go out there and commune with my fellow races. The enjoyment I get from watching races one thing, but to have a shared experience with hundreds of other people is another thing altogether.</div><br />
I'm going to ease my way slowly back into the "serious" racing thing, but it doesn't mean that I can't have fun in the meantime. Kruger's Farm Dirt Crit on August 29....be there or be square. I'll buy a beer for any of the B Ladies that can lap me.<br />
<br />
(In other news of note, I was on KBOO's Bike Show this morning with OBRA's executive director, Kenji Sugahara, promoting the High School Cross Series. <a href="http://preview.tinyurl.com/2ua4oy3">The podcast can be found here.</a>) Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-5576595317832554312010-08-03T12:36:00.000-07:002010-08-03T15:28:08.590-07:00Bikes! Dirt! Hot Flashes!<div style="text-align: justify;">Last weekend, I described my cancer experience as being a filter between the old and new normal. If nothing else, this disease gives us the opportunity (and down time) to take a look at our lives and decide what we want to bring through from the old life into the new life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My first "in with the old" is my grand tradition of being overcommitted to things that I'm really excited about. I've taken on a new major volunteer project. This year OBRA (the Oregon Bicycle Racing Association) is developing a cyclocross series for high school clubs. I agreed to be the Grand Master High School Cyclocross Regional Coordinator for the Portland Metro area. The goal for 2010 is to get some high school 'cross clubs up and running and get the infrastructure set up for bigger and better things next year. I'm sort of bossy, so this is a good project for me. Our first meeting is tonight, which gives me approximately 5 hours to get the hell over the fact that I hate talking in front of crowds. Must tell myself to remember this is about getting kids on bikes, not about my public speaking neurosis.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've also decided to ride, and fund raise for, the Echelon Gran Fondo on September 26. <a href="http://echelon.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=337766&lis=1&kntae337766=50D7A5FFEA524CEFAF3BEDE2CAE90318&supId=298232907">Go here to donate</a>. I promise that the proceeds will benefit Livestrong and the OHSU and Mid-Columbia Cancer Centers, not the "Lindsay Needs to Purchase a Race Bike Before February 2011 Campaign." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">--- </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I did my first post-cancer race last night. The season finale at the Portland Short Track Series. I wanted to do the team relay, which required that I do my category race earlier in the evening. My plan was to do two laps, then drop out. But two laps went by and I was not last. In fact, I was passing people. Competitive nature overrode common sense and I finished the race. I forgot how hard short track is, especially when one is as aerobically un-fit as I am right now, but it was so fun. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You know what this means...the return of the race report!!! I'll put that together tomorrow and you can marvel in now I managed not to crash and in how it only took six months for my team jersey to become unacceptably and inappropirately tight fitting. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">---</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And, oh yeah, I finished chemo. Did you hear that? Shall I say it louder? I AM ALL DONE WITH CHEMO BITCHEZ. And thank god for that, really. Because I am hot-flashing like a maniac and don't know how I'd be able to deal with much more of the sleep deprivation that is caused by waking up every hour of every night feeling like someone has placed my head in a convection oven. I did read last week that the hot flashes caused by chemo can last months after treatment is done, but, for my own sanity, I'm ignoring this possibility. WAKE UP OVARIES. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have already started radiation. Three down, 28 to go. The treatments themselves aren't that bad, but I haven't seen any side effects yet. Other than the unusual side effect of than wanting to stab myself in the eye with a pencil each time I think about commuting out to St. My Cousin Vinnie's EVERY DAY FOR SIX WEEKS. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm going to need a twelve step program for Beaverton overdose by the time all of this is over with. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-27121827684632888592010-07-14T14:29:00.000-07:002010-07-14T14:36:59.579-07:00Some Shameless Self Promotion, and Some Om.<div style="text-align: justify;">I was interviewed on Monday for an article in the Bend Bulletin this morning about cancer, Lance and this weekend's Tour Des Chutes in Bend, Oregon. (Thanks to the wonderful Miss Heather Clark, for thinking of me and listening to my decaffeinated rambling.) This was my second time as an interviewee (the first time was for an article in June's RaceCenter magazine, "Return of the Athlete"), and I can't say that I've mastered the arts of not repeating myself and not forgetting what I was originally asked in an attempt to formulate an eloquent answer. </div><br />
Here is Heather's <a href="http://www.bendbulletin.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100713/NEWS0107/7130412">article</a>. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">During the interview, we talked a bit about cycling, the limits of traditional medicine and taking control of one's own care. Looking back on my own experience with chemotherapy, I can definitely point to the moment where I started regain control of my physical and mental health. It was when I posted the <a href="http://trigrrlsalmanac.blogspot.com/2010/04/cycle-1-days-7-8-there-is-light-at-end.html">list </a>from the naturopath on the refrigerator, ate my first dose of mega-protein and went for a walk. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Being accountable for my own care has been something that has carried through since that day. I can tell when I fall off the wagon and eat too much sugar and too little green food. Or when I skip exercising. Or exercise too much. It doesn't feel too great, but what does feel great is knowing that it is 100% on me to make the needed corrections and get back on track.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If are curious about what I've been doing, keep reading. If not, I wish you Happy Weekend. I'm taking off tomorrow for a long weekend in Bend--the Tour Des Chutes ride, some easy mountain biking and a whole lot of sunshine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Without further ado: My accountability list. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Eating:</u> My diet has seen some major re-working in the last four months. Although I am still getting that occasional nacho or coke fix, I am concentrating on avoiding processed foods and incorporating more green stuff and fruit stuff into my diet. This hasn't been hard to do, as I've discovered that I like cooking (!?) and that I'm not so bad at putting together healthy and delicious meals. I'm also very lucky that I live in a city where there is a farmer's market nearby on every day of the week. I'm able to get fresh produce on a whim and I try to buy one item per week that I've never used before and incorporate it into a meal. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Right now, I'm big on smoothies, green tea, meal salads and anything with quinoa.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As far as recipe resources, I get many of mine from <a href="http://www.sunset.com/food-wine/kitchen-assistant/">Sunset magazine</a>, <a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/mix/">MIX magazine</a>, <a href="http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/index.html">Real Simple</a>, </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.elanaspantry.com/">Elana's Pantry</a>, and Jamie Oliver cookbooks. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Exercise:</u> I try to exercise for an hour every day. When I first started chemo, this hour mostly consisted of walking, but due to a serious bike jonesing, a chronically crabby SI joint, and a sore ankle from a glorious hiking wipeout, I have gradually replaced most of my walks with bike rides. I also have rejoined my twice-weekly core strength/speed/agility class. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have had to bring a whole new perspective to that class. In the days BC, this early AM class was the first of two workouts. Class in the morning, followed by a bike workout at lunch or after work. No problem, easy breezy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the days AC, I have to use a much lighter medicine ball, and if I can make it through class without having to cut back on repetitions or sit out an exercise, I am totally killing the workout. KILLING IT. And if I can ride the 3 miles to work afterwards...BONUS. </div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Acupuncture: </u> I have been going to acupuncture for four years, and have been seeing my acupuncturist 2-4 times a month since my diagnosis. She's been able to help me with the inflammation issues associated with surgery, the GI issues brought on by Adriamycin, the aches and pains of Taxol and the mental challenges of being a cancer patient. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Massage:</u> I haven't been as consistent with massage, but it has been a great tool for both relaxation and for getting normal range of motion back into my affected arm. In my ongoing battle with my right SI joint, I'm trying a Thai massage tomorrow. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Yoga:</u> Developing a regular yoga practice is my latest challenge. Lots of excuses: Yoga classes are not cheap, I am remarkably inflexible and the the idea of having to quiet my mind and BE CALM for an hour is mildly terrifying. