This thing on?!

2008 Susan G. Komen Walk/ Run

Hello? Anyone there? It's me, Melinda. Hello? Oh wait! These things never work unless you plug them in. Hold on. Just a second. There we go! Okay, I think that is better. I feel like I have been on a writing hiatus, too busy to bother with random life updates but all the while, I write in my mind and have the hundreds of files to prove it. I am back...with nimble, quick fingers and blistering thoughts.


Whew! I wish I could say my own hiatus was some philosophical removal of my hobby from my hands to cleanse my soul or discover my inner youth; however, my life is much more uneventful than that. I would describe these passing months as going from zero to sixty in milliseconds. The mere G Force alone was such that I was lucky to keep my skin intact and eyelids working. Work took its toll testing every hour I had in a day, bending the parameters of sleep into new dimensions. The holidays flew by with an assortment of decorations, meals, friends and pet love. Finally, I think I have been able to strike a balance between my home and office that carves more distance than a mere 11-miles.

When the New Year came, I refused to declare any resolutions on a"to-do" list as so often I have found resolutions require a list of excuses when you do not accomplish them. Instead, I thought about focusing on one aspect of my life and that was to ENJOY it. As usual, I was quickly reminded that I am not in control of this life I drive. My friend, former co-worker, career confidant, Judi Olsen (Cooper) gave her life fighting cancer this past week and with a few text messages and Facebook updates, I was thrust into a world of feelings and loss that I was not ready for. Judi, cannot be described in the usual terms associated with many cancer patients. The best way to discuss Judi is as a fighter and one hell of a lady.

Caner is not a new word to me. Like so many others on this planet, I came to know cancer in my early childhood, first with my great grandmother and again in adulthood with my grandfather. There are days when I try to recall their presence in my life and I can see their faces and hear their voices. Both persons were pivotal in my life but honestly, they were not fighters...not like Judi. Judi took her diagnosis by the horns, grasping them with white knuckles and punched cancer in the face, defying odds and diagnosis like no other. Every step was some new accomplishment even noted by doctors. Just standing with her for a few moments, you could feel nothing but pure awesomeness.

In this self centered, uncaring world, Judi embodied what it meant to be a giver. All through her battle, she gave more to others than herself. She gave hugs, smiles, laughter, and hope all wrapped with a huge bow. She convinced us all that she was not going anywhere. If there is anything that can stop you in your tracks...if there is such a thing as a wake-up call...this is it. Judi lived life, fighting, pushing, and never giving up. No matter what odds were scrolled across a doctors note, a computer screen or survivor’s cancer blog...Judi ignored all these things to carve out the most unique path a person can make...her own. Judi did not care for being a victim or a patient. She was Judi and although she had breast cancer, she did not declare loss, ever.

None of us ever believed she would not be here. We called her, emailed her, and read her blog all the while believing she would never leave us. I am now reminded of what my grandfathers oncologist once said…”Cancer is hungry and it never stops feeding.” So while Judi continued to give to all of us, while she continued to fill us with hope…Cancer continued its savage feeding on her body. I would never tell you that Judi lost her battle. She won. You only lose when you are defeated and as I hugged her last week and felt her arms clutch my neck, pull me in close, and truly grasp my body, I knew she was not defeated.

Grief is humbling. It doesn't matter how strong you think you are or how thick of a skin you show off to others, grief seeps inside and hurts. While bouncing from various stages of my own grief, I have been reminded that few things matter in this life except passion for what you do, happiness with yourself, and leaving the driving to someone else.

I don't like being late

People who know me will confirm my general punctuality. I hate that feeling realizing that there may be others waiting on ME. I do not like shuffling quickly looking disheveled to meet someone. I am generally an early person. This dates back to my infant years. I teethed early, potty trained early, walked 3 months early, began reading before Kindergarten. Why? Because I do not like to be late and apparently I did not like this feeling even before I had a true concept of time.

I have a great amount of appreciation and respect for cycling. I can say without a doubt that cycling is that ONE thing that can actually wear me out. It is that one thing that I constantly have to work on. So when I decided to race, it seemed natural except for one thing: I'm late. (Hopefully, you read the first paragraph to understand this is NOT what I like).

