There is a gasp for air that occurs when one’s body emerges from underwater. A grab for life, for sustenance that has been interrupted by a trip to a place for which we were not made. The currency of life is desperately reached for directly in proportion to the preparedness and duration of the journey into this foreign world.
2015 seems a distant memory to me now, like a foggy morning thru which you try to see, but its mark on me is constant and forever. It seemed to be a new year in life and on the bike. A transition to racing the bike completely on gravel and finding new limits as well as continuous, incremental increases in performance. Both on and off the bike, inner fears were distanced or completely abandoned as summer passed and successes in races that autumn were found.
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| Exhausted after the Woodchipper 100 |
Even the blowing autumnal winds signaling the change of seasons could not alert me, however, to the depth or location that I was preparing to dive. In October that year, a third place finish in the Woodchipper 100 came at a high cost; racing while clearly not recovered from a sickness that earlier in the week had reduced me to 48 hours of continuous, exhausted sleep. After the race, I foolishly chalked up my performance and wretched post-race malaise to poor hydration and nutrition and continued on with my fall racing schedule.
Weeks later, the Dirt Bag now also past and my health increasingly slipping away, I stopped on a crisp early morning training ride and laid down on the banks of the Pelican River. As I took a picture of my mud covered bike, I was worried that if I were to close my eyes, I would sleep for days as the fatigue gallivanted so heavily thru my body. Sickness I had never known had come to reside within me.
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| Sleep was all I could think of as I took this photo |
Seven days later blood tests confirmed what we had all assumed; Epstein Barr/Mononucleosis had found a hospitable home and racing multiple times with it had given the virus diamond legs. They said complete rest and I should be fine in 4-6 weeks. But soon that time frame stretched into two months and then three and then six. Small victories and feelings of good health would be apparitions quickly vanishing with any form of exertion. One year stretched into two and a half until I reached my lowest point on Super Bowl Sunday, 2018. I found myself relegated to a hospital bed; my body’s weakened immune system unable to fight off e-Coli that had somehow entered my body and my kidneys were now causing a raucous insurgency. That night as Tom Brady fell short of #6, I told my wife that I couldn’t recall what it felt like to be healthy; wondered aloud if I could ever be healthy again.
They say when you drown, you reach a point of tranquility where you actually become relaxed in the struggle. You have run out of the body’s currency for life and the surface appears out of reach. Supposedly you become euphoric right before you die. Though the memory of good health had exited or receded to the depths of my mind, I never wanted to give up. I never stopped believing there was hope or that I would someday get better. I arrived at this logic because I kept looking at my kids and thinking that I needed to be healthy so that I could chase them around, to ride bikes with them again. I kept leaning on my faith, and I was reminded that I was created to love others regardless of my health. Loving others wasn’t dependent upon being healthy.
I can’t pinpoint why I suddenly started to regain my strength soon after that. The health-wealth lies of today would want me to tell you that I learned my lesson so I was healed, but I don’t bow to the ideals of Joel Olsteen. I can’t give you a good explanation to why I’ve been able to start riding and even racing my bike again. There isn’t a great exegesis I can give you as to why I all this happened or why it suddenly stopped.
But how I interact with my kids has changed. How I talk to my wife has changed. The day to day in my classroom and how I lead the teams I coach has shifted dramatically. How I race a bike has changed too.
I have way more sympathy for people suffering long term health issues and ailments. I am reminded daily that regardless of where I am and whatever is going on, I can love people, right where they are. Love breathes life into any relationship, into any situation, just by being there and listening.
I’m thankful this season for experiences, no matter how hard they may be, that draw us closer to who we are and to those around us. I hope that if you are in the deep, dark waters, if you feel you’ve been holding your breath, that you speak to someone, that you remember you are loved and that love changes everything and every situation. Love is the reason. It’s why I live. I have surfaced for air after an unfathomable amount of time in the deep and it has reminded me the value of life. Happy Thanksgiving