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">All of this being said, there is a lot of material out there that indicates that a regular yoga practice lowers stress which, in turn, lowers my recurrence risk. Since all of this accountability stuff is not only about getting rid of my current cancer, but also doing whatever I can to avoid a future cancer, seems like a good thing to incorporate into my routine. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've decided the best way to go about this is to work with someone one-on-one so I can develop a practice that addresses my two needs: stress reduction and increased flexibility. That starts this week. Stay tuned.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u>Reiki:</u> I am seeing a practitioner that I know through Team in Training and it has been, surprisingly, one of the most effective means of dealing with my symptoms. If you don't know exactly what Reiki is, there is a decent description on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reiki">Wikipedia</a>. </div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I've only been to Terry twice, but have come out of both treatments with increased energy and a relaxed mindset, and the post-chemo treatment completely relieved my body of the aches and pains caused by Taxol and the Neulasta shot. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">------</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've been blessed to belong to a community of people that have made much of this available to me with minimal out-of-pocket expense. Bike people rule, y'all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">However--if you don't have these types of resources available to you as easily as I do, I would highly recommend looking for programs that are available for free through hospitals and non-profit organizations. For example, OHSU provides yoga classes and massage to cancer patients at little or no cost and the Cancer Centers at Providence have more patient programs that you can shake a stick at. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-46037971990905417742010-07-07T13:37:00.000-07:002010-07-07T13:49:48.077-07:00Me, 7. Chemo, 1.<div style="text-align: justify;">How did almost three weeks come to pass since my last blog post?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'll tell you--I'm a tired cookie. On my good weeks I'm trying to bill 35-40 hours at the firm and on my bad weeks, well, they're bad weeks. I'm really anemic and my white blood cell count has dipped enough where I've had to keep on with the Neulasta shots. The shots, after not really affecting me that badly during the A/C days, are really kicking my ass now. Doctor says that its likely the combination of the soreness that Taxol already causes and the fact that my body is finally needing the hard-core bone marrow kickstart that the Neulasta causes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The shot was this morning, and I'm hoping that premedicating with Advil and yoga will head off some of the discomfort and the resulting lack of motivation to do anything other than lie around in bed watching the World Cup and the Tour. Thank god for the Tour--when I'm too tired to put on anything other than underpants and wife beaters, tuning out to Phil and Bobke is a little more dignified than MTV's "True Life: Facebook is Ruining My Relationship." (I came to the conclusion that it was Jersey, not Facebook, that was ruining the relationship.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My eyebrows and eyelashes are currently in the throes of Custer's Last Stand. I'm awkwardly (and rather unsuccessfully) learning how to draw eyebrows and used the alien-like change in my face as an excuse to go drop $80 at Sephora this morning. Apparently you can mitigate looking like an albino bowling ball with the clever application of eyeliner and creme eyeshadow. We'll see how that goes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have only one chemo treatment left. One. This is a good thing for many, many reasons, not the least of which is that I am completely over this. By "this" I don't so much as mean the Franken-eye, the perpetual exhaustion and the scaring myself in the mirror in the middle of the night. What I am over is the waiting for the net chapter of my life to begin. I have a million things I want to do, need to do, and it's hard to be patient.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had a small tempter tantrum about this a while back. I've got an ongoing mental list of things I want to accomplish in the near future. It includes some small things--like learning how to make biscuits from scratch and buying new towels for my bathroom--and not insignificant things like outlining a book, writing a business plan for something I'd like to try in 2-3 years and starting a small non-profit. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With all of the downtime I've had in the last few months, it logically (?) seemed to me that I should be using it to get some of these bigger things accomplished. Then cancer reality sets in and all I have the energy to do is lay in bed, watch bad TV and feel guilty about my utter lack of productivity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Mexican finally had enough of this last weekend. I can't remember, verbatim, the lecture I got, but the gist was this: You need plans and things to look forward too, and you need to follow through with these things when you are well, but not a single one of these things has to be done RIGHT NOW. You are making yourself (and me) crazy trying to be a super-hero.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I have placed an enormous amount of pressure on myself to be a Cat 1 Cancer Patient. To be tough and inspiring. Putting on appearances is almost as exhausting as the treatment itself. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here's to being lazy and vulnerable and skipping out on more productive activities in order to make, and subsequently eat, a bowl of whipped cream and watch Footloose on CMT.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Cheers.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-36340926236705120092010-06-16T15:20:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:24:58.312-07:00Health Update for June-uary<div style="text-align: justify;">(If you don't get the title of this post, you obviously don't live in Portland. It's the middle of June and I wore a GoreTex jacket, shoe covers and a wool hat to commute this morning.) </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Enough with the recent existential whining. Here is the latest on the nuts and bolts cancer stuff.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">First, congratulations to me for hitting my 100 day mark as a cancer survivor. On my 33rd birthday, no less. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Second, five chemo happy hours down, three to go. I am now on a new drug, Taxol. So far, Taxol has been much easier to deal with, primarily because Taxol does not cause nausea. As I'm on the third consecutive week of being able to eat on a normal schedule, I've gained back all of the weight that I lost when I got sick six weeks ago. All of this has conveniently reappeared in my gut region. Hellooooo, chemo potbelly. Hellooooo, stretchy skirts and empire waist sundresses. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I refuse to be totally accountable for this, and almost have myself convinced that part of the weight gain is attributable to the fact that the chemo is fucking with my ability to poop on a regular basis. This has become one of my daily cancer patient gripes. So much so that I might have to turn this blog into "Confessions of the Bald and Chronically Constipated." Thirty-three is entirely too young of an age to be figuring out how to incorporate prune juice and Miralax into one's daily smoothie. But so it goes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Taxol's major side effect (other that fatigue) is muscle aches and joint pain. So far, all of this has been manageable with rest, Advil, Epsom salt bathes and staying warm. The weather, of course, is not cooperating with the latter strategy and I have taken to wearing a thick wool stocking cap and wool socks in my office to compensate. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some of the expected side effects are becoming more pronounced. I am officially anemic, but my blood numbers have been outstanding otherwise. My skin is dry enough that my face now soaks up shea butter hand cream and my nails are splitting. I also have some sort of member of the mushroom family taking up residence on my left hand. Its not exactly the same fungus as <a href="http://trigrrlsalmanac.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-hits-just-keep-on-coming.html">last summer</a>, but still....fungus. Nasty. So now, in addition to the wool hat and socks, I am wearing a latex glove on my left hand to keep the fungus cream on my hands and off of my keyboard. I look and feel like a crazy person, only one step away from the guy in front of my office building that wears a sleeping bag like a cape. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now for the fun, unexpected side effects. First, I am a walking, talking booger factory. All of my nose hairs fell out, so my nose drains constantly and any debris in the air collects on the inside of my nose in solid form. (Surprisingly, so far I still have my eyelashes and enough eyebrow to get by without an eyebrow pencil.) I have boogers that will randomly fall out of my nose when I am talking to people. This is really sexy and not at all distracting. But, however, not as sexy and distracting as:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Franken-eye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is the name I have given my left eye. Something about chemo has made my eyes very dry and sticky, therefore causing them to stick shut when I blink. So please do not be alarmed if we're having a normal conversation and quite suddenly I look like Sloth from the Goonies. Just give me a minutes to manually open my eye and pretend like nothing unusual is happening. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I met with a radiation oncologist last week and have that stage of my treatment tentatively scheduled. Because I haven't had any setbacks or blood work issues, the doctor was willing to bump up my start date eleven days (July 31) and increase my daily dosage such that I will be done (D-O-N-E) with treatment the day before I leave for Cycle Oregon. This pleases me to no end.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-58314904691119473572010-06-11T11:34:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:25:20.111-07:00Re-Entry Woes.So where have I been lately? That's a question with no easy explanation. I'll start with my weekly Free Will horoscope: <br />
