Cancer.

I've sat here for about twenty minutes trying to think of an elegant and eloquent opening to this post. Failing miserably. So I'm going to just jump right into the meat of the matter.

I have cancer.

Stage 1 Invasive Ductal Breast Cancer, to be exact.

We found the lump about six weeks ago. I say 'we' because it wasn't actually me that found it. It was the Mexican. Which makes sense, because he spends way more time feeling me up than I spend feeling myself up. It's better that way.

At the time, I didn't think a whole lot of it. I am 32 and have very little history of breast cancer in my family. I also have a nipple ring in that breast, so my first thought was that I may have developed an abscess or cyst associated with that. So we went back to making out and I really didn't think too hard about it again until Sunday.

Sunday was the Jack Frost TT. I had just posted a killer time, despite having raced at Sublime (ly Difficult) Sublimity Road Race on Saturday. Pleased as punch with my weekend of racing, especially considering that I had been taking on a much lighter training schedule this winter. I was putting my TT bike back on the car when the front end swung around and the aerobars hit me square in the left boob.

The pain was so sharp and fierce that it almost dropped me to my knees. A big fat reminder that whatever was growing in me had not gone away, but in fact had gotten a bit bigger and a lot more painful.

On Monday I made an appointment with my general practitioner. (On a side note, if you are in need of a new GP, I switched over to this doctor last summer and LOVE HER. I repeat, LOVE her.) She was concerned enough that she had her office get me scheduled into the Providence Breast Clinic for the next morning.

The Breast Clinic was disconcertingly surreal. The internal waiting area has soothing lights and new age music and tea and home and garden magazines. I sat there in my robe surrounded by 40 and 50 year old women, drinking a double cappucino, listening to Sleater Kinney on my iPod and reading European cycling magazines. Attempting to look bored and unconcerned. Anything that I could do to signal to the world around me "I don't belong here."

There was a deaf woman strapped to an oxygen tank. She freaked me out. It wasn't the oxygen tank or her skeletal appearance or the loud, atonal sound of her voice as she communicated with the woman who is interpreting for her. It was that she directed a crazy stare toward me for the entire time that I was sitting there. Like she knew something that I didn't.

I get through two hour's worth of mammograms and ultrasounds and then sit down with a breast care nurse and a doctor. This is where things started to feel sort of "off." The doctor doesn't exactly look me in the eye and says things like "not a cyst" and "abnormal" and "biopsy," then wishes me luck and leaves the room. The nurse explains the biopsy process to me and, with surprisingly very little wheeling and dealing on my part, convinces the clinic to conduct the biopsy that afternoon.

I am at the clinic for a few more hours for the biopsy and another mammogram, but thankfully do not see the deaf woman again. She scared me to the core.

When I left the clinic, I was told that it would take until at least Thursday afternoon to receive the results. So when I received a call from the GP's office on Wednesday afternoon, I knew in my gut that the news was not going to be good.

Even so, it was still a sucker punch in gut when the doctor said, "I'm sorry, but you have cancer." She talked to me for about five minutes before getting Ricardo from the waiting room, but I don't remember anything that she said.

All I could hear in my head was: I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer.

And then: This is bullshit. I have an Oregon Cup bike race on Sunday. I can't have cancer.

And then I cried. A lot. In Ricardo's arms in the doctor's office, in the car ride home, as I wrote the email informing my team and my friends, in bed as I tossed and turned for most of the night.

I woke up yesterday with a well-deserved hangover, but haven't cried since then. There has just been to much to do and to think about.

I met with the surgeon yesterday morning and she was able to firm down the diagnosis (stage 1/invasive ductal cancer) and lay out my treatment options. The growth is about the size and shape of a round almond and very close to the nipple and the surface of my skin. I have decided to wait for the rest of the lab results and for the results of an MRI on Sunday morning before making any big decisions.

My first big choice will be whether to keep the breast. Much of that will depend on whether the lab results show that the growth is one that is estrogen sensitive and whether the MRI shows that the cancer has creeped toward the other ducts in my breast or toward the lymph nodes. Both of which are real possibilities given the location and size of the growth.