When I get on the line, a lot of the women around me have been racing for years...some since childhood. There are those few who have not raced that much...here...there...maybe one, two or three races a year. There are others who have not missed a race and thankfully to an imaginary pot of gold, a wealthy spouse, never ending trust fund, or lucky scratch off lottery ticket, they can afford a cycling lifestyle of leisure, travel and training. Then, there is myself...a self-proclaimed weekend warrior that trains when I can but it's only so I can finish a race...not because I expect to be the next pro women's racer in Louisville, Kentucky. The level of dedication and skill to attain that is quite a bit out of reach.

You would think having a cycling b/f would be an asset. He's got years of experience and certainly the love for the sport. Just imagine all the idle tips I hear on our rides together...all the useful examples, the cheering at a race. Well...reality is...he is completely and utterly burned out on cycling. If he were a candle there would be no wick left to burn. He has the time and the talent but since we have been dating, we have actually had (2) rides together. Of course, if I asked him for advice, he would always leave it up to my choice anyway. Again...the consequences of being late.

I know what you are thinking...."man, she is biiitchy today"...and it's not about being bitchy. I would NEVER have clipped my foot to a pedal unless I didn't want to. I generally make up my mind to do something...and do it. I rarely wait around for others to give me approval or switch an imaginary green light. I go. I do it. I try it.

I just have to wonder what it would be like sometimes if I had started this 10-years earlier...thank goodness they have not invented time machines. I would be in one in a minute if I could. C'mon Willy Wonka...help a girl out.

Maybe next year...

Racing through the beach...

All the talk leading up to this weekend was about the USGP. Louisville finally opened the cyclocross dedicated course overlooking the Ohio River and people were so anxious to get their tubulars out there they could taste the fresh sod planted firmly between their teeth. One month ago...I think I remember being pretty excited to ride the Green Monster...which EVERYONE talks about. (FYI: The Green Monster is NOT a real, live monster, it is actually a stair case followed by a steep slope that you must run up carrying your bike, remount, and ride down--NO real monsters are every harmed during this race). This is always noted as one of the hardest races of the season.

However, life, as it does, got in the way, smack dab in the middle of my training (how dare you life!). My job requires that I work long days and sometimes this interrupts my training. You cannot do a cyclocross race without some training throughout the week. If you attempt to do this because you believe that you are some star athlete, a true badass blessed with amazing physical strength, I promise, you will F-A-I-L. You MUST practice for cyclocross racing or the only thing you will see on the start line are the rears of others pulling out in front of you leaving you in a cloud of dust.

The new course has definitely been the carrot dangling in front of cyclists for weeks now. We have seen all the bulldozers, volunteers and signs going in. We are one of the ONLY cities in the country with a cyclocross course. As I became a spectator on Saturday, I realized very quickly, this course is nothing to laugh at. The sandpit is actually a replica of Myrtle Beach (not really but some people said it felt like it) as it stretched on for quite a distance. The run ups nearly required mountaineering supplies and if I thought it were just my imagination....even some of the pro's dismounted to get to the top of this thing. So, if I doubted myself for even a second believing that I could have rode the course cold and unprepared...within 10-minutes of watching the first few races, I realized I made the right choice and saved myself excruciating embarrassment and pain.

Cyclists feel the need to give VERY elaborate excuses as to why they are not racing especially when confronted by other cyclists (gulp!). There is a lot of pressure to perform for yourself, your teammates and others.  However, I did not even have the strength to do that (nor the desire). I could have feigned illness, injury or even emotional distress but I opted for honesty instead...saying, "I didn't want to." There is something to be said about being a spectator not having the pressure to warm up, race, and then recover. My Sunday ride was a true training ride with repeats, sprints, and delicate spinning to close out the 2.0+ hour ride. It's just a hobby afterall...

Cyclocross turns you into a D&^%!

Forget excited happy cheering faces as you lap your way through some manmade obstacle nightmare frought with ruts, potholes, walnuts and natural log crossings! Forget about people smiling and wishing you well telling you how good you look or reminding you that you can make it across the finish. Those fans are rare and for the most part…DO NOT EXIST! Cyclocross racing is about being a real a$$ (insert other derogatory body part here) to all your friends (the term "friend" is subjective meaning they may be real friends or only weird stalker types you have accepted a request from on Facebook). Even if you are in first place with a 20-second gap on the nearest contender…you will likely hear something to the effect of “STOP SUCKING!” or “You are going to get lapped!” as you try to maintain your lead. This robust and barbaric activity is not limited to the fans…it is accepted as part of the cyclocross culture on and off the race course.