<br />
"If you have long conversations with the image in the mirror this week, I won't call you a megalomaniacal narcissist. Nor will I make fun of you if you paint 15 self-portraits, or google yourself obsessively, or fill an entire notebook with answers to the question "Who am I, anyway?" In my astrological opinion, this is an excellent time for you to pursue nosy explorations into the mysteries of your core identity. You have cosmic permission to think about yourself with an intensity you might normally devote to a charismatic idol you're infatuated with."<br />
<br />
The mysteries of core identity. Who am I anyway?<br />
<br />
I might not be having long conversations in the mirror, but I sure have been talking to myself a lot lately. <br />
<br />
Figuring out who we are is often referred to as a process of "finding oneself." For me, it feels more like a process of elimination. Take all of the things I could possible be and gather them up. Some of the identities were easy to get rid of. Some of them I had to experience to realize whether they fit or not. Some of them I didn't realize existed until after experiences of extreme joy or fear.<br />
<br />
Being diagnosed with cancer was like having my existing slate wiped almost completely clean. Which is simultaneously a blessing and a curse.<br />
<br />
In the times BC (before cancer), I lived this frenetic, competitive, structured existence that I thought suited me to a "T". I did what I thought I was supposed to do: college, law school, got a good white-collar job. I got married (and yes, divorced), bought a place to live and incurred some good old fashioned American debt. I trained and raced and won things. Life was a whirlwind of billable hours, training rides, take-out and happy hour.<br />
<br />
I thought I had everything I wanted. But after spending the last few months thinking about other things and doing other things, it is apparent that this pre-BC existence won't work for my in the times post-BC. The times where the simplest things are making me the happiest: cooking, sewing, reading, spending time with friends and moving my body just for the sake of moving. <br />
<br />
Instead of being a liberating thought, this scares me to death. Since I went back to work and realized that the break has not reawakened any enthusiasm for my current career, there are frequent moments where I'm paralyzed by dead and anxiety. Thirty-three year old women should not tear up with dread at the thought of being lonely and bored in their offices. Yet, this is exactly what I did on Monday morning. <br />
<br />
Knowing that things need to change is easy. Figuring out what to do next is terrifying. But something has to give. I know that I would be wasting my newly discovered (and precious)state of cancer enlightenment if I just went back to the status quo at the end of treatment. And the status quo will not keep me healthy in the long-run. I am sure of that. <br />
<br />
People change careers all of the time. ALL OF THE TIME. They go back to school and start businesses and write books. They take risks despite the odds. There is nothing about who I am that makes this impossible for me. I might not feel like I have many useful skills, but I can learn to do anything...I can write a book, run a bike shop, rule the world, own the Internet...if I can get out of my own way long enough to get started<br />
<br />
So here's the Catch-22. While cancer has given me the gift of enlightenment, is is also a big impediment to following through on change. I have to keep my health insurance and need a steady stream of income to pay for food, my mortgage and what will be a lifelong stream of doctor's bills. And my chronic bike habit...nothing about that will ever change. <br />
<br />
I've talked about this with a couple of people this week and they both pointed out that getting physically healthy should be my first priority right now, that the lifestyle changes will work themselves out. This is true, but getting healthy means not only becoming cancer free, but getting my other ducks in a row so that I am happy, anxiety-free and, ultimately, stay cancer-free. And procrastinating and doing nothing is not exactly moving me in the right direction.<br />
<br />
Advice...anyone?Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-43742591015632587982010-05-28T17:27:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:25:45.313-07:00Oh, Lance.<div style="text-align: justify;">I bet if you own a bike, you have an opinion about Lance Armstrong.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just in case you have nothing better to read this afternoon, here's mine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Reading "It's Not About the Bike" after I was diagnosed was mind-blowing. The story was a good one when I read it for the first time. But the second time was like reading about my own life. Other than the whole winning the Tour seven times thing. And that's just because they don't let women ride in it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lance is one intense mutha-fucker. Maybe you'd call him a jackass. As someone know for opening her mouth at inopportune times and taking ill-advised flyers off the front to a race just to get my thirty dollars worth out of it, I get that. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I get that the first thought that went through his mind when he received his diagnosis was that it would effect his bike racing. I get the whole thing about being weak and poisoned and despondent. I get the epiphanies that you get when you realize that you are being given a second chance to get your shit together and go be the person in the world that you were supposed to be all along.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
I get all that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What I don't get is what to think about Lance and doping. Here's why. He's a survivor. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lance went thought something significantly more toxic than I am enduring. The radioactive substances they pumped into his body killed his reproductive system, wasted his body and caused uncontrollable nausea. What I am going through is much more doable, but the fact doesn't change that it is all incredibly toxic. My body and my soul will never be the same. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After being exposed to so much toxicity, after being stared in the faced with my own mortality, I couldn't imagine going back out into the world and exposing my body to more chemicals, more medical uncertainties, solely for the purpose of winning races. It makes zero sense to me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If the hand grenades that Floyd has been launching at Lance and the cycling institution turn out to be true, I'll be honest with you. I'll be sort of devastated. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I used to not care about this sort of stuff. Cheaters were cheaters and we all know about cheaters not prospering. Or dying of heart attacks at 35 or having their balls shrink into their chests. They all get their's in the end.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But Lance? Lance is a survivor. No, correction, Lance has made himself into "The Survivor." If he also turns out to be a doper it will feel like a slap in the face to thousands of other survivors who have drawn inspiration and strength from his intensity and perseverance. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh, Lance. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But, all of that aside, as a cancer survivor, I cannot help but appreciate the attention he has brought to our disease and the struggles that survivors face even when we become cancer free. So there's that. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So I'm suspending judgment for the time being and am planning to support the efforts of the Lance Armstrong Foundation by riding the <a href="http://tourdeschutes.org/">Tour des Chutes</a> on July 17. Because, when it really comes down to it, there are still survivors out there, and sometimes we need all of the help we can get.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-55752997843455253792010-05-22T13:13:00.000-07:002010-05-22T13:13:04.865-07:00To the Left...To the Right...And Back to the Middle.<div style="text-align: justify;">We all know that progress rarely occurs in a straight line. Instead, it undulates or peaks and plateaus before peaking again. This is definitely true in cycling and I am finding that it also holds true with dealing with this disease. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a few weeks of zen, I got sick, got tired and found myself falling back into old, less healthy patterns. I judged, procrastinated, worried and skipped new practices that I know made my life better. I didn't exercise, slacked on my writing, was needlessly unpleasant to bank employees and dropped the ball planning my own birthday party. I let the fatigue win. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Its a delicate balancing act--trying to get back into my normal pre-cancer routines (working, cycling, socializing), but keeping only those elements that are healthy and productive while eliminating the things about that life that weren't so great. Forming new habits is hard...its always three steps forward, a step or two backwards. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The self-judging has been the hardest old habit to brake. The cycle of thinking that I should be working more or feeling stronger. That there isn't ENOUGH to my life...am I healing enough, working enough, resting enough, eating enough good food, exercising enough, getting enough from my relationships. Enough already.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today's lesson: Living a balanced life is not like standing on solid ground. More like standing on one foot, blindfolded, on a wobble board. It doesn't come naturally--without training, conscious planning, constant adjustment and the acceptance that sometimes we lose our balance and slide off. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So for this cancer patient, it is time to get back on the wobble board. To plan meals ahead of time so I eat well during my bad weeks. To lace up the shoes, put on the rain coat and walk, even when the Portland weather is doing everything it can to discourage us from going outside. To write without worrying whether there is anything relevant or humorous within the words. To not judge myself as weak when the concentration necessary for three hours of lawyer work kicks my ass. To embrace the simple and eliminate the stressful. To remember that even when I feel strong, I need rest. To ask for help when I need it.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-38812327562680071722010-05-14T09:14:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:26:05.240-07:00Escape from Portland.<div style="text-align: justify;">OHMYGODFUCKINGCABINFEVER.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That is the best way I can describe, using letters instead of frustrated and unintelligible noises, how Round Three has gone so far. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Chemo was Monday this time around, due to a scheduling issue with the doctor's office. And I woke up Monday morning with a head cold. So I knew going in that R3 not going to be the cakewalk that R2 had been. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The infusion itself...no problem. As the owner of a brand new iPad, I spent the two hours geeking out on my new toy. Some out there might say that porn is the best way to kill time on the internet. I am not one of those people. I am a person that spends an hour in a measurement conversion application calculating that I weigh 10.71 stones and averaged 16.7 knots at Jack Frost this year. All very useful and important information. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">By Monday afternoon, I could feel the fatigue clamping down on me. And it didn't let loose until Thursday afternoon. Cold fatigue on top of chemo fatigue was not fun. Didn't exercise, didn't cook. Just shuffled in a bermuda triangle from the bed to the couch to the kitchen. Slept, dazedly watched bad TV, ate burritos and tried to stay hydrated. (One of the strange things about masking nausea with medication is that it really doesn't affect my ability to eat. What it does affect is my fluid intake. There is something about drinking water that made me feel more wonky than eating a heavily loaded bean and cheese burrito. Go figure.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I now have a serious case of cabin fever. It started yesterday afternoon when I was driving home from acupuncture. The treatment did wonders for clearing up my sinuses and lungs--one of the last things that I need right now is a respiratory infection. Stuck in the construction traffic on MLK, I had an overwhelming urge to get on to I-84 and drive until the car ran out of gas. To go anywhere with wind and fresh air and sunlight and without a incessantly beeping clothes dryer. Something to jerk me out of falling back into bad habits of funk, procrastination and ambivalence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A horn honked nearby and I was jerked back to reality. The reality of my body and its need for more rest. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I gave myself another twelve hours of couch surfing, tea drinking and wedding-reality-show-watching. But this afternoon I am headed to Astoria to spend some time with a friend, then to Pacific City to meet some teammates at the end of the Reach the Beach ride. Time to get back into good habits--writing in my journal, finishing a book that has taken me too long to read, walking, connecting with people. Living, not waiting. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-76566365387729118162010-05-06T13:46:00.000-07:002010-05-06T13:47:04.303-07:00Hair We Go.This cancer shit can never be simple, can it?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My hair started falling out over the weekend. Whatever, totally expected. What was not expected was creative path my hair decided to take before its curtain call.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There isn't an "easy" button for chemo hair loss. Because that would be nice. Press the easy button and all of it falls out at once, I rinse out the shower and that would be that. I could then proceed along with being awesomely bald or, at least, able to wear hats and wigs without my stubble catching, pulling and hurting my suddenly sensitive head. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Of course, it doesn't really work like that. Instead, I have been up shedding stubble all over the greater Metro area and, after six days, am still left with a hair yarmulke. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, my hair is falling out....everywhere but from the crown of my head. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I feel like the cancer monster is getting back at me for kicking ass through the second round of chemo. In exchange for increased energy and a healthy GI system, I am now afflicted with the opposite of male pattern baldness. Its so ridiculous that it is, quite honestly, hilarious. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">-----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I made two big steps forward toward normalcy this week. First, I went back to work. For those of you that just started reading this blog, I am a lawyer. I have a specialty practice area and only work for a few attorneys, all of whom I adore. However, I can't say that I adore working in a law office. Even in great firms like the one I work in, there is always this overarching vibe of panic mixed with self-importance mixed with entitlement and expensive cologne. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After two days back in my office, I can already see that my biggest work challenge will be not letting this vibe ruin my new sense of zen. My office is on a busy hallway and I frequently found myself trying to concentrate over loud conversations that made me want to tip over my desk and run around in a circle screaming "NONE OF THIS REALLY MATTERS." Nothing would ruin zen like a psychotic episode. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Second, I started back up with strength class on Tuesday. I'm sore. But it's a welcome soreness because it is movement related, instead of caused by surgeries or medication or being unable to sleep. I have to be very careful not to stress my affected arm and, this morning, learned the hard way that I have to focus a bit more because misjudging the speed and trajectory of a medicine ball could mean taking an eight pound weight directly into the chest. Not good when one has a port on the right side and a structurally compromised half-boob on the left side. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-76339226018049878262010-04-30T17:45:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:26:27.817-07:00This...I Can Deal With.<div style="text-align: justify;">Cycle 2, Day 4 is almost in the books. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm still really tired from the chemo, but life has been so much easier this time around. Physically, I have had enough energy and motivation to do my daily walkabouts. Today, it was just three meandering laps around Willamette Park with my friend Delyne, but yesterday I was able to do most of Terwilliger. I'm hoping to make it down to the Eugene Roubaix tomorrow and get a walk in while the girls race, and Sunday, hopefully, take my track bike to the velodrome for a half hour or so. A couple of good runs off of the top rail at Alpenrose will definitely be good for the legs--and the soul. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mentally, its been like living on a different planet. Simply put, I feel like I can deal with all of this right now. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We made a few changes to my medications this time around and I think it has made part of the difference. I'm taking half of the original steroid dosage and, fingers crossed, haven't had any nausea complications as a result. My skin immediately cleared up and it has been easier to wind down in the evening. I've also don't need as much sleep medication. Part of that is probably attributable to the lower dosage of steroids, part of it to keeping up with the exercise. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've become one of "those people" in the last two weeks. You know, "those people" that watch every little thing that they put into their body. Many things have been eliminated from my diet because they don't agree with my newly finicky stomach: coffee (!!!!!!), processed sweets and heavy carbs, soda. I'm drinking a ton of homemade iced green tea and Nuun-flavored water. Alcohol doesn't even sound good...a glass of wine or a half of a beer with meals on my good days has been all I've been able to handle. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I'm eating like a champ: lots of protein, fruit and only organic eggs, dairy and meat. Slowly learning how to work more legumes and greens into my daily routine. It's been hard because by the time I eat everything on my "must-eat" list, I'm usually at my food intake limit for the day. (The anti-nausea meds keep things down, but also make harder to funnel stuff in the opposite direction.