I never had much of an opinion one way or another about my boobs until now. When I was a teenager I hated that they were small, but then loved that they were small once I started endurance racing. The only trouble they have ever given me is the pain I inflicted upon them when I had my nipples pierced twelve years ago.

But now, the idea of losing my left one breaks my heart.

There are sprinklings of blessings and good news. First, Stage 1 is good. Well, its as good as stupid fucking cancer is ever allowed to be. I did some research and women my age with stage 1 breast cancer have a 90% long term survival rate. My guess is that most of that 90% aren't as cantankerous and downright hostile to inconveniences as I am. So I feel like I'm in pretty good shape.

Second, I can continue to ride my bike and train until surgery, which will probably be in about a week and a half. I would actually be racing at BB on Sunday if it weren't for the fact that my MRI is scheduled for the exact same time as the start of the Cat 1/2/3 race. And that was probably my last chance to race for a few months. So I guess I will have to concede the Oregon Cup battle to someone else this year. Consider yourselves lucky, ladies (wink wink).

Third, I have received so much support from my friends and family that it is positively (pun intended) overwhelming. I'm actually taking this morning just to be alone and not only absorb the diagnosis in peace, but to take the time to process all of the words of support, advice and referrals.

I have promised many people that I will keep them posted on the process and my progress, and I will do most of it on this blog. But feel free to contact me privately on email, Facebook or IM. I am not much of a phone talker, but calls are also welcome, just know that I am typically slow to respond to my voice mail.

Thank you all for your love, support and prayers. If you get a chance, please direct a bit of that good feeling to my family, Ricardo, my FT and my Hammer Velo teammates. They will also need your love and support in the next few months.

I am not taking this interruption to my racing plans lightly. Cancer picked the wrong racer to fuck with.

-LK

And So It Begins.

"Are you ready to race?"

The Mexican asks me as we sit at an outdoor cafe on the main street of Santa Barbara. It's Friday, sunny and I've had a few glasses of wine. The latter is making me a little slow on the uptake and I initially think that the question has to do with reaching the bottom of the glass in front of me.

"Like right now or in general?"

He gives me a look that suggests that I exercise some common sense.

I shrug.

"I suppose."

Motivation to race is hard to come by right now. I'm not sure if its the product of the mileage we did in California or my preoccupation with things other than bike racing. The road race season opener was three days ago. We were on a plane. I haven't even bothered to check the results page to see who won my race.

Because I simply don't care.

Not caring, ironically, has become a source of anxiety. It feels like burn-out and I haven't even lined up to race yet.

We did some great rides in Santa Barbara. Lots of up, up, up and many spectacular vistas. We visited the gate of Neverland Ranch, cruised past wineries featured in the movie Sideways and spent time at the summit of Gibraltar Road, which, at the time, felt like the top of the world.

As predicted, I had good legs for two rides. Sunday's 70-mile Lake Casitas Loop and the 93-mile epic slogfest up Gibraltar to Solvang and back up Hwy 101. But the climbing legs were on vacation by the time we did the Neverland Ranch Ride on Wednesday and I skipped the second Gibralter ascent on Thursday due to a splitting headache and quads so sore that they were tender to the touch.

Instead, R and I stayed in the foothills, stopping for coffee in Carpenteria and for a photo op at the Santa Barbara Pier.

This was our vacation ride. The ride where I finally started to relax and enjoy the week away from Portland. No worrying about nutrition, start times, flat tires, route maps or keeping the group together. Just me, my man and two wheels. It was a little bit of heaven. Too bad it was our last day on the bike.

Calling training camps "vacations" is a misnomer. To me, vacations mean relaxation. Peace. Quiet. A chance to slow down and be still. To eat slow and ride slower (if riding at all). Vacations do not involve the constant juggling of personalities, jockeying for hot showers and predicting of food preferences. Vacation is not exhausting. And I am exhausted.

