Long Overdue Update

Today I opened this blog for the first time since April 19, 2021.

827 days ago.

Two years, three months, and six days ago.

What happened?

Anyone who was reading (like, all five of them) the last couple years could have seen it coming. Any number of things combined in a malevolent way to blow it all up. I kept riding on the trainer (but not on the road) for almost another year, because I didn't know what else to do.

One day at Point Barrow during a class for a new position with my company, my left ear started ringing and my eustachian tube closed off. A week later I started running into stuff and falling over. A couple weeks later I started to experience extreme vertigo with nausea and often violent vomiting- sometimes while seated in front of a desk. I would be out for a couple days until I felt the episode had sufficiently passed. I went to ENT specialists, had a CAT scan, had my blood tested for everything under the sun...

I have Meniere's disease, which usually starts around the age of 50 (give or take).

The diagnosis was a relief, because at least I knew. I was pretty fortunate, because I made a few diet and lifestyle changes and the worst of the symptoms disappeared. To be honest, I know the blame for the severity of my symptoms rested squarely on my shoulders. My diet consisted mainly of salt and very fatty foods. My schedule and my feeble attempts to glue my life back together had me reaching for convenience foods every time I was hungry, and many times that I wasn't.

When my ear started ringing, I stopped riding. The trainer has been packed up in its case since that day. I was afraid of making things worse by dehydrating myself. I stayed off the road. Vertigo and two wheels do not mix, especially at speed.

Once I had the diagnosis and had my symptoms under control, I started looking for new ways to get moving again. I bought cross-country skis, snowshoes, and eventually a fat bike to get out with my faithful Lab puppy on the frozen bogs near my house. Nothing major. Maybe an hour of exercise as much as I could. The snow conditions would dictate if I rode, skied, or trudged. My puppy, overjoyed to be out and off the leash, would happily bound up to every other dog on the trail, anxious to meet a new buddy. He probably motivated me more than my own health. Sometimes you need to see pure joy.

Around that time I met someone new. I had been online dating for a while, and had been ghosted by a string of wonderful women as they each realized the realities of my work situation. I bore them no ill will, and to be honest I hadn't felt a real spark with any of them. Eventually I became convinced that it was probably better if I took a break and focused on myself and my kids, so I canceled my subscriptions and was waiting for the clock to run out.

Then she appeared.

It was one of those dating apps where the women make the first move. I had never seen her before because she was outside my distance filters. She left a message about Richmond, VA, where I grew up. That really didn't stir me. What made my heart skip a beat was a selfie in her car. Her smile danced up to her eyes in a way that captivated me. Despite the hour commute between us, I responded. Of course, it wouldn't be me if my first few messages weren't surly, because, self sabotage. For some reason, she agreed to a date. Since that first meeting I have been utterly and hopelessly smitten. I have no idea what our futures might bring, but I know for a fact that I am a much better person because of my association with her. At age 53, I think that kind of growth is pretty awesome. Life continues in unexpected and often wonderful ways.

Yesterday I dug out my largest bibs and jersey. I charged up my Garmin cycling computer. I did a semi-tune on my long-neglected Moots Compact, swapping the wheelset because the tubeless tires wouldn't hold air. My cycling shoes were stiff from being unused for so long and felt foreign on my feet. Every movement, once so automatic, was clumsy. My muscles had long ago atrophied and been replaced with fat. My lungs rasped at efforts that would have once seemed trivial. Still, I turned over the pedals. As I rode, my lady parts chafed and ached, their protective calluses softened by a sedentary life. However, the sun was warm and I wasn't training. I was just riding around.

15 miles felt like 50, but it was a victory of sorts. My racing days are over, but maybe I can still ride. Maybe I can redefine my relationship with the bike just like I've redefined so many of the other relationships in my life. We'll see.

Today I rode my bike again, so there's that.