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Too bad it took me 30 years to consciously think about these things, because, all things considered, I feel great right now. Less toxic, less bloated. Able to, you know, deal. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Time for a nap...have a wonderful weekend, y'all. I'll get into some trouble this weekend and have some good stories on the flip-side.</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-79331009371483277282010-04-27T18:38:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:27:03.054-07:00The $102 Dollar Haircut, And Other Weekend Stories.<div style="text-align: justify;">Health stuff first. Round Two of the Adriamycin/Cytoxin Cocktail Hour Extravaganza took place this morning. Post-chemo retail therapy courtesy of Whole Foods. My household is going to eat well tonight, if I don't manage to undercook or overcook something.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My weight is stable. If anything, I've lost some weight in the last two weeks. Probably a regular pooping thing. My blood work was all excellent. Some numbers were predictably down, but I'm well within normal levels of everything that they test for. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Chemo itself was uneventful. I went by myself and behaved. Passed the time by listening to the She & Him albums (if you like Camera Obscura, the Noisettes or alt country, I think you'd like this collaboration) and reading another chapter in Anti-Cancer. Next time I think I'll wear my new hat to make things interesting:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjjr_xOe7dwQd9JwkoFCxHBAMZ_7tYOmnHSTOhiq5zSKyVhFraR_WPmQ0ECledhnUTNWbebrjSjDzCx8Vli5TlRJa5xyZ0mpvdRjyCoPjlLFdFD3f0LHvCtnzK_LbEwNq_TH7AGAMc1w/s1600/fuckcancer+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjjr_xOe7dwQd9JwkoFCxHBAMZ_7tYOmnHSTOhiq5zSKyVhFraR_WPmQ0ECledhnUTNWbebrjSjDzCx8Vli5TlRJa5xyZ0mpvdRjyCoPjlLFdFD3f0LHvCtnzK_LbEwNq_TH7AGAMc1w/s400/fuckcancer+hat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Thanks, Mel. And yes, this cancer does make my ass look fat. Thanks for asking. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now the fun stuff. Winner of the previously unannounced best chemo text contest: My goat, Angela Jamison. Angie has been encouraging me to turn all of this word making into a book and had this insightful comment: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I bet cancer would feel exploited if you used your relationship with it to get famous." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was driving when I finally read this text and almost had to pull over from laughing. (Yes, I am aware playing with my Blackberry while behind the wheel is now against the law in Oregon. However, I was on Highway 26 at a dead stop. So you sanctimonious traffic safety nazis can go fuck yourselves.) </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I could become the cancer equivalent of the winner of that "Be Paris Hilton's Best Friend" reality show. Or Nicole Richie. Same difference.<br />
<br />
---- <br />
<br />
And speaking of sanctimonious traffic snobs...onto the story about the $102 haircut. I went to the Bishop's on NE 28th on Thursday afternoon to get rid of the hair. It was supposed to cost $12. <br />
<br />
It was a refreshingly pain-free process. It took three run-throughs with three different clippers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp83FfIwKG3oY_8hRfQDlr3mqUts0M_CDByhTKnkwuGr9zhWclkx0b-6uZttqEGgu-Jnvn46pZofWppSXLv3SvLnlMiMGr70jxqiUpBoqRZTXQJWHteDxRR2asWjVjXdjU4vt6m2YoaLM/s1600/shave+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp83FfIwKG3oY_8hRfQDlr3mqUts0M_CDByhTKnkwuGr9zhWclkx0b-6uZttqEGgu-Jnvn46pZofWppSXLv3SvLnlMiMGr70jxqiUpBoqRZTXQJWHteDxRR2asWjVjXdjU4vt6m2YoaLM/s400/shave+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No tears, no negative emotion. Just a lot of relief, a wacky gay guy with clippers and some bad cheap beer. And lots of inappropriate jokes:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavisOWFgW3Wvmu89IIkUqzM_9DwRcMHhlDZv0KetC_kHankovPQ0wzKSQgyoYreAnqICi0wkgJXDxJaWVJzYCpyYkaIk68ffWkWEFCd-gEyyv5Mu4mJrV74U1Bugmb1TxTLN2DKsFEz4/s1600/shave+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavisOWFgW3Wvmu89IIkUqzM_9DwRcMHhlDZv0KetC_kHankovPQ0wzKSQgyoYreAnqICi0wkgJXDxJaWVJzYCpyYkaIk68ffWkWEFCd-gEyyv5Mu4mJrV74U1Bugmb1TxTLN2DKsFEz4/s400/shave+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I am now SO ready for the wind tunnel. Watch out Lance, I'm going to KILL IT at the Tour time trials this year. In an old T-Mobile kit and on a recumbent tricycle with a flag and a Burley trailer You will cry in embarrassment, then give me a six-figure deal to ride for the Shack next year.<br />
<br />
When we got back to the car, I had a parking ticket. A NINETY FUCKING DOLLAR PARKING TICKET. And a snarky, mis-spelled, grammatically incorrect note from the owner of the driveway I was blocking by three inches. I admit that it was a crap parking job, but I was so distracted when I parked that I didn't even notice. And, truthfully, I am the type of person who re-parks.<br />
<br />
Christy and I drove away quickly, and I'm glad we did. It was the only event that ruined my zen last week and I really didn't need to make a scene in the middle of some bored, stupid person's porch.<br />
<br />
Life has a ironic sense of humor. Shaving my head was the most expensive haircut I have ever received. <br />
-----<br />
<br />
I spent last weekend out enjoying the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic. Enjoying it because I wasn't fucking racing it. The road courses on Friday and Saturday were short enough that I was able to ride them in the opposite direction and watch the racing from my bike. I did 18 miles on Friday and 25 on Saturday. The Saturday ride was what I like to refer to as a Grandpa's Tall Tale Ride: either uphill or into a headwind the entire ride. All it was missing was a blizzard and a plague of locusts. But it was sunny, and, dear jesus, I was ON MY BIKE.<br />
<br />
My team had a great weekend. The Mexican finished 6th in the Cat 4 race. He's only been bike racing for six weeks and finished sixth in a stage race. I am very impressed. (Yes, I am hanging out with the Mexican. Again. Don't judge. Next time you catch the cancer, shave your head, have a wonky boob and are covered in some sort of weird steroid acne breakout, you will understand how good it feels to have someone in your life that tells you that you are sexy, and acts like you are sexy, every time he sees you. Even if that person is certifiably insane most of the time. Turns out that it is all about regulating my own exposure to that crazy, sexy, irresistible insanity.)<br />
<br />
But my girls? My Cat 3 girls ROCKED it:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxezlyiDOEtp-tR3JusWtR_v0QepikbdoIgyw5SNd3Z1cqBrVP5GWP_8HXtDqRTIKzcnaeYhGv7Mt3xafPhq_7kdONi7DM8hiFsAaJWkeook1M28IvGzYIHrz7SMG1EOpXHyhEbxT45Tw/s1600/HV+Cat+3s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxezlyiDOEtp-tR3JusWtR_v0QepikbdoIgyw5SNd3Z1cqBrVP5GWP_8HXtDqRTIKzcnaeYhGv7Mt3xafPhq_7kdONi7DM8hiFsAaJWkeook1M28IvGzYIHrz7SMG1EOpXHyhEbxT45Tw/s400/HV+Cat+3s.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
From left to right: I won the 10-lap cancer patient crit (as the only entry) on a borrowed bike while wearing running shorts and wore a rad cowboy hat for the rest of the afternoon. Everyone else here made it to the real podium. Alice finished 5th in the General Classification for Cat 4s: 5th in the Crit, 5th in the TT and 6th and 7th in the Road Races. She is now a Cat 3. Mindy was <i><b>second </b></i>in the GC in a totally stacked Cat 3 field. Rock. Anna was second in the Stage 1 road race. Amanda was second in the criterium. The gal in the Veloce kit is Kelly McKean. She finished second in the Stage 3 circuit race (also known as the "Hardest Circuit Course I've Ever Seen"). I am a climber, for sure, but Kelly is a climber on a whole different level.<br />
<br />
The Cat 4's also did exceptional: everyone finished and Mo pulled a Ninth Place GC finish out of her sarcastic, gluten-intolerant ass. And didn't get dropped in the crit. Mo is awesome. <br />
<br />
But, team business aside, I do have to say the highlight of the weekend was watching one of my favorite people, Anne Linton, win the Cat 3 crit. Anne is older than dirt (which is something I tell her every time we race together), but is one awesome fast old lady. She has been part of my lead-out for several PIR victories and I still owe her some return favors. I was so excited to see her finish first that I almost missed my own teammate finishing second.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pMA9a4Kxy0oz4W9vJgc00a3binMmzdBdonH6x5M9_8Au_Zv5Em-SPU61NOXbd9SPt7Z_Lxf0p-vOwf0QYpiC7UxMesHIBoSdM0ObG45BMJ3E4suILIevevWbmMf9tTeFzLGw700z-EI/s1600/anne+and+lk+CBCC+crit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pMA9a4Kxy0oz4W9vJgc00a3binMmzdBdonH6x5M9_8Au_Zv5Em-SPU61NOXbd9SPt7Z_Lxf0p-vOwf0QYpiC7UxMesHIBoSdM0ObG45BMJ3E4suILIevevWbmMf9tTeFzLGw700z-EI/s400/anne+and+lk+CBCC+crit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>So proud of you, Anne. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-89982298604589267812010-04-22T09:14:00.000-07:002010-04-22T09:14:34.147-07:00Cycle.....Well...Cycle!<div style="text-align: justify;">First, the big news. I rode outside yesterday. For the first time in 45 days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before the ride was the mixed joy and frustration of working on my bike. An activity I hadn't done for months. I sold my race bike to a teammate before the diagnosis and, now that there is no reason to spend big money on a 2010 model race bike (why do that when I can buy a 2011 model race bike-duh), I am planning on using my <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">Tri</span>-Cross for summer riding and Cycle Oregon. