San Francisco Diary: Pulling, Dying and Lying Down

I thought I was going to die, but at the same time I knew that was unlikely.

All Saturday morning, I had been breezing up hills (some of which were pretty darn steep), had felt strong, had felt healthy. Then, on the first steep hill right after our lunch rest stop break (a mile down the road from the blowout stretch I wrote about yesterday), I knew by the time I had reached the top of it that I was not in a particularly good place.

Fortunately, I had experienced something like this before - last December when Mark took me back-country skiing for the first time. I had suffered a panic attack which caused me to hyperventilate. I had severe tightness/pain in the middle of my chest. I wondered if I was having a heart attack. Mark took me down the canyon and offered to take me to the ER. We ended up going home. I lied down, and within ten minutes, I felt fine.

When I reached the crest of that steep hill last Saturday afternoon, I felt the same way - only this time, it wasn't caused by a panic attack but by exertion. My heart felt like it was going to explode, and I felt a tightness in my chest that wasn't abating, even though we took it easy for the next mile or two. I felt like I couldn't breathe because of the constriction and pain. Mark, ever concerned, said I was most likely suffering from costochondritis, which causes soreness and pain to the joint between the ribs and the sternum as a result of breathing rapidly.

At that point, I again wondered whether I was going to be able to complete the course. I had 40 miles left to go, and the pain just didn't go away. Then, to make things worse, we entered a narrow valley, almost a gorge (see lead photo), and a very strong headwind was barreling down on us. That's when Mark got in front of me and pulled taking the full brunt of the wind and allowing me to draft behind him for several miles.

As Mark did this, as he has countless times before, I couldn't help but think of how many times and ways that Mark has "pulled" for me in life: during the divorce, during employment challenges and financial challenges. He has willingly staved off the headwinds, protecting me.

Now, the time is coming - is here - when I will need to pull for him. Because of his cancer. 

Two days before, I had written in my journal:

"Cancer has cheated Mark and me. It has consumed a relationship that should have been about so many things having to do with LIFE, not cancer, death and worry. Young love (as much as that term could be applied to two men in their 50's; I of course maintain that it is perfectly appropriate) is ... in our rear-view mirror. Cancer and death call for a mature love. I have skipped from gay adolescence to nurturing the love of my life as he approaches the gates of "Ultimate-ness." What started as a picnic in a summer's meadow has turned into a solemn walk through an autumn park. The love that was once so passionate, so young, so carefree, so beautiful ... has been required to be ... aged. Matured. 

"And I wonder ... Am I up to the task? And of course I will be, because I must be. But, ... somehow, it seems unfair that we should be required to walk from a June meadow into ... a November walk down a leafless road. But ... my Love did not ask to be transported from that beautiful meadow. How can I complain or bemoan ..."

Well, I was a bit into the gin by that point.

But I don't regret what I wrote. I just shared it with Mark. I didn't want to publish it without having first told him. He said it must be published. And so it is.

I have digressed, but what a beautiful (for me) digression it has been.

View from the spot where I lied down. The Pacific Ocean is visible in the distance.

Returning to the Marin County Century and my costrochodritis, I finally got to the point, probably about the 65-mile mark, when I knew I had to get off my bike and lay down. Again, I was remembering my experience from last winter and recalling that after we got home and I was able to lie down for 10 minutes, I felt fine. I knew I would not be able to finish the next 35 miles unless I rested. So that's what we did, and it worked.

Sometimes in life, you just have to lie down so that you can then get up, finish the course and cross the finish line. (No comments about how exhausted I look in the picture below. I HATE my helmet. Sigh.)

San Francisco Diary: Monster Legs

Last Saturday was a cycling milestone for me: I completed my first "century" - a 100-mile bike ride. Riding the Marin County Century was our primary purpose for visiting San Francisco. Mark and I had trained as best we could during this very busy summer, and neither of us felt too confident when we left Salt Lake on the 28th. But riding around Lake Tahoe - a 72-mile ride - had boosted our confidence, and Mark felt that riding a few hundred feet above sea level would see us through. He was right. So many times throughout the ride, I felt like all the oxygen in the air was an elixir - in contrast to the Tahoe ride which was all over 6000 feet above sea level. 