So I sit here at my desk feeling like I need a vacation from my "vacation." But instead I print off OBRA waivers and send out carpooling emails. Sublimity is on Saturday and I need to find out whether my current ambivalence is more serious than a sort of cyclist's Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Launch

Hey all-

I'm trying my hand at writing something interesting about something other than biking...check out my new venture at:

http://bto4.blogspot.com/

2010

I haven't blogged in awhile, mostly because I'm spending that time wrapped up in other people's blogs. Reading 2009 recaps, lists of 2010 goals, dieting tips, training revelations.

[The sound of my head finally popping at about 10AM yesterday.]

Enough already.

Personally, I don't have much to say about 2009 than that which has already been said. But it can be summarized like this:

2009. Raced fast. Burned out hard.

It was a good year, no doubt about that. I won OBRA's Category 4 Women's Best All-Around Rider Award. Which is pretty cool, considering that I only raced as a Cat 4 until April and none of my Cyclocross results counted toward that point total. I received a beautiful glass plaque and considered the occasion momentous enough that I wore a dress and nylons to the awards banquet.

I read a few good cycling books during my post-Nationals time off and all of them had one piece of advice in common: Set goals.

At first, I really struggled with the goal setting process because I was primarily focused on cycling. And focusing primarily on cycling was exceptionally boring. And unsatisfying.

So I came up with a theme for 2010: Balance. I need to bring balance to my life. (Duh, you say.)

Last year I pretty much had racing on the brain 24/7. That intensive focus was good for me at the time because it allowed me to re-direct a lot of the anger and anxiety from my personal life toward the training and racing.

This year there are other items that need some serious TLC. First and foremost, my work life. And, on the other side of the same coin, my soul. The two really aren't aligning at all. I am STUCK.

And then there is this new relationship. I am dating this wonderful man that deserves a content and dynamic partner, not one being held back by insecurities and indecision.

My goals list would be incomplete if it didn't touch on all of these areas.

Without further ado, "Goals."

1. Develop, and stick to, a training plan that in corporates a lot of recovery. If I swung too far on the over-training side last year, I'm going to swing in the other direction this year. Race less, take weekends off to travel and sleep. See what happens. I figure that it'll be a few seasons before I develop a yearly routine that works for me.

2. Stretch as much as possible.

3. More water, less coffee. (So far, EPIC FAIL).

4. More reading and writing, less TV.

5. Improve food competency. And accept that this doesn't mean becoming a gourmet. To that end, R and I are taking a cooking class next month and he's agreed to let me do some garden experimentation in his back yard (where it won't be visible to the neighbors).

6. Write two blog entries per week. One here and one on a new site that will discuss the other things that I am passionate about, but never make their way to race reports.

7. Produce webisode with FT. We've already drafted two scripts , and she has the connections to get them produced. Even if no one else thinks we are hilarious, at least we do.

8. Network.

9. Find a writing mentor.

10. Take chances. Being risk adverse is paralyzing me, both professionally and creatively. Its eating away at my self-image and its got to stop.

11. Redefine what it means, for me, to be a lawyer.

So that's about it. I can't decide whether its too much or not enough. Too specific or too vague.

[Head popping again.]

Or maybe I should just quit waste time judging the list and get on with doing it.

Over and Out.

Build It!

The Portland Bicycle Plan for 2030 outlines the future of cycling in Portland for the next 20 years. And it is up for a vote before the Portland City Council on February 4th. If adopted, funded and built, it will:

* Attract new riders
* Strengthen policies
* Build a denser bikeway network
* Increase bicycle parking
* Expand programs to support bicycling
* Increase funding for bicycle facilities

But it is just a document unless the City Council approves the plan, funds the plan, and ultimately builds the Portland Bike Network.

The Portland Bicycle Plan is the single best opportunity to improve the conditions for cycling in Portland, and the Bicycle Transportation Alliance needs help to get the plan approved.

Show your support for the Portland Bicycle Plan and help us BUILD IT.

Nationals Race Report (or "Why Skinsuit Photos are the Best Motivation to Start Winter Training")

Yawn. This is what I get for waiting to write my Nationals race report a month after the fact. Just thinking about cyclocross is making me tired. Or maybe its the fact that the onset of road training means frog-hopping and lunging to China at 5:45 AM, twice a week. Either way, I'm exhausted.