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Which meant conducting what is usually a very simple exercise...swapping out wheels. A simple task that was made completely infuriating by one of the most aggravating pieces of equipment in the cycling world: <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">Tektro</span> <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">cyclocross</span> brakes. It should not be that f-<span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">ing</span> hard to (1) undo the brake arms and (2) adjust the brakes to eliminate rub. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I threw a tool yesterday. I have been doing some of my own mechanic's work for a long time and had never thrown a tool in frustration. I felt like there was a hidden camera in the ceiling and a roomful of lab-coated engineers and psychologists in a secret test facility sitting in front of a screen and rejoicing that there nefarious plan had finally worked. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyways. Breathe. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I met Heidi at her house for a short spin around SE Portland. For some reason, I didn't want to wear my team kit, just casual knickers and a long-sleeved shirt. It seemed like if I wore the pinstripes, there would be pressure. Pressure to do what, I have no idea. Train? Win the hills? Not die of a heart attack in the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">Springwater</span> Corridor headwinds? Who knows.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first 15 seconds were a total rush. My legs literally went:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">What??</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What?!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The motions were automatic were once I had a few minutes to adjust: Shift, pedal, brake, weight the corners, bunny hop to check for rattles. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was like my soul was coming out of hibernation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I think we were out for an hour, but an hour was enough. I was breathing pretty hard into the headwinds and inclines and my shoulders were aching from being forced back into the cyclist's hunch. But I finished the ride feeling more joyful than I had been feeling for weeks. And between the hour on the bike and the hour on foot in Forest Park in the morning, I fell asleep without a sleeping pill last night. Again, for the first time in weeks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> <br />
---</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Second piece of news. I'm shaving my head today. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's a control and timing issue. I'm on Chemo Day 10 and common wisdom is that it starts to fall out around Day 14. I'm going out to the Gorge this weekend to support my teammates and friends at the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic. (And by support, I mean heckle. And by heckle, I mean finding the longest hill on the course and yelling "Why are you going so slow?" at everyone. This also might involve an air horn and a bucket of Gatorade to pour over people's heads. I'm a good teammate like that.) I didn't want to deal with the hair over the weekend if it happened early, and I can already tell something is happening with my body. I haven't had to shave my armpits since Saturday. (Yes, we're talking about my armpits again. Hopefully for the last time in a few months.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I also didn't want to deal with shaving my head in the first few days after chemo. And I sure as shit don't want to deal with any clumps of hair falling out, EVER. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So today's the day. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Which is totally ironic because my hair has been behaving marvelously for the last two weeks. Its mocking me. So, with everything that dares mock me, it's time to dole out some punishment. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But in all seriousness, I'm expecting to need to grieve for a little bit of time over this. I've never been a hair person. It's been short for over 12 years and my haircut has always been about keeping it out of my face and off my neck (its very thick) and how quickly I can look normal after taking off my bike helmet (with the help of a few genius styling products, I can go from ride to work appropriate in 15 seconds). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But although bald may be beautiful, it also immediately flags me as a sick person. Throughout all of the surgeries and scans and doctor visits, I was able to hide my "sick person" status under my bra or by holding my affected arm close to my body. Can't so much get away with hiding anymore. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Being bald will also force me to work on my patience with other human beings. Like most reasonable people, I do not like being stared at. And I'm going to get stared at. Yelling "WHAT?! I HAVE FUCKING CANCER. FUCK OFF!" to everyone in Portland is not going to make me someone anyone else wants to be around for the next few months. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So I am going to have to grow up and learn to make eye contact and smile insanely at strangers. My theory is that if they think I'm also totally cuckoo for <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;">CocoPuffs</span>, the staring will stop in a more timely manner. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My life is already one big lab experiment. I might as well make it an entertaining one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-47857263140394285902010-04-21T08:07:00.000-07:002010-04-22T07:05:23.995-07:00Cycle 1, Days 7-8. There Is Light at the End of the Tunnels.<div style="text-align: justify;">Gaaaahhhhhh!!! If you were using this blog to check in on me and have been worried for a few days...Sorry!! I have improved 4000 percent since Sunday evening, took Monday off from the computer and felt so good yesterday that I spent most of it out of the house catching up with some friends (go eat brunch at <a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/dining/index.ssf/2010/03/tasty_sons_john_gorham_plans_s.html">Tasty & Sons </a>on Williams, owned by TNT alum John Gorham, NOW), running some personal errands and going on a walkabout in the West Hills. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Monday morning was like waking up on a new planet. I slept seven straight hours and was able to eat breakfast and drive myself out to my naturopath appointment at St. MCV's. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Going to the naturopath was probably the best thing I've done for my mental health since the stupidfuckingcancer odyssey began (by the way...its been exactly two months since my diagnosis. Never has a 60 day chunk of time seemed so short and so long at the same time.) Our appointment was 30 minutes of my verbal dump, 15 minutes of him processing that verbal dump and 15 minutes of him laying down some new laws.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">At first, I thought the guy was a bit of a kooky hippie, but by the end of it I found him to be quite remarkable. Working with cancer patients is all that he does and I believe him when he says that he's good at it. This is why. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For 30 minutes he listened to my life story quietly, without affect, judgment or posture. Asked me about work, about why I liked bike racing, if I had set any post-treatment goals. Then he left the room, gave me 15 minutes to compose myself and came back into the room in exactly the form I needed: the coach. Which is basically to say that he was able to read me like a teary-eyed open book and presented his treatment plan in a way that totally resonated with my personality. He's given me a set of nutritional, mental and physical challenges and has basically said "If you do this, you can win." And by "win," he means "not get your ass knocked around by chemo for four months." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We're starting small--base miles, bitches. There is a list on my refridgerator that is 6 items long. Three of those items are related to digestive health, otherwise know as pooping. I will save the lengthy pooping discussion for another day, because it really does merit its own post. Suffice to say, everyone knows that if you're not pooping, that is bad. If you are doing chemo and not pooping, this is super duper bad because that means your system is struggling to get that toxic shit out of your body. It just sits there like antifreeze in a sewer. Ugh.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The fourth item is protein related. In a nutshell, chemo kills your fast growing cells like a Serbian mercenary--that is, without discrimination. Chemo get cancer, but it also gets hair cells, fingernail cells, cells on the inside of the mouth, blood cells. Without protein, the body struggles to rebuild the good fast growing cells. Most people get enough protein, but apparently cancer patients struggle with protein because many of the food that are palatable during chemo are high-fat, high-simple carbohydrate foods, not high protein foods.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sorbet and dry cheerios, my comfort foods of choice, do not contain enough protein for my body to rebuild and fight. Thus, from here on out, yogurt and at least two eggs per day, every day. Normally, I can't eat eggs on a regular basis because my body doesn't do well with them when I am exercising at a high intensity. Which, obviously, is not happening right now. So eggs now taste good. I'm going to try and learn how to poach eggs one of these mornings. Maybe should get a video camera first. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next item on my marching orders, pun intended, is to walk at least 5 miles every day. Even if I have to do it in 3 or 4 segments on my rough days, 5 miles. I made it four miles on Monday (was still pretty tired from the four days of chemo hell), but did five and half yesterday afternoon. On Terwilliger. None of this pussy waterfront shit for me. If I was going to walk five miles, I am going to WALK FIVE MILES. In the rain. Uphill both ways (seriously-it was Terwilliger, people, there is no downhill.). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My whole concept of five miles has changed. On a bike, that's what....15 minutes? Maybe 30 if the whole 5 is uphill? Five point five miles on foot took me eighty minutes yesterday. Granted, that was because most of it was uphill, but still. Eighty minutes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was fucking sore and tired by the end I got home. But I was gloriously happy the entire time. It was like exercise crack. Slowing down made me appreciate the scenery and really listen to song lyrics. As much as I hate to admit it, Lady Gaga is sort of a genius. Madonna, too but she tends to waver between awesomely ridiculous and ridiculously awesome. Compare anything on "American Life" to anything on "Erotica." Night and day. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Next item is my reading list. He looked at me and said, "You're a smart woman. You can read two books this week." Um, okay, hippie facist doctor man. First on the list was Lance Armstrong's book. You know, that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Its-Not-About-Bike-Journey/dp/0425179613/ref=tmm_pap_title_0">one</a>. The one we have all already read. I read it ten years ago, while my grandfather was dying of leukemia. Reading it ten years later as a bike racer and cancer patient, it basically blew my mind. I will write more on that later. The second book is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anticancer-New-Way-Life/dp/0670021644/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1271861951&sr=8-1">"Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life" by David Servan-Schreiber</a>. Going to start on that one today. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The final item on my list is a writing exercise that is intended to help with my anxiety. As soon as I wake up, five minutes with a written journal. Whatever is making me happy, anxious, angry, depressed, sad gets written down--without proofreading or wordsmithing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It may surprise you, but I've never been a private journaler. I've kept private blogs every once in a while, mostly to play with writing styles, but nothing freeform, personal or on a consistent basis. I've only done this exercise twice, but both times its lasted over 20 minutes and I feel like I've been through detox when I'm through. So THIS is what I've been missing with journaling, but its better to have learned this lesson later than never. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Whoa.....it's eight AM and I have to get moving. I have a walking date in Forest Park, lunch with another survivor and, if the weather holds, a short bike ride with the effervescent <a href="http://gritandglimmer.com/">Ms. Heidi Swift</a> planned for today. Better go eat my eggs and yogurt.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over and out. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-22178847591634809492010-04-18T15:03:00.000-07:002010-04-18T15:44:53.917-07:00Days 5-6. Not a Happy Post.<div style="text-align: justify;">I keep thinking it can't get any worse, but then it does. In stages and fluctuations. Its moved from a funny stomach, to a wonky stomach plus fatigue, to fatigue that was manageable emotionally, if not physically. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Chemo dump is on a whole new level today. Like the amp in Spinal Tap. You know, the one that goes all the way to 11. Chemo plus sleeplessness equals...seriously, fuck me, this is awful. I am having a hard time staying awake for more than 15 minutes and I ache. Everywhere aches, my skin, neck muscles, scalp, toenails. Toenails ache, who knew.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The only exercise I am getting is in my head. The tug of war between the voice that pleads to have my old life back and the one that shouts that I have to be stronger than all of this. Who has the advantage depends on whether I'm grateful or angry that it is an absolutely beautiful day in Portland. Right now I have the windows and curtains wise open, and am curled up with <a href="http://gritandglimmer.com/cancer-beware-fast-cyclists-who-sew/">my new quilt </a>in bed, closely supervised by the cats. Grateful that its not only a perfect day for a ride, but also the perfect day to rest and heal. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tonight, who knows. That is part of the sonofabitch of all of this. Being trapped in my own body and in my own head. The downward spiral of anger and loss and sadness is so easy to get trapped within and, at night, there is no one that can pull me out of it. Except me. And my goddamn toenails hurt too much to pull anything right now. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But it will get better. It will get better because it has to. The challenge is not losing my mind in the meantime. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-75284631332084023982010-04-16T21:35:00.000-07:002010-04-16T21:40:51.354-07:00Cycle 1, Days 3-4<div style="text-align: justify;">From Wikipedia, the word of the Day(s):<b> </b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Fatigue</b> (also called <b>exhaustion</b>, <b>lethargy</b>, <b>languidness</b>, <b>languor</b>, <b>lassitude</b>, and <b>listlessness</b>) is a state of awareness. It can describe a range of afflictions, varying from a general state of lethargy to a specific work-induced burning sensation within one's muscles. It can be both physical and mental. Physical fatigue is the inability to continue functioning at the level of one's normal abilities.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am so fucking tired. And there's really nothing funny to say about it. Chemo is seriously lacking in a sense of humor...what a crabby whore. Sleeping 15 hours a day is not funny. Forgetting words and whether I've taken a shower today are not funny. The effects of horse steroids are not funny. Being too tired to flee your own chemo farts is not funny. OK, maybe hotboxing oneself is slightly funny (especially when the cats get caught in the fray). But don't laugh about it to my face. Yet.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What I really want to do today is send<b> A HUGE THANK YOU AND LOVE YOU </b>out to the lovely ladies that collaborated (behind my back...the only time they'll ever catch me with my guard down) to make a beautiful new quilt for me to cuddle in whenever I need some good, strong sisterhood energy: Sarah, Casey, Cathy, Heather, Heidi, Tiffany, Stephanie, Alice, FT, Margi, Anna, Mindy, Shari, Sage, Jen W., Michelle, Angela, Alia and my wonderful mother. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With a particular shout-outs to Sarah for masterminding the whole affair and to Steph for her very inspired "Whip Cancer" square:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78rb6ptqUQAijwYspoBbyq-RtR5nNJ-3km0tHpRmLr9ayGQnR-ZpLP2GH_6sayYjDCC3okMZ-2rwRR-LTr18kNogzRL4JUhmyJ_4EniOAPG_x8FeS-iwbsjvMAK6KovnlzNgVINlFrM4/s1600/whip+cancer+square.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78rb6ptqUQAijwYspoBbyq-RtR5nNJ-3km0tHpRmLr9ayGQnR-ZpLP2GH_6sayYjDCC3okMZ-2rwRR-LTr18kNogzRL4JUhmyJ_4EniOAPG_x8FeS-iwbsjvMAK6KovnlzNgVINlFrM4/s320/whip+cancer+square.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">You all rule. I am so blessed. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-39922451954595661952010-04-14T19:52:00.000-07:002010-04-15T15:47:40.864-07:00Guest Author: The Most Awesome Race Report Ever<div style="text-align: justify;">Quick Cycle 1, Day 2 Chemo Update: I was wonky in the stomach this morning, but pills and lots of naps had me feeling a lot better this afternoon. I walked for an hour this evening, with a break at Zupan's for a Haagen Das bar. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now onto the main event. Kings Valley, as written by my Aussie teammate, Jamie. Read it and try not to laugh out loud.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">----</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>WARNING, WARNING – unusually high number of scientific jokes contained in this report. Do not read if you have liver damage, are a serious cyclist, or may become a serious cyclist. Your doctor can conduct a simple test if you are at risk.<br />
<br />
April 12th, 2010<br />
<br />
Dear Editor of ‘Crap Cycling’,<br />
<br />
Please accept our paper on the analysis of Sprint Wombat's King's Valley Road race. We feel that our findings will be of interest to the wider cycling community and our hope is that with publication in ‘Crap Cycling’ others will learn from his mistakes. In accordance with the international nature of the Journal we have used SI units throughout.<br />
<br />
We look forward to hearing from you.<br />
<br />
Dr. Cannon Dale, Dr. Van Iller and Sir Velo.<br />
Lactic Threshold Laboratory<br />
Institute of Advanced Cycology<br />
Bonktown, OR<br />
<br />
<br />
Title: <strong>The King's Valley disaster – how, why and what!</strong> <br />
<br />
Study Aim: To dissect the 2010 Kings Valley (KV) road race of Sprint Wombat (‘the subject’). His self-proclaimed goal was to support more talented Hammer Velo team mates; Driveby, El Luchador, The Kid, Mr Smith, The Neighbor, The Quiet Achiever, and Ryan (no known alias), and finish as high as possible with a minimum of errors. This paper is based on observation, satellite imagery, mental telepathy and interviews with the subject and race officials. It analyzes the known knowns (but not the unknown unknowns - we know what they are) and attempts to understand what went wrong.<br />
<br />
Method: The subject (aka ‘The Wombat’) rode his bike around rural Polk County (Oregon, USA) for 93 km (56 miles) under OBRA race conditions. The subject rode a 2010 Cannondale CAAD 9 (54 cm) modified with fancy titanium time trial seat-post and saddle. 50/34 x 11/23.<br />
<br />
Results: 47th out of >60 (actually number of finishers will never be known because of mass quitting and at least one rider who took a wrong turn and nearly ended up on 99W).<br />
