Two Hundred

Remember my first blog posts from two-and-a-half months ago? The guy who could barely remember riding a bicycle in his childhood? The smirks the staff at the local bike shop gave me when I told them my plans? The dusty, flat-tired, piece of machinery I pulled out of the garage in an attempt to take my first pedal strokes toward my goal?

That bike's been put aside; just like that guy's been put aside. No more anxiety. No more doubt. No more questioning whether or not I can succeed. Each day I climb into that saddle, I'm more and more confident I can do this (although, honestly, I'm less confident how my arse is gonna feel once I've done it!). The more I read success stories from those who have gone before me, the more I get past that moment on a ride where I want to turn around, the more I pull into my driveway thinking, "I can make it a few more miles today." Yep - that's the guy I am now.

Yesterday I hit a milestone. Two hundred miles. Can you believe it? At first, I didn't. But there it is... in black & white:

When I first saw it I thought, "But that's not even half the ride." But then I turned that thought upside down. Two months ago I was completely naive about cycling - and I've now ridden over 200 miles in only eleven rides? F*%# yeah!

These past couple months I've encountered some challenges in keeping to a training routine. I've switched jobs. Been sidelined by a minor medical issue. And my equipment wasn't exactly built for distance riding. I knew these things would come up and I planned for them. That's part of the reason I started training so far out from the event.

But even more I knew it would take me more time than others to build up my endurance, my speed, and my belief in myself. I don't go into things lightly and even though I love taking risks, I also know I have to watch out for number one. In my case, that's taking care of a body that's not 25 years old anymore. It's learning to do something that my muscles have never before experienced. It's slowly building up capacity to handle an extreme physical event. It's staying in-tune with those little signals my body sends out - a body that's been fighting a virus for over twenty-one years. All stress - physical & emotional - wears our immune systems down and, as you know, that's not something I want to risk.

And I won't be risking it because I'm doing it the right way. I'm giving myself the time to both train and rest. One of the many things I've learned in living with this for so many years is that understanding those hints our bodies give us - catching the slightest change early - is one of the most important keys to good health. So I'll take my time. I'll push myself a little harder when my mind wants to give up but I'll turn around when my body says it's had enough for the day.

The past couple months have been spent getting used to riding, learning about the sport and acquiring the gear for riding long distances. Now it's time to set a mid-term goal. I've researched training schedules and understand my strengths & limitations. Today, I make the commitment - to myself & to you - to complete my first century ride before the end of the year. One-hundred miles in a single day. I've got four months to prepare for it.

I'll enter 2013 with a major accomplishment under my belt, leaving open plenty of room for even greater New Year's goals. Let's just hope the Mayans weren't right - because I'd really hate for the end-of-the world to screw up my plans.

If you'd like to support my ride by making a contribution which will provide HIV/AIDS support & services at the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the LA Gay & Lesbian Center, please visit my ALC12 page at http://bit.ly/Onzhaq.

Survivor's Guilt

From Wikipedia:
Survivor's guilt or syndrome is a mental condition that occurs when a person perceives themselves to have done wrong by surviving a traumatic event when others did not. It may be found among survivors of combat, natural disasters, epidemics...

For those of us considered long-term survivors of HIV, survivor's guilt is familiar. In the early 90's, many of us could do little more than watch as those close to us got sick, entered hospitals, recovered, got sicker, entered hospice, and passed away as peacefully as the morphine drip would allow. I mean, we did something. We visited. We helped them with household chores and errands. We shaved their faces and snuck contraband snacks into the AIDS ward. We called their families. We planned their memorials. We lit candles. And we held hands. Their hands. The hands of their partners. And the hands of our other friends. It was something... but it still seemed like it was so little.

Twenty years ago I was young - very young. But I wasn't immune to the experiences of life and death. School friends dying in fatal car accidents. Intense altercations gone wrong when a knife was pulled out. Beautiful souls quieted by their own hands. I'm sure we've all experienced similar events... and we've cried, maybe thought, "Why her?" or even, "Why not me?"

From the "Memorial Book" in my
office lobby when I worked at CAP.

That last one... that's survivor's guilt. If you've thought that, you know what I'm writing about. I'm writing about times when it seems you've done something just as dangerous... or lived just as recklessly... or experienced an event just as traumatic... and somehow saw another sunrise. My understanding of this didn't come until I began to see my first friends pass away from AIDS. When young men & women I knew - who had not been dealing with HIV as long as me - were suddenly gone. How did I get so lucky? What had I done that was so different? Why not me?

Truth is, there is no answer. Maybe some who believe in God will say that He needed them for a different purpose or needed me to stay here. Maybe some atheists will say it's just the randomness of nature. Maybe some who are deeply spiritual will say they're not really gone - they live on in their energy, in my memories, and in the imprint they put on so many lives.


