When I Have a Buncha Dollars...
For a couple of years now, Sheryl and I have talked about what we would do when we won the lottery. Many people would use it as an opportunity to do all of the things they always wanted to do. They would quit their job and buy a house in warmer climates, traveling all over the world.
The weird thing for Sheryl and I is that we are extremely blessed to love our jobs. Our first thought after winning the lottery would be "how can we help other people?"
We do have ideas in mind for a cancer foundation, but this morning, after reading a bit of cycling news, I had a different idea.
Recently, it was announced that Saul Raisin, despite his incredible journey back to life following a horrible bike crash, will be unable to race again. He does, however, still want to work towards bringing awareness to brain injuries and such.
Apparently, there are a few cycling teams that are folding this year as well, and in addition to the many auto workers out of a job, there are a bunch of professional cyclists left without a team.
So when we win the lottery, why don't we start our own professional cycling team?
Now, I don't know how exactly it would work, but we could bring Saul on board to coach the development squad, and he could continue his work with his foundation. In fact, all of our riders would be required to do volunteer work - whether with our foundation, Saul's foundation or whatever. Naturally, we would encourage them to work with our own foundation, but we should give them the choice. After all, they will need passion, and passion is easier to come by when you make the choices.
One of the sweet benefits of being team owners and sponsors is that Sheryl and I could attend whatever race we wanted, and associate with all sorts of riders. While attending the Tour de France, we could rub elbows with Lance or Eddy Merckx. While at the Giro d'Italia, we could swap fashion tips with Mario Cipollini.
Not only that, but we could learn training and health tips. We could learn where the coolest rides in the world are. WE COULD BE ON TV! We could have access to the sweetest bikes available, and drink espresso with Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.
Of course, we would plug our foundation. After word got out about our dream and devotion, we would draw interest from some of the best cancer doctors in the world, and they would benefit from our affiliation.
We could do an annual fundraiser, and bring in professional and amateur racers to the velodrome at Bloomer. Because we'd already have lights installed, we could incorporate European-style 6-day races for both the pros and the amateurs.
Can you just see it?? We couldn't count how many people would benefit from this!
Now how about a team name?
Miles to Go?
Cummings Cycling?
Sheryl's Speedsters?
How about a motto?
Domination for a cause
The team with a strong foundation
Our drugs won't make you faster, they will cure you
EPO is for sissies.
We believe in Procrit and Neupogen - not performance enhancers!
Remember kiddies... if you're gonna dream - and you should! - dream big!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Time Trials and Tribulations
Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.
You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?
In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.
As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.
I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.
Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.
It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.
The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.
Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.
My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.
The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.
So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:
Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?
To be honest, I don't know.
I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.
In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.
Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.
My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.
So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.
It was a beautiful thing.
Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.
You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?
In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.
As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.
I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.
Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.
It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.
The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.
Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.
My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.
The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.
So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:
Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?
To be honest, I don't know.
I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.
In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.
Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.
My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.
So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.
It was a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
What Would Your Wristband Say?
Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?
The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.
My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.
But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?
How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?
More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”
I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.
So what would your wristband say?
Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?
The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.
My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.
But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?
How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?
More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”
I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.
So what would your wristband say?
Monday, November 19, 2007
The End of an errr...
I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...
I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.
This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.
But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.
What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.
The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.
Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!
I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.
Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.
Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.
There is no magic in that.
I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...
If the time comes.
To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."
And I don't think he meant coins.
I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...
I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.
This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.
But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.
What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.
The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.
Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!
I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.
Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.
Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.
There is no magic in that.
I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...
If the time comes.
To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."
And I don't think he meant coins.
Monday, November 05, 2007
What's that smell??
“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now
How much does it matter if you win or lose?
Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…
But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.
This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.
We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.
“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”
Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!
Well, we finally won.
And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!
Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.
“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now
How much does it matter if you win or lose?
Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…
But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.
This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.
We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.
“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”
Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!
Well, we finally won.
And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!
Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Internet Whiteboard
She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy
When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
I know, and it makes me feel bad.
She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.
24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything
she's my angel.
She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy
When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
I know, and it makes me feel bad.
She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.
24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything
she's my angel.
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