<br />
Discussion: With input from a well meaning, non-cycling State Champion, a well-crafted team plan was formulated. The ‘body mass index (BMI)-challenged’ were to stay close to the front of the pack to control the pace. The plan was for these BMI-challenged individuals to work later on in the race protect the 4th percentile BMIers (light fourckers) for the final sprint. The subject totally ignored this plan for no good reason and settled mid pack for the first half lap. This turned out to be a grave error because of the narrow road, large pack and large quanta of inexperienced riders who braked at every opportunity. There was little room to pass. The wind on the back half of the course was formidable but not an issue for the ‘mid-pack’ plodders. <br />
<br />
The 25 km (15 mile) point marked the hill that what would become the finish line. At a mean grade of 6.02 (+/- 0.56)% the hill was of modest steepness and about 1 km in length. The subject was in 41st position at this point. Due to his high BMI, the subject slowly drifted back through the pack at -2 m/sec. This backward motion is described in the ‘regression analysis’ plot shown in Figure 1. Within seconds, the subject was ‘off-the-back’ and losing ground at a rate of -5 m/sec. The subject was observed to repeatedly shout at his legs “shut the f*** up, legs”. <br />
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As the subject breached the hill he placed his arms in the ‘drops’ and proceeded to increase cadence to 95 rpm. With the tailwind and downward gradient, the subject increased velocity to 43.4 kph in an attempt to rejoin the pack. Within 3 km the subject caught a strong rider from <em>Portobello</em>. Together, they worked to bridge the gap with the pack, passing riders at regular intervals. They gained ground on the pack on the flats at a rate of 10 m/min but lost ground on the climbs and in the wind at a rate of 5 m/min. After working together for 16.84 km they ceased the chase and ‘sat up’. Mr Smith, who had been chasing the subject for a time then caught up and they rode together discussing their options still with 40.09 km to complete the race. The long-range microphone picked up the subject uttering the phrase “mate,……. I’m buggered if I’m going to get another DN-friggin-F”. Mr Smith then replied “although my ass really, really hurts I’m with you all the way, Jay-me”. At this point it turned into a training ride and the subject and Mr Smith rode the rest of the way, taking turns to ‘pull’ each other. Although the final kms (miles) were traversed with 20% lower intensity than something faster, they appeared to be pleased to finish in the top 50. At the end of the race the subject was overheard to remark that his mouth was “as dry as a dead dingos’ donger” and sought rehydration assistance.<br />
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In summary, the subject rode poorly and was positioned too far back in the pack to cope with the finish line hill on lap 1. Consequently, the subject was dropped and failed to influence the race in any way at all. We hypothesize that with a more advanced position at the start of the hill, the subject would have been safely cocooned in the pack-womb sucking his thumb. We predict that he would have survived to deeper into the race. <br />
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Conclusion: STAY AT THE FRONT 95 (+/- 7.0)% OF THE TIMELindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360372477921596555.post-31989606180018982972010-04-13T17:18:00.000-07:002010-04-13T17:57:08.777-07:00Day 1, Cycle 1<div style="text-align: justify;">Before I get knocked on my ass by the toxic cocktails that were pumped into my system this morning, some updates and some smart ass comments about what I have already learned about chemo infusions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">[Skip the next part if you don't want to read about chemo drugs.]</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My first four chemo cocktails are a combination of cytoxan and adriamycin. This is a standard treatment for breast cancer. The adriamycin is the hair killer. It is bright red and pumped into me using a syringe over 15 minutes. The cytoxan is administered through IV drip over the course of an hour. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before these are administered, I visit with the oncologist and a blood draw is taken. Once in the treatment room, the first course is an IV drip of super-steroids and an anti-nausea medication.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then the chemo drugs. Shit that might burn a hole in the universe shot into my bloodstream. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After that, guess what....more medication. I have four bottles: must-take anti-nausea pills, must-take horse steroids and two sets of "in case of emergency" anti-nausea pills. I hope all of it works because I waited at the hospital pharmacy for two hours after chemo. Rad. Tomorrow I go back to St. My Cousin Vinnie's for a shot of Neulasta, a white cell booster that aids my immune system. And for the drugs they were out of at the pharmacy. Because, as I have learned, hospitals run of things all of the time. Like sane patients. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can expect to feel OK for a day or two and the worst over the weekend. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">[Rejoin here for some more non-essential cancer advice.] </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The infusion room at St. MCV's is very nice. As something that has only been open for a few months, it should be. Huge windows on two sides, comfortable recliners, and all of the beverages and lights snacks you can stuff into your face while impeded by an IV pole. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Hydration is my new big THING I CAN CONTROL, so I came prepped with three full water bottles with the goal to get through all of them before I left the infusion room. The infusion time was shorter than I had expected and I spent most of that time talking or being talked to, so I only made it through two. Good for my system, but it also meant having to pee every five minutes. And, of course, I had to go and pick the seat the farthest from the bathroom door. Every 450-700 seconds, I would have to clomp past (because, of course, I am wearing cowboy boots...and ninja socks) all of the other cancer patients to the john. Thud, Thud, Thud. Slam, Flush, Slam. So much for keeping a low profile. But I did get all of the adriamycin dye out of my system within 40 minutes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Non-Essential Cancer Advice Note to Self #1: Next time, sit closer to the bathroom door. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Non-Essential Cancer Advice Note to Self #2: Hospital wireless sucks balls. Bring more magazines and cell phone charger. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Non-Essential Cancer Advice to Everyone Else #3: Please text me at will during infusions. Playing with my blackberry in an important manner keeps me from staring at other people. Staring at other people makes me look like an asshole. No one want to be The Asshole in a chemo treatment room, but I can't help it when I'm anxious.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So help me out on this one. Next round, April 27 from 10AM to 1PM. If you want my cell number, email me off-line.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Non-Essential Cancer Advice to Everyone Else #4: Post-chemo retail therapy is highly recommended. I have been going to Target after all of my big appointments. All of the adrenaline rush, but for one-sixth of the price of downtown Portland. I bought at $15.99 cowboy hat this afternoon. It is ridiculously fantastic...I haven't taken it off yet. That or the ninja socks. Which, considering that I am now also wearing a seersucker miniskirt around the condo, makes me sort of awesome-sauce right now. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Non-Essential Cancer Advice to Everyone Else #5: If you don't know about Cleaning for a Reason and are going through cancer treatment or know anyone going through cancer treatment, please go <a href="http://www.cleaningforareason.org/">here </a>NOW and learn about them. While I was packing up my bags, my mom and I just happened to be talking about the service that spit-shined my condo yesterday (<a href="http://maidtoshinetoday.com/">Maid to Shine</a> in Vancouver, WA....did a phenomenal job), the patients next to me and the oncology nurses overheard, but had never heard of it. WTF?!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">These ladies donate their valuable time and supplies to help cancer patients. All I had to do was make a phone call, get a doctor's note and sign a waiver. And voila! You can now eat off of my bathroom floor. Not that I would recommend it, but you get the point. Cleaning for a Reason pays for it once a month and I am having the service come in twice monthly on the day before infusions.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The doctor's note requirement threw me for a loop. Apparently there are people out there that fake cancer. For fuck sake people, really? For these people I have created a special level of hell. This level of hell involves screaming uncontrollable three year olds, dog shit that hasn't been picked up, <a href="http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x91/dividedlondon/skinnysinsert.jpg">neon-colored skinny jean</a>s, <a href="http://www.bighappiehair.com/">BumpIts</a> and Jack Johnson playing on a continuous loop. And the only thing to eat and drink are PBR and bananas. And everything operates using Windows 97. That, to me, would be the worst hell could possibly be. This is saying something, as I have fucking stupid cancer.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">OK, off to pee (again) and try and control my anticipation anxiety. Will keep you all posted. </div>Lindsay R. Kandra, Esquire.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08713781057867055446noreply@blogger.com5