Nationals. What can I say....Bend sure knows how to throw a bike race/party. I felt like my weekend was two parts ice, four parts skinsuit and ten parts beer.

I had a serious sit-down with myself on the drive to Bend about goals and expectations for the race. Up to that point the goal was "don't be last" and the expectation was "get ass kicked." Health issues had waylayed some of my November training. General burnout took care of the rest. In short, I wasn't fit and definitely was not motivated.

The Mexican rightly pointed out that this wasn't exactly best attitude when approaching "the most prestigious event on the cyclocross calendar." I agreed, looked at the preliminary start list for my race, and, accordingly, changed my goals to "race strong through to the finish" and "finish in the top half" and expectations to "freeze ass off in skinsuit" and "start drinking immediately after the race."

The Course.

My evaluation of the course is this: it would have been fun without the ice. Not to say it would have been a good course for me, but it would have been fun. Because I am a bit of a beast, I like courses with longer climbs and straight sections where I can get up to speed. This course had very few of those and, because of the course conditions, involved a lot of slowing down to corner safely, then trying to power back up as quickly as possible. I'm not bad at this (when in shape), but as I had done more beer drinking than training in the previous three weeks...well, it was tough.

There was also a lot of ice. I suffered two spectacular crashes during my pre-ride Once on my own on a grassy, iced-over off-camber section and once after getting tangled up with some hotshot that thought it would be a good idea to race a hot lap while there were at least 150 other riders on the course. By the time I had finished two test laps, I had dented my brand new helmet, torn a hole in my knee warmers and was so crabby that the only thing that motivated me to get on the trainer was the $120 dollars I had paid to put myself through this.

The Warm-Up.

My warm-up literally involved trying to warm up. It was about 33 degrees in the sun and there was no escape from the wind. I sat on my trainer for 20-30 minutes, wearing four layers and visualizing palm trees. After 15 minutes, I actually began to sweat and made one good faith effort to get my heart rate above 150. Then I sat in the car with Anna and drank a warm can of Coke.

The Gear.

This is the one thing I got totally right at Nationals. I was really comfortable during the race.

• 1 Fleece-lined cyclocross skinsuit. Functional, yet not designed to be flattering in a size Large.
• 1 Descente sleeveless baselayer. Purchased at a discount store in Seattle for $5.99. I think the the tag was supposed to read $25.99, but my job is not to make sure your inventory is priced correctly.
  
• 2 pairs latex gloves. One pair under socks and one pair under gloves. This was the smartest addition to my wardrobe. My skin was clammy and disgusting underneath the latex after the race, but I had no problems with my feet or hands getting cold.
• 1 pair castelli windproof gloves. I had never raced in these, but was glad that I had packed them after I realized that the Gore winter gloves I wanted to use were both for the left hand. I promptly texted Mindy to tell her I had solved her Gore right glove problem from last April.
  
• 1 pair Smartwool socks.
  
• Hincapie fleece-lined knee warmers.
  
• 1 fleece headband.
• 1 dented helmet.
• The Franco Pellozoti Glasses.
  
• Specialized Tri-Cross with 34" tires borrowed from a teammate.

(Photo Credit: Dad.)

Pimp.

The Race.

Pre-race and the first 30 seconds of the race were a series of debacles that, in the end, had no effect on the outcome of the race. First, I realized as we were staging that my back tire was flat. Big thanks to Benno for loaning me the back wheel of his pit bike (because it was tubular and awesome, I borrowed it for the entire race) and perfecting the shifting before letting me ride off.

Second, because USA Cycling required me to race as a Cat 4, I was lined up in the boondocks and was right behind a three-rider pile-up that occurred within ten feet of the start line. I was able to get around it and, because the course bottle-necked at 100 meters, I caught back on quickly.

(Photo Credit: Dave Roth)

And proceeded to have a great race, despite one major crash in the second lap and a fall in the fourth lap that put me out of contact with the group that finished 16th-20th. I worked hard for the entire five laps, including a sprint to the finish that, had I stood up just a second sooner, would have scored me one more place.

