Accidental Semi-Fame.

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. 

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.

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. 

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.   

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. 

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. 

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.  

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. 

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.

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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. 

So here it is:  my second appearance on the Herald and News Sports Section front page.  The full article can be found here.  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.  

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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. 

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 Bend and was the highest placed American at the Tour de France this year),

I am halfway to my goal and need help from my friends and family.  If you would like to donate to help stomp cancer , you can do so online at this link.

Cycle.....Well...Cycle!

First, the big news.  I rode outside yesterday. For the first time in 45 days. 

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 Tri-Cross for summer riding and Cycle Oregon.  

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:  Tektro cyclocross brakes. It should not be that f-ing hard to (1) undo the brake arms and (2) adjust the brakes to eliminate rub.   

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. 

Anyways.  Breathe. 

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 Springwater Corridor headwinds? Who knows.

The first 15 seconds were a total rush.  My legs literally went:

What??

What?!

What!!

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.  

It was like my soul was coming out of hibernation.  

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.

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Second piece of news.  I'm shaving my head today.  

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.)

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.

So today's the day. 

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. 

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).  

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.  

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.  

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 CocoPuffs, the staring will stop in a more timely manner. 

My life is already one big lab experiment.  I might as well make it an entertaining one.

 

New Bike AND New Ink

First, the new ink. Courtesy of Traci at Infinity.

And the new ride:
Specialized Ruby Pro, SRAM Red component group. At 15.14 pounds, it weighs in at less than Jake. Total bike-gasm up in here right now.

Thoughts?

This is what I'm thinking of adding to my bike collection: A 2009 Specialized Ruby Pro SRAM.And maybe one of these. I'm still a bit ambivalent about track, all things considered. But I can always get the frame and sell it later if I decide that the velodrome is not in the cards for me this year.

Is There a 12-step Program For Bike Addicts?

All of us have had moments on our life when we realize that we have changed, having not known that the change was taking place until the transformation was complete.

Over the of course the last year I have turned into a junkie cyclist. Not a simply a bike racer, cyclocrosser or commuter. A crazy addicted cyclist, through and through.

There were some noticeable symptoms:

-A bike collection that grows on an average of 1 bike per 8 months. Its at five at this point-- kona steel road bike, kona cross bike, steel singlespeed cross bike, carbon kuota TT bike and my newest baby-the pink specialized full suspension mountain bike. This winter will probably see the addition of a track bike and perhaps, if the price is right, a carbon race bike.

-The most expensive shoes I have ever owned are the carbon-soled road shoes I bought after losing feeling in my feet during the State Championship crit.

-After years of posturing that I would NEVER do a road race...I did two in one weekend.

-I religiously get up at 5:30AM to train and will ride through North Portland in the dark and in a monsoon to get to intervals, all in order to finish mid-pack in local bike races.

-I haven't been shopping for work clothes in months and haven't bought a pair of non-cycling shoes in over a year. However, my winter and rain gear collection is growing at a rate of 1.4 items per week.

-I make up excuses to ride my bike to work, even when taking the bus would be quicker and more practical.

-All of my friends are junkies. I fall sleep every night with a junkie.

Despite all of this, the Aha! moment took place only a week ago, as I was sitting at my desk looking out at a dreary drizzly Portland November afternoon. I looked first at the stack of work steadily piling up on my desk. Then at my happy orange Kona and my rain jacket, finally dry from my morning commute. And then thought, this would be a perfect time for a bike ride.

I rode up to the top of Mt. Tabor, did a few slow repeats and rode back to downtown. In the pouring rain. Smiling a crazy junkie smile the entire time.

New Addition to My Family

I will be rolling up on a new (i.e., safe) rig at the Cross Crusade Wilsonville Race, thanks to the boys at Sellwood Cycles, who are going to strip the Redline Demolition Derby Bike and put the components on this:

Yahoo!

AwwwwwwwYeaaah. New Biiiiiiiiike.

Smokin. Pink. Kuota.

An old picture, but for those of you who haven't seen it, this is the still unnamed speed machine. Yes, that is a pink seat and pink bar tape. It now also sports pink pedals, pink water bottle cages and a pink bento box. You wish you could be this sexy. Pink bike + bulgarian wrestler tri-tard=I'm going to rock your ass on the bike.

I Need a New Name

Apparently my family, along with Seth, Jen and Doug, have been conspiring for some time to purchase a time trial bike to surprise me on my 30th birthday. The surprise was ruined when I expressed increased interest in purchasing a used bike. So here it is (or at least it will resemble this when it arrives and is built). My very own 2007 Kuota K-Factor.

Full Ultegra, Ksyrium wheelset, 12X27 cassette, compact crank AND a pink seat, pink bar tape, pink pedals and a pink bento box. It'll be the sexiest damn thing you've ever laid eyes on. I really wanted pink carbon bottle cages, but they don't make those. Come on folks, pink carbon is a huge untapped market. As are pink timing chip straps, which I've also been trying to locate (to match my new pink racing belt).

Needless to say I'm both exceptionally stoked and grateful for this surprising turn of events. Now I just need to come up with a name for this magnificent creature. All suggestions welcome.

In sadder news, it appears that the Pacific Crest 1/2 Ironman bicycle course will not contain the 10 mile climb that I love so much that I want to run away with and marry it: Mt. Bachelor. Instead, the course appears to be relatively flat. This will require a change in training strategy and a commitment to do the damn race again in 2008.

The Yellow Hornet

Welcome to my grand experiment to creatively channel my obsession with triathlon, cycling and cyclocross into a project that doesn't interfere with my billable hours requirement.

My name is Lindsay Kandra and I am a 29 year old attorney living, working and training in Portland, Oregon. I began competing in triathlons in 2003 to procrastinate from studying for the Oregon Bar Exam. I didn't even own a road bike until two weeks before my first race. Three years later I am the proud owner of two wetsuits, four pairs of cycling shoes, two defunct heart rate monitors, thirteen pairs of rank running shoes, cycling jackets of a dozen different weights and levels of water resistance, zoomers, at least twenty race bibs, a bottomless supply of espresso-flavored energy gels and the Yellow Hornet.

This is the Yellow Hornet. Also known as the "most dysfunctional bike ever allowed in the Allied Aerospace Wind Tunnel:"

The Hornet is most famous for destroying its own back derailleur at mile 4 of the 2005 Pacific Crest Olympic Triathlon. It has munched 2 back derailleurs since that time. The only original component is the front crank; it is a triple that I was too scared to give up for grinding up the back side of Mt. Bachelor at Pacific Crest 2006.

The Hornet is an ornery lass that whines from her bottom bracket anytime forced to go over 16 MPH. Which is basically all of the time.

I still ride the Hornet as I have expensive taste, and, despite the common misperception that lawyers are made of money, I cannot yet afford a replacement. Although I have been accused of keeping the Hornet so that I will always have something to complain about, that is a vicious rumor. In fact, I continue to ride it so that I can have the dubious distinction of riding a bike that is worth less than my race wheels and because I am holding out for the year Orbea releases a hot pink time trial frame.

I hope to use this blog to not only keep myself entertained, but to provide valuable information to my Team in Training mentees and give my race reports a permanent home.

Happy (Indoor) Training-

LRK