Kurt, me and Mark at the start line Saturday morning

The route started in San Rafael and wound through some wooded areas before heading out into the rolling countryside. I felt strong that morning and felt it would be a good day.

There were five rest stops along the route. This was the second one.

I'm including these rest stop pictures to show how many cyclists were involved in the ride

We had gotten on our bikes at 8:00 a.m. The morning was going well. The elixir of oxygen was working. It was a beautiful morning. I had been refreshed at the two previous rest stops and we were coming up on the third. It was a little after noon.

Before going on, however, I wanted to note something about the amount of oxygen in the air. I wrote in my journal that there is a metaphor in this, I think: How well we do in life has to do with the amount of "oxygen" in the air, how much there is in our life that nurtures. If there is little to nurture us, then it becomes harder to breathe and the hills become much more difficult - as we had discovered at Tahoe. But if there is much to nurture us, the hills of life can so much more easily be climbed.

At approximately 12:05, however, the beautiful morning that I had been experiencing took an unexpected turn: I hit a bump in the road and got a flat in my rear wheel. No problem. These things happen - although Mark and I cycled for 1100 miles last fall in France and Corsica without ever experiencing a flat. We got the wheel off and the tube replaced with my spare tube, carefully checking the tire for any problems. None were found. We got out the CO2 capsule which is used in place of a pump and fired it up, inflating the tire, which immediately failed.

We tried again with Mark's spare tube. This time, the tube inflated properly, we put the wheel back on and away we went. For 100 yards, at which time I had a spectacular blowout on my rear wheel. "Spectacular" is not a word I would normally used, but this was the word used by a woman who also had a flat at the same place. In heavily German-accented English, she pulled over ahead of me and said, "That was a spectacular blowout." Thanks. I'm glad you were entertained.

Now we were toast. I could just see myself sitting in the back of a SAG van with my bike in a rack on the back, heading toward the finish line. (And, throughout the afternoon, I did in fact see several such vehicles doing exactly that.) My first century appeared to be over at the 54-mile mark. 

There seemed to be no reason for hope. Having never ridden a century life this, I had no idea what support would be available. Looking back on these events the day after, it almost seemed perfectly logical that things would work out as they did. But at that moment, on that lonely stretch of road, it seemed like it was the end. My only consolation was that three other people had had flats on that same stretch during the time we were there.

But then a course marshall rode up. He stopped and made a couple of phone calls. The rest stop a mile down the road had some spare tubes, so Mark headed out to get one. Not long after he left, a SAG motorcycle pulled up. He had tubes. So he gave me one. He then had to give the course marshall one because, as he was pulling away to head on down the road, he discovered that he, too, had a flat.

I called Mark and told him that I had a tube and asked if he wouldn't mind riding back to help me get the tube changed and me back on the road - which, of course, he did.

Meantime, another SAG van had pulled up. They pulled off to the side of the road, and a couple of guys hopped out and came walking back toward me. I was in the middle of getting the old tube out when one of the guys named Eric, whom I assumed was in his mid-late 20's, asked how I was doing. "Well," I said, "I'm not very good at this." "Well," he responded, "I am."

At that, he took the wheel and got the tube off, then examined the tire. He discovered that it had been seriously damaged, perhaps in the second "spectacular" blow out. Without saying another word, he headed back to the van and put a new tube and tire on. Meanwhile, Mark pulled up. 

Just then, Eric returned with the wheel, ready to pump it up. The other fellow in the van was standing there and made a comment of whether it was possible that there was a burr in my tire. Eric looked up and said, "Are you kidding. Look at this guy's monster legs!" I hardly knew what to say. He was apparently implying that I'd obviously been cycling for a long time and would have know if there was a burr. 

I gotta tell you. For a cycling geek like him at his age to call my legs "monster legs," that is about the highest compliment I've ever received since I started cycling a year ago this past May. Mark kidded me about that the rest of the day, calling me "Monster Legs" and "ML." I have never viewed myself as anything approaching athletic; and although I did receive compliments on our cycling tour last fall, in my insecure mind, Eric's statement made the whole 45-minute ordeal on that road worthwhile.

There were other experiences and lessons learned on that ride, but I'll have to same them for a later post.