(Photo Credit: Dad. Starting the third lap of five.)

(Photo Credit: Dad)

The second lap mishap occurred on a slick corner coming out of the pit. I took a bad line, the bike slid out from underneath me and the right brake hood smacked me right in the mouth. Sort of felt like the bike was back-handing me for expecting it to function properly in December. For the next two laps I kept checking for blood, but all I ended up with was a dirt smear above my lip that closely resembled Hitler's mustache.

(Photo Credit: Dad. Note Awesome Dirt Mustache and More Awesome "Shouldering" Technique.)

On the fourth lap I fell at the base of the stair-step run-up. There was a patch of ice on the left side. I knew this because I had already fallen there once. But I was in the process of trying to pass two riders that I had worked for ten minutes to catch and I wanted to try and get one of them on the stairs. She took the right, I went left. My right ankle turned and I ended up on my ass and facing the course backwards.

When I stood up, my right foot wasn't working because my ankle had popped out of joint. This isn't as painful as it sounds, as injuries sustained from high school basketball has left me with few ligaments to damage. The sprain hurt, but I was able to knock the joint back into place by whacking my foot on the bottom stair.

(Photo Credit: Dad. Wincing in pain a bit after the ankle incident.)

I was up and running again, but lost contact with the two riders that I had worked so hard to catch.


(Photo Credit: Dad. Trying to make up some ground in the last lap.)

Then there was another lap, some sprinting, then the 2009 racing season was OVER.

Jeff had a flask of Bailey's and whiskey waiting for me.

Mission accomplished.

(Photo Credit: Dad)

I finished 22nd out of 44 or 45 riders. I'm really happy to have met my goal, but more excited that I was comfortably in the top 20 for most of the race. Crashing happens (to some of us more than others), but knowing that a top 20 finish is a legitimate goal for next year will be motivating when September 2010 rolls around.

Finally, Caught Up: Barton and USGP

In order to meet my goal of catching up on race reports before Nationals, I bring you my run-downs of the Cross Crusade Finale at Barton Park and USGP Day #2.

Barton: My first A race. There were two major things to fret about (because I always have to fret about something). First, sixty minutes of cross racing. Second, not crashing in front of, or otherwise interfering with, any of the A men.

This is the closest I'd be to the rest of the field for the entire race. See those ladies in the front? They win National Championships. See me? There I am, in the back:

My position would not improve over the course of the race.

I ride fast first laps. For better or worse, its sort of my thing. I rode the hardest first lap of my season and was still spit off the back, as in waaaaaay off the back, within a half of a lap. Those ladies are on such a different level that it may as well be another galaxy.

Barton is a course that you either love or loathe. Personally, even though I sustained a concussion and dislocated thumb here three years ago, I am fond of this course. Two years ago, Barton was the first B race where I didn't get pulled a lap early and it was my best race last season.

The course, in my mind, was divided into three parts. The gravel pits (80% of the course), the paved parking lot (18%) and the crazy whoop-dee lunatic mud single track and run-up that connect the two.

There were a couple of tricky sections. The aforementioned single track and a slick, off-camber downhill that had racked up a huge body count during the earlier races. I had spooked badly, three times, on this section of the course in the morning and hadn't ridden it. But this was the A race...I'd have to at least try and ride it during the race. Or risk being ejected to the beginner men. Even though they had changed the course after the pre-rides to make it less dangerous, I was not looking forward to the prospect of tumbling tits-over-ass in front of at least five dozen onlookers.

Turns out, I rode it cleanly six times (we'll get back to the "six" thing in a minute). In fact, I rode the whole race cleanly. Not gracefully, or quickly, but cleanly.

What eventually killed me were the run-ups. I was right with Margi for most of the first three laps, until the effort of trying to keep up with her on the run-ups finally wore me down. Margi is tiny and someone who has placed top five in the Portland Marathon or something equally impressive. In a run-up battle between mountain goats and monster trucks, the mountain goats will always win.

When we hit the places where I would normally be stronger (the straightaways and pavement) I was out of gas from the running. So, as much as I hated to do so, I let her go and concentrated on keeping a steady pace for the next 35 minutes.