Smack talking starts with the sound of the whistle

Not actual commentary but somewhat close...  

If I had to trace the origins of such banter, I would say it was a bunch of Vikings. Basically when I think of anything barbaric....I think of Vikings so that's how I relate the two. Who else but a group of bearded burly men hell bent on proving their manhood could only have conjured up the carnage, pain, and dire stress one voluntarily puts their body through called cyclocross. Okay, the Vikings had absolutely NOTHING to do with cyclocross but you have to admit, it would be really bad a$$ if they did.


The cyclocross scene is a menagerie of odd personality types from the happy go lucky family guy with wife, 2-3 super cute kids in tow, and a dog wagging his/ her tail to the hardcore biker guy who drove over 4 hours to race and hour and will probably sleep in his car before hitting the road back home to eat a can of Spaghetti O's he has had in his trunk for a week. He will not smile or talk to anyone because he must affirm his seriousness of the sport and general “bad-assness.” Either way….when the race is on, smack talking slicks up the ruts and tight turns much faster than any rain storm. I know what you are thinking…”what about the women? Do they do that too?”The answer is YES…yes, the women are JUST as rude to each other.


I'm pretty sure this was the EXACT thought going through my head at that moment

The docile sweet creature known as “woman” is generally thought of as nurturing, caring and incapable of being mean. NOTHING could be further from the truth on the cyclocross course where shouts, spitting, and name-calling start from the first pedal stroke after the whistle. That “idealistic” view of women that we are helpful creatures is nothing but bologna on a course where at any minute you will crash, fall or wreck your body into a tree. Even when a fellow rider falls and you see her slap her head against the ground (it bounced), you keep going and hope to not be tangled in the mess of legs, hair, and bike parts.


So this means during a race, every side is yelling obscenities, insults, and preying on all of a riders weaknesses. As if the embarrassment of a skin suit weren’t enough to show off ANY bodily flaw…try having someone suggest they have to adjust their shutter speed because you are going too slow. Try having someone within inches of your face say “you might want to start pedaling today so we can get home before dark"...When racing I have found it is best to laugh briefly and NOT engage in any further chatting as that will destroy your breathing. You will get your turn when you get on the other side of the tape.

I need your help lady GaGa...

I am presently looking to adopt a game face (or the poker face as Lady GaGa sings) if I can find one that suits me. If someone has one lying around, I will be happy to take it off your hands so long as it is a good one meant to invoke pain and emotion in pictures. I have been so concerned with pinning my number on the correct side, slathering on enough embrocation, warming up, eating, drinking and getting to the line on time that I have neglected to bring my game face to the start.

Apparently, my game face comes out on the course, around lap two far away from prying eyes and professional camera lenses. This is a cyclocross race FAIL. I have heard that rumor women do not have game faces...this is false and I must put this lie to bed for the next race.

You will hear people yell at you to "smile" on the course throughout the race while ringing a loud cow bell in your face (I swear its more fun than it sounds). It is a bit of irony that accompanies the sport. It's hard to think about turning the corners of your mouth upward when you feel like your lungs and legs may completely explode off of your body creating tissue shrapnel across the race course. It's hard to smile when you look ahead and see a ghastly sand pit and women piling up in it like dead fish. Yet, I seem to be able to pull that off okay.

Spectators seem to love it more when you really show pain. Perhaps it is that human connection or pure sick infatuation with pain and emotion. Either way...I need to do a better job of expressing myself out there besides having heated dialogue in my head.

Bumpy Roads Ahead...

Yes, Dansko podium shoes. So what?

No one can really prepare you for the abuse your body takes during a cyclocross race. By abuse, let me FULLY iterate from a woman’s perspective. In the women’s CAT3/4, a 30-45 minute race will be nothing but rough gyrating paths, painful twisting, and pure technical bike riding. Everything on your body hurts including your knuckles from resting on the hoods of your shifters. The best re-creation of this is to place your body in a washing machine and cycle yourself through a full wash, spin cycle and all. Only then could you adequately begin to understand what it is like to race in a cyclocross race. The much appreciated recovery periods are short straight-aways that generally lead into more painful things like barriers and run-ups. The ONLY reprieve is the end of a race where you can finally remove your body from the bike and collapse on a grassy knoll.

