The Return of the Race Report

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.

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. 

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. 

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.  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(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.  The podcast can be found here.) 

Bikes! Dirt! Hot Flashes!

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.

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.

I've also decided to ride, and fund raise for, the Echelon Gran Fondo on September 26.    Go here to donate.  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." 

---

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. 

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. 

---

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. 

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. 

I'm going to need a twelve step program for Beaverton overdose by the time all of this is over with.

Some Shameless Self Promotion, and Some Om.

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. 

Here is Heather's article. 

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 list from the naturopath on the refrigerator, ate my first dose of mega-protein and went for a walk.  

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.

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.

Without further ado:  My accountability list. 

Eating:  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.  

Right now, I'm big on smoothies, green tea, meal salads and anything with quinoa.

As far as recipe resources, I get many of mine from Sunset magazine, MIX magazine, Real Simple,

Elana's Pantry, and Jamie Oliver cookbooks. 

Exercise:  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. 

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.

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. 

Acupuncture: 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. 

Massage:  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. 

Yoga:  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.

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. 

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.

Reiki:  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 Wikipedia. 

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. 

------

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. 

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.

Me, 7. Chemo, 1.

How did almost three weeks come to pass since my last blog post?

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cheers.

Health Update for June-uary

(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.)

Enough with the recent existential whining.  Here is the latest on the nuts and bolts cancer stuff.

First, congratulations to me for hitting my 100 day mark as a cancer survivor.  On my 33rd birthday, no less. 

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. 

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.  

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.

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 last summer, 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.  

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:

The Franken-eye.

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.

----

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.

Re-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:

"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."

The mysteries of core identity. Who am I anyway?

I might not be having long conversations in the mirror, but I sure have been talking to myself a lot lately.

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.

Being diagnosed with cancer was like having my existing slate wiped almost completely clean. Which is simultaneously a blessing and a curse.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Advice...anyone?

Oh, Lance.

I bet if you own a bike, you have an opinion about Lance Armstrong.

Just in case you have nothing better to read this afternoon, here's mine.

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. 

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.   

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.

I get all that.

What I don't get is what to think about Lance and doping.  Here's why.  He's a survivor.

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. 

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. 

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.  

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.

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. 

Oh, Lance.  

----

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. 

So I'm suspending judgment for the time being and am planning to support the efforts of the Lance Armstrong  Foundation by riding the Tour des Chutes 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.