If I haven't gotten this point across already, sixty minutes of cyclocross is a lot of goddamned cyclocross. The second time up the finish line run-up, the lap card read six laps to go.

My first thought: You have to be fucking kidding me.

My second thought: I just may throw my bike at someone.

Granted, six laps for the A men probably meant only four more for me, but still, we're talking about a race where I would usually only race four laps to begin with.

The last two laps were equally hard and hilarious. Hard in that I had little gumption left, but had to keep racing. Hilarious in that I was constantly berating my legs to keeping working. And they were constantly laughing in my face.

(Probably the only time I stood for the last half of the race.)

(Unable to hide how I really feel about racing an extra 20 minutes.)

In the end, I wasn't last and it felt good to ride a technically sound race. I didn't get lapped by my own field and didn't crash in front of anyone. And, for the little things that make me happy, I picked the right tire pressure and wore the right glasses:

(Green Rudy Project glasses: Esthetically atrocious, but perfect for the overcast conditions).

Barton was followed by two race-less weekends. It was glorious. I slept in, ingested a lot of junk calories, rode as much (or as little) as I wanted and helped R paint the interior of his new house.

USGP: Having recently become of bit of a cheapskate, I had decided in October to only race one of the USGP races and skip the Elite race in favor of the Singlespeed race. Not too much to say about this one other than (1) It was cold (2) I was severely under-geared and (3) some of the out of town B racers were total assholes.

(1) It was cold. Like 32 degrees with a wind chill of 32 degrees minus a bunch of other degrees. Because my body overheats so easily, this was the first time I had raced in my cross skinsuit, which is fleece lined and had previously only been used to commute in the rain when I hadn't done laundry for a few days.

For gear, I went with a wool sleeveless baselayer, thick wool socks, fleece lined knee warmers, windstopper gloves over embrocated hands and the skinsuit. Used a cotton cap, but kept my ears uncovered and used a heavy layer of Born #2 emobrocation on my legs, back and shoulders. This combination worked, pretty well but I should have also embrocated my feet right before the race. My toes were hovering on the border of "extremely uncomfortable" and "painful" by the end of the race. Going to have to adjust the strategy for the arctic conditions in Bend.

(2) I did a horrible job of picking the right gear on the Specialized. Mostly because I was lazy and cold. I think I just settled on 46 x 19 or 46 x 21. Whatever it was, it sucked. I was spinning at about 150 RPM on the pavement and packed dirt. And this course had a lot of pavement and packed dirt.

(3) Don't be an asshole. We're all out there to have fun...yelling at people to get out of your way is lame. I doubt that you will miss out on your opportunity for pro sponsorship following this extremely prestigious B race if you display a little courtesy.

There were at least five women in the race. Lindsay Jones was long gone after the pavement, the Signal rider crashed, but caught me again at some point and finished right in front of me. I spent the entire race chasing Anna and a Cucina Fresca rider. I'd catch them in the technical sections and they would ride away from me on the pavement. Lucky for me, the technical section was the second half of the course. My grandma touring gearing allowed me to climb the hills that they were forced to run and I was able to spin fast enough on the pavement to hold a small lead at the end.

Photos here, here and here from Cascade Event Photography.

Awesome Skinsuit Shot Courtesy of Oregon Velo:

There were seven HV riders in the SS race...I don't think we had an entry in any other race. Here is a good shot of some of the boys:


And Chris remounting in style:


And Bryan doing what he does best:

Although I could have easily been convinced to skip this race and stay in bed for an extra hour, I'm glad I did it. It was fun to line up with the menfolk. My legs needed the wake-up call before Nationals and my body needed to experience the shock of racing in freezing conditions. I fell twice, but am calling the race a clean race as both spills were caused to avoid a crash in front of me, not by a handling error.

It's been a lazy week. Unseasonably cold temperatures have driven most of us inside to get those last few workouts in before "the big race."

I have two goals: (1) Enjoy the experience and (2) Don't finish last. We will see how that plan works out.

See you in Bend. BRRRRRRRRR!