I’ve never been so happy to hear a bell in my entire life. The bell lap is the last lap, noted by a loud ringing (DUH!). At this point, I can no longer see straight, my mouth is an arid desert and I pray I remember to clip out before I smash into a log barrier. My remounts are slightly off camber, sloppy and haphazard. At times, my left foot never clips back in, or at least I stop listening for it due to extreme oxygen deprivation. The last lap is the lap where distance MUST be maintained. I refuse to look under my arm to see anyone behind me. If someone is behind me, I will likely hear his or her puffing and sighing over my shoulders. I do not need to see where they are. I just need to finish.

The best feeling of the entire race is the first 10-minutes post race. Ideally, there are friendly faces there, hugs are exchanged and someone has water (it may be a complete stranger BUT I will take it with NO questions asked!). After guzzling a few drinks, removing the hot sweat soaked helmet and unzipping the body suit…I feel STELLAR. I feel like I could ride another 4-5 laps….but this feeling quickly fades and then my stomach takes over grumbling with emptiness that reminds me I have burned and sweated off far more calories than I took in before the race. I usually succumb to the worst foods because I’m starving in the worst way. I justify mayonnaise because I feel after exerting every fiber in my body, I deserve a little gluttony and mayonnaise seems the perfect indulgence. It’s warm creamy goodness accentuates every bad fat you can think of.

While I joke about this season being a crash course…it truly is. Every race is another adventure with some lesson learned. This weekend’s lesson was a bit of a reward…”how to pose for podium” which I FAILED miserable partly because I was so thirsty desperately eyeballing a dude’s iced water bottle 20-yards away and partly because I really did not think about the picture until it had been taken. There’s always next weekend.

If you can’t podium, join em!

I was pretty excited when I went to bed Saturday night. The second cyclocross race of the season was only hours away (literally a 2 hour drive) and my legs were strong from a brief tour ride in the countryside earlier in the day. All the items on a checklist were accounted for including: new tires glued, bag packed, hydration mixed, skin suit cleaned, socks, helmet, sports bra, sweat band and shoes packed. My post ride snacks were securely placed in the official post ride snack bag ready to be consumed after a 30-minute race. I was ready.

When we arrived to the venue…the track looked perfect…an old golf course gone cycling with constant rolling hills, off camber sections, one run-up and obstacles. Anyone coming OFF the course was covered with silty dust. The course was so dry, that the dirt had turned into a fine powder creating rather slick turns. This called for less air pressure so the tires could grip the ground and corner properly. I warmed up my normal 30+ minutes and was ready on the line for my call up.

WHIIIISTLE! We were off behind the men and the juniors. I was surrounded by a huge group of Michelob Ultra girls all pedaling with their matching kits. I am not sure how I feel about a light beer as a sponsor but in terms of name recognition, etc…it was a presence at the race (they WERE one of the sponsors afterall). I took off with a lead group into a tight left turn dismounting for the barriers…1….2…back on. Then….I felt something….but ignored it for a while…unitl I reached the run-up where I could officially tell that my front tire was deflated. I immediately thought I was imagining this…so I rode into a tighter corner to confirm…my tire was airless. Um…um…what to do? Well…NOTHING. You cannot race really nice wheels without fully aired tires…so there in my first lap…I too deflated with my tire. Why had I not used the pit? That’s a good question with a longer two-part answer.

1. I did not know the rules of the pits. Sure, I saw people taking extra bikes and wheels over to the pit area but I really did not know why or how the pit should be utlized. I should have asked and confirmed.

2. My position. I was in a VERY bad place on the course where I would have to run a good section before I even reached the pit. The time I would lose would have been a loves labor lost.

So left with few options…I had to pull out under the tape on the back side of lap number 1. I DID NOT EVEN FINISH my first lap. I will not tell you about the raging amounts of disappointment I felt because there are not words to describe it. I did not even have a good story for my team…no wrecked bike…no mangled limbs…just a lazy, limp, flat tubular tire that would mock me as I rolled it through the grass with little gasps of air escaping. I had NOT even broken a sweat…made it through the course…seen the other fun parts…NOPE.

So what did I learn? As with most races…I am responsible for myself. I should have inquired about the pits…I should have checked my tires again before the races. I should have been prepared for a mechanical failure. My only solace to end the day was my latest find, which is Blue Moon beer in a can. The can works GREAT for racing and hand-ups (if needed). I figure if I did not win at my race…I won at selecting a beer. The smallest victories produce the greatest results.