50 Miles of Single Speed Racing and Standing on the Cancer Podium
The Iron Horse Bicycle Classic is a road race that starts in Durango, Colorado and ends in the historic mining town of Silverton. It’s no small endeavor, there is 5,700 feet of elevation gain and two mountain passes at 10,000 feet. I signed up for the 2018 race but tore my ACL so I was determined to get there in 2019.
I don’t have a road bike. I ride a Surly Cross-Check because I’m usually on gravel, or my favorite – riding my fat bike on single track. A week before the race I switched the drop bars on my cross check to moloko bars but I didn’t like where the shifter ended up.
So, in a burst of inspiration I converted the bike to a single speed.
Probably not the brightest move because I hadn’t trained much that spring. And a few weeks before the race came a life changing blow – I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There were so many emotions I was dealing with but mostly I was terrified. I was also sleep deprived and exhausted from worry.
So why on earth would I still do the race and make it harder by going single speed? In part because doing the race is just what I needed for my mental health. I was looking forward to some down time with my partner and to meeting up with some friends in Durango, the Back of the Pack Racing crew.
Besides the pesky shifter, changing my bike to single speed sounded fun and I’d always wanted to try it. I’m not big on road riding and it seemed like a good way to make it more interesting.
Finishing a 50 mile race that I hadn’t trained for didn’t seem very plausible, even with gears, so my goal was to ride as far as I could. I think of myself as an “accidental athlete.” I’m a mom to two busy teenagers so I squeeze in bursts of training when I can.
I had time for only one pre-race ride on my newly converted machine and I was literally giggling the moment I began pedaling. It was like throwing your cell phone out the window of a moving car. Simplicity at a time when I needed it.
It was symbolic as well — because as I found out in 2019 we are really not in control of our lives, but we do the best we can – pace ourselves and keep pedaling.
Looking back over the past year, all I can say is WTF??! It was hard, but riding my bike whenever I could saved me.
When I first received the cancer diagnosis and before I received my staging, my main concern was for my two children. Did I wait too many years in between mammograms? How far advanced was it? Would I be here for my son’s graduation in four years? I don’t think any of us, cancer or not — can answer those questions.
A vision came to me the night before the Iron Horse race, one that sustained me throughout the hard months of battling cancer. I pictured myself standing at the top of a podium with my children, Laura and Ben, on either side of me. The three of us were holding hands – our arms held high above our heads in victory. It wasn’t a race podium, it was the cancer podium. I dared to hope and pray that eventually I’d be on the other side of the finish line and standing at the top.
The race was such a bright spot in my summer and just what I needed before treatment. I wore my medal a lot – enough to embarrass my kids. I wore it to my lumpectomy the week after the race and I wore it sometimes around the house when I was scared. It was a reminder that with a little bit of faith and a whole lot of support from my tribe, I could dig deep and keep going the next mile.
Finishing the race made me believe that I could quite possibly endure whatever was to come.
It is now eights months since my diagnosis – which was stage 2B. I had a lumpectomy followed by a mastectomy, an infection, four trips to the ER, a broken foot, a biopsy on my ‘good’ side, radiation, crazy-ass mood swings from medication, depression, and nerve damage.
Up until I broke my foot I continued to ride and it helped life feel more normal and always took me to my happy place.
A broken foot is no small matter but with the mastectomy and radiation it was too painful to use crutches so sometimes I crawled around the house using my bike kneepads and sometimes I used a wheelchair.
It was a low point. I didn’t want to get out of bed and I didn’t want to go to radiation anymore. I was in tears all the time and just plain done. Some of my depression, sadness and anger were due to the situation but also due to the estrogen-suppressing drugs prescribed to prevent the cancer from recurring. I was on a fast track through menopause. Wave after wave of hot flashes kept me awake all night.
A close friend recognized that I had fallen into a deep, dark hole so she made an appointment for me with my primary doctor. I’ve battled depression on and off over the years but this time I felt depressed and crazy. Taking antidepressants was a turning point and I’m so thankful for my friend, and sorry too if I scared her.
Living in a rural state is hard when you have a serious medical issue. I drove from Lander, Wyoming to Colorado each week for the entire summer and part of the fall for treatment at the Anschutz Cancer Hospital in Denver. Six hours each way – not counting the hours stuck in traffic. Sometimes while driving I was in so much pain I’d cry while holding my arm over my head to lessen the nerve pain. The nerve pain had become debilitating and finally a doctor prescribed Gabapentin, which helped tremendously.
Many times my partner, family member, or friend drove me. Thank goodness because it helped to load up on pain meds.
Today I am feeling well, the nerve pain has subsided and I’m continuing to heal. I made it to the podium. I know it could have been much worse and I am eternally grateful. I did not have to go through chemo, I have good insurance and mine was caught early. My heart goes out to all the women that are fighting battles much bigger than mine.
I am also grateful beyond words to my amazing children, my partner, my family and my friends for their support. Grateful, thankful, lucky, blessed, fortunate – just doesn’t cover it. But boy howdy, I’m ready to ring in 2020 and a new decade.
So there you have it. Happy New Years my friends. Live life, hold on to the moments in between the challenging ones and squeeze your loved ones tight. Do what you love. And go ride your bike.