As I've grown older, I've had fewer friends pass away from AIDS. Yes, I've still lost some but nothing like 1995 when it was a dozen or more. No, as I've grown older I've realized that survivor's guilt isn't tied to being young and having HIV. It's not tied to any one thing in particular. I've seen friends die from lung cancer, drug overdoses and heart attacks. Why not me? When I'm the one who smoked for so long, experimented with way too many drugs, and ate enough red meat in one sitting to clog the largest of arteries? I'll never know the answer. And even if the answer is "God's will" or "randomness" or "they're not really gone," it doesn't matter. In the end, I learned one lesson much earlier than I ever expected. Death is the one thing in this world that can not be undone.

Absolute. Never changing. Forever.

AIDS Memorial Quilt panel with my
friends Steve & Bob alongside
my friend Jill's son, Ken.

It may be hard to comprehend but those words actually help me cope with loss. Once I came to understand there was nothing I could do to change it, I would somehow grieve and live simultaneously. It actually started the moment I walked out of Paul's hospital room in the spring of 1996. I stayed by his bedside. I don't mean just during visiting hours - I mean, I lived in that hospital room. Helped nurses turn him. Watched him hallucinate from the pain meds. Placed cool cloths on his forehead. Slept in a chair and sometimes woke to see him rip out catheters & IV's and run mindlessly down the corridor. And then one day it ended. I was the only one in the room when he took his last breath. I climbed into the bed with him for a few minutes before calling the nurses and doctors. I held him for just a moment. Because after watching all that pain, it felt, well, almost beautiful to see it had left his body. Then, as the staff did what they had to do, I walked outside to be alone. But I realized I wasn't. Landscapers were mowing the grass. Visitors were walking in with flowers for their loved ones. New parents were walking out with these tiny new little lives in their arms. It was at that moment - just minutes after losing my friend - that I came to understand that death may be absolute but, for those left behind, life must go on.

It may seem cold. Heartless. Not human. But if you know me you know I am none of those things. And I feel... intensely. Does loss slow me down? Hell yeah. But I can't let it stop me completely. And I can't avoid the feelings and get caught up in the "tasks" that need to get done. I have to do both at the same time. So I do - and I get through. And when I see the sunrise the next day, and the day following, I say, "Good morning," to those who have gone before me.


I have a feeling tomorrow's sunrise will be gorgeous. And I will say, "Good morning," to those three who have gone this week. You know who you are. And I know you'll hear me.

In the saddle... on the road... again....

After what seemed like many long weeks, I was able to climb back in the saddle and get back on the road. A pretty nice little ride has been sitting here waiting for me to take advantage of it and, unfortunately, I've been unable to climb on and really test it out. Today that all changed as I went out for a 13.5 mile ride down a very familiar road.

My new road bike. Yeah, I finally bit the bullet and purchased a bike that would make my ride so much easier. Although, I still have doubts about how easy one can make a 545 mile ride. It weighs 18 or 19 lbs - half that of the mountain bike. Has super skinny tires (less resistance when riding), good gearing differentials (much better than my 1998 model), and brakes that almost make you feel comfortable hitting them while on a downhill at 35 mph.

Today's ride wasn't about strength, endurance, distance or pace. It was about getting back on a bike after having a biopsy done on some skin issues. Biopsy came back negative. Ride came back positive. Definitely not the fastest, furthest, strongest I've ridden so far but the important thing is that I did ride.

The new bike... wow! Hills faded away like they were nothing more than speed bumps. Pace wasn't an issue at all on flats. Wind.... well, wind continued to be my nemesis. I've realized it doesn't matter if you're on a 40 lb. mountain bike or a 19 lb. road bike - headwinds can be brutal. As low as I crouch, as hard as I pedal, a headwind can slow me down to a crawl.

But, overall, it felt AMAZING to be back on the road! Thirteen miles was good. Soon I'll be back to doing great.

Gearing Up - Part IV

The preparation continues even if the training rides are on hold until I fully heal. I've mapped out rides, added a couple of items to my wish list, and done more reading about the ride and on cycling in general. But I'm getting antsy to climb back on my bike and ride again. So antsy that I have begun thinking about the lost days and how those may affect the strides I made during the first month. I've said before, and will repeat it here - with the ride so far off there is no worry that putting off training a few weeks now will affect it. That said, one thing it will affect are the small gains I've made in endurance, strength and stamina. Right now, the thought of climbing a hill on the beast of a bike I have is a little disheartening.

