Bodies are really funny. It’s strange to me to think that just five months ago, I laid down what I consider to be a pretty fast time on the Arizona Trail, and felt stupid-good 98% of the time out there. Now, I’ve ridden only a handful of times in the past month and each ride has laid me flat on my back for 48 hours afterwards. Oh how things change…
Mid-August, we finally made the trip to Salt Lake City to see Scott’s family. We’d been putting of the trip for one reason or another since June and we were rapidly running out of summer months to go visit. With recovery going slower than expected and Vapor Trail 125 still nearly a month away, it seemed like the perfect time to go. I had high hopes of riding a bunch of the SLC trails while there and getting my head and my body back on track.
Between hanging out with family and visiting all the SLC restaurants featured in Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, we’d get out on rides. I felt absolutely terrible. Paid a visit to Utah Urgent Care to get some blood tests done, and then pretty much swore off the bike. I was miserable, and while I was doing my best to hold it together, I’m sure I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around. At least I got to eat a bunch of good food…
When the blood tests came back with slightly elevated TSH levels, which would potentially point to a dying thyroid, I made an appointment in Boulder to investigate further. I thought about how wonderful it would be to have energy again, to lose the 15 pounds that has been sticking around since Iditarod, and to stop losing enough hair to make me feel like I was going bald.
We drove back, stopping in Vernal to check out some of the trails that people had been making noise about. If I had any energy, I’m guessing they would have been more fun, but I was too obsessed with trying to see where the parking lot was and how much more we had to ride to actually enjoy them. We spent the night in the open desert where I was fully convinced that the sound of oil rigs in the distance were actually Indian drumbeats.
Then back to Boulder via Winter Park to pick up all of our stuff. During our brief 24-hour stop, we went for a ride in search of a trail I had a vague memory of and ended up completely lost, but for whatever reason, I had energy and was stoked to be out.
Packing would be a lot easier if we owned an Airstream…
Back in Boulder-town, I went to see the doctor describing all my symptoms. I described the last year of my life and his eyes kept getting bigger and bigger. I rode Tour Divide, and then I got sick with a parasite and was dying for two months, then I went through a rough personal life patch and moved back to Boulder, raced the ITI, gained a bunch of weight, raced the AZT, hurt my knee, and then cratered at Leadville. And I’ve pretty much sucked at life since then. He ordered a bunch of blood work (seven stinkin’ vials of blood) and adrenal testing, put me on some gut-repairing supplements, and a diet that pretty much excluded all food that is worth eating for two weeks.
Armed with the knowledge that I was soon to be on the path to better health, we embarked for Salida for Scott to race the Vapor and me to give a talk at the Salida Bike Fest. To summarize: Having to sit out Vapor while still being in town and seeing it for the second time in a row sucked. Real bad. To make myself feel better, I went out for a ride but had to turn around 30 minutes in because I couldn’t fathom climbing another hill. I watched a documentary on Prince William and his new wife instead.
With Scott recovering from Vapor, we had a few mellow days, one which included a ride with the Buena Vista High School mountain bike team. We made it 20 minutes in before the skies unleashed and we all went running back to the parking lot.
By this time, Boulder was in full 100-year flood mode, my parents’ basement was flooded, and most roads were closed, so we hightailed it back to Salida instead. Scott volunteers to marshall for the Banana Belt race and I met him to help sweep and take down course markings.
In an act of serendipity, Rebecca Barfoot posted something on Facebook, looking for a ride from Durango to the start of the Colorado Trail for a thru ride. We arranged to have her pick my car up, then pick me up in Salida. I dropped her off at Kenosha Pass since most of the Front Range Trails were closed/destroyed. It was definitely a little sad to visit a place that is so wrapped up in my history, knowing that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t fit enough to embark on a CT traverse if I so chose. But I was hopeful, the doctor was going to tell me that I was an easy fix, and then fix me and I’d be ready to go for ITI in February.
Unfortunately, it didn’t quite go like that. The first page of my blood work looked mostly fine, the good levels in green, the questionable ones in yellow, and the bad ones in red. He flipped the page and said my thyroid looked fine. A part of my heart sank, Is this all in my head and I’m actually not sick at all?
He continued on, going to a single red line in a sea of green, This is the value I’m concerned about. He explained that there’s an enzyme called homocycsteine that’s involved in the breakdown and conversion of B vitamins and I had way too much. He said that it was involved in mitochondrial processes, which would explain why I had no energy, and that if we could get my level lower, I’d probably bounce back.
Great! I exclaimed.
But he kept talking. It wasn’t my energy levels that he was worried about. He was worried that high levels of this enzyme are linked to all sorts of things that I’d never really worried about before, like heart attacks, strokes, and degenerative brain diseases.
Oh. Not so great…seriously?
And then all of a sudden, being able to race the ITI in February stopped seeming so important.
I headed home with a bag full of supplements and the assurance that the doctor had had success in treating this before, though he’d never seen a level as high as mine. It’s definitely put me into a little bit of a tailspin at the thought that my riding, let alone racing, might need a serious adjustment in expectations.
Sort of makes me want to get a big bike and forget the whole endurance riding part of my life and move to rocky places and learn how to actually ride tech.
In the end, I’m scared shitless, but as far as I can tell, the only thing I can do to get better is take my pills morning, noon, and night, and be as gentle on my body and mind as I can. What an end to the summer…