I've been shopping around for a new bike because everyone has recommended it - strongly recommended. With a decent road bike, I can cut my time in the saddle down significantly during long rides - experienced riders have said I could take a hundred mile ride down from 8 hours to 6.5 hours. That's some incentive, eh?

A few weeks ago, I found the bike I wanted. Well, almost found it. I found the model I wanted but my bike shop didn't have it in stock in the color I wanted. It was a Cannondale CAAD10 - the lightest aluminum bike on the market - as light, or lighter, than carbon fiber bikes costing $1,000 more. This is what they had in stock:

Definitely a nice looking bike but bright green and blue and white just don't work for me. I wanted the it the one other available color:

So I went to Cannondale's site, found all authorized dealers in Vegas, and came up empty handed. There were no matte-black CAAD10's left in town and the factory had completed production so ordering one wasn't an option. I looked in nearby cities and found one in Los Angeles. So take a five-hour drive, spend a weekend near the beach, buy a bike and drive back. Win-win.

But, like I said, I've been getting antsy so I checked out some other bike shops that don't sell Cannondale thinking maybe I would find a different brand that I really liked. There were a few in my price point and I set out to see what I could find. There were three stores I planned on visiting all in different areas of town so it was going to be a half-day adventure.

The first store I went to was sold out of the model I saw on their website. Disappointing. Even more, they didn't really have anything else I was interested in (or could afford). Time to move on to the next shop.

This shop was one of those cramped little outlets in a strip mall. They had hundreds of bikes crammed in there. I looked for the one I saw on their website then over in the furthest corner, I saw a couple of black CAAD10's! Seriously. But now I needed to know... did they have the right size? I wandered back to that corner, looked at the two they had - fully prepared to be disappointed. The first I looked at was a 58cm. Not my size. I'm a 56. Looked over at the next one and - BOOM! - there it was! My bike!

Without even thinking, I pulled out my credit card (and trust me, that is something i NEVER do without thinking!). Without flinching I signed the receipt (again, trust me, I almost always flinch when I spend that much). But I didn't have my pedals or shoes so I had to make a trip home for those in order to get the bike fitted. A thirty minute drive to my house, thirty minutes back to the shop, 30 minutes for the fitting, and I was done.

What shall I name it?

I'm now the proud owner of a road bike. I can't ride it yet. And you know I really want to hop on it. Oh, maybe just a quick spin. I couldn't resist. I took it out for a quick 1.5 mile ride just to welcome it as my partner on this journey. I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time in that saddle in the future!

Examination

A few weeks ago my doctor found a couple skin growths he wanted a specialist to examine. He did his best to assure me this was standard procedure and there was little chance they'd find anything wrong. Honestly, I wasn't really worried. One of the benefits of dealing with a chronic medical condition and having good insurance is that I see my doctor on a regular basis (well, I guess you can call it a benefit). Most issues are discovered, diagnosed and treated quickly. And if there's one thing I've always been grateful for, it's that there have been very few of those issues.

My appointment with the specialist was on the 17th. I spent more time in the waiting room than I spent with the doctor (that's often the case, isn't it?). He walked into the examination room in his white coat with my chart attached to the clipboard in his hand. There was little conversation - it pretty much went like this:

Doc: "I've reviewed your chart. Would you show me the area your physician is concerned about?"

Me: "Ok."

He took a quick look , said he wanted biopsy, assured me it was standard procedure, there was nothing to worry about and asked if I had any questions.

Me: "What's involved in the biopsy?"

Doc: "We just remove the tissue then send it to a lab for examination."
Me: "How long will it take to receive results?"

Doc: "Seven-to-ten days."

Me: "How long will it take to heal?"

Doc: "A few weeks."

Me: "Okay."

I'm not one to get stressed out about something like this. No need spend time worrying about something that's a "possibility" when I will have a factual answer in seven-to-ten days. So I went out, made an appointment for the 24th for the in-patient procedure and went back to work.

The procedure went quickly but wasn't exactly pleasant. He provided a local anesthetic but, honestly, it didn't seem to do much. Well, it probably kept me from screaming but my jaw was clenched the entire time and I think I may have yelped once. Like I said, it was over quickly though. Thankfully. In those few minutes, I came to understand how easy it would be to tell an inquisitor anything under the duress of torture.

Fast forward another week and the results were in (I know, I know, the only reason you've read this far is to find out if they found anything, right?).

All clear. Nothing to worry about. Just need to keep an eye out for any irregular growth in moles and stuff. Hoping I don't find another though - I really don't want to experience those few minutes of pain again. Yes, it's true... I'm a wimp.

Still healing though and, to my dismay, that has kept me out of the saddle. I'm hoping to be riding again in another week. Fingers crossed.