Shaky First Step



A rare pic of me, usually on the other side of the camera, at the BP Crit last weekend.



Watching my husband Chris racing has been a mixed blessing; both fun and frustrating. I never thought I would become a cycling groupie but when I went to his first race in an “official” capacity to take photographs I found myself unable to resist the overwhelming urge to scream my lungs out as he sped by. It was fun and exciting to see him realize a dream and show off all of his work. The second race I was very excited and restless, more photographing, more screaming. Then it all changed as I watched the women’s ride in the Bicycle’s Plus Criterium.

Women's race at last weekend's BP Crit.

Watching them speed by -thrusting powerful legs against the pedals, propelling themselves forward at speeds that the human body was not originally designed to go- I felt such a longing, even envy, and a deep, deep knowledge that I should have been out there with them.  The rest of the day my restlessness grew into crankiness. Everyone was having a blast out there and I wanted in!

I felt frustrated at my limitations and how slowly I was progressing because of the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). I spent the rest of the week whining at my husband that I needed his help (childcare, etc.) to get my exercise opportunities increased. With Chronic Fatigue you need more sleep and rest than the average person and are supposed to reserve your energy. Having five kids (the youngest being Evil Kenevil reincarnated who is home with me all day and still likes to wake me up several times at night) and the sole cook and cleaning crew, it seems like I am always running on empty.

Today I had my oldest help watch the youngest while I finally scrubbed the bathrooms, baked, cooked and stored food for the week and a slew of other chores that desperately needed to be caught up with. After five hours of whirlwind cleaning, and a hasty shower to make myself presentable, my husband returns from his ride and invites me to hop on my bike and go for a ride with him. I was overjoyed when all the planets aligned and my oldest had some rare spare time to watch the toddler at the same time my husband had some spare time and energy. My initial surge of adrenaline from happiness wore off once I was finally geared up. I had already overdone my meager reserves and, for those who understand CFS, I should have stopped there and rested the remainder of the day. My exhaustion rose before me like a brick wall, but seeing my husband in his riding gear and having this rare moment in time where I had babysitting and a free husband I ignored it and stepped out into the garage. The second wall, instead of just rising in front of me, slammed me full in the face. The bitter cold.

For folks with CFS, no two people experience it the same. On the plus side I am not confined to a wheel chair or a feeding tube, on the minus side, I cannot bear the cold. It is not just that it is uncomfortable for me it is a full body reaction of pain, tremors and a sudden flare of all of my CFS symptoms. I stood stock still for several moments, trying to figure out how to tell my husband that I just couldn’t do it. The skies were fair and the sun was out but the bitter cold robbed me of any resolve I had to face and climb that first wall.

When I explained how painful the cold was to my husband, leading into telling him that I was going to skip the ride, he assured me that it was warming once I got into the sun. I had to at least give it a try to see if he was right. When the wind blew across my wet hair I knew I was in trouble. The look on my husband’s face was excited and hopeful, he so needed me to take this step and after whining all week about not getting the opportunity to work out I could not back out now.

I mounted the Rockhopper 29er (I really need to name that bike…) and clipped in, scared to death of how I would react to the cold and cursing my stupidity for riding in such chill temperatures with wet hair.  The feeling of a mountain bike is so different from that of a road bike that I was initially distracted as I pumped the pedals. I was surprised to find that I had built up quite a bit of speed and for the space of a minute I was flying down the road towards the trail and feeling great. After about a quarter of a mile my body gave up on me. My legs burned even though my lungs assured me that we were doing great and could go for miles. My arms felt like lead even as my heart pumped away with aplomb. It is a strange affliction, to be a strong woman with CFS; healthy yet weak, powerful potential with so little stamina to sustain it.

I ignored the signals my body was screaming at me to stop and rode on with my husband. We live in a very hilly area and I found great joy and speed in the downhills, leaving my husband behind only to know that for every downhill you had to conquer another uphill. The uphill treks were slow and I was terrified that I would stop on a hill, something I avoided with every fiber and cell in my being.  I stood on the pedals, my legs screaming and shaking and I just…. kept…going. Several hills it took to prove to myself that I had honored my husband’s effort to ride with me. Even my stupidity knows boundaries and I apologized to my husband while explaining that we had to start heading home. He was more than satisfied and as we slowly mounted the last couple of hills we talked about how strong I used to be.

We talked of how the last time I returned from the “Steve Pit” I had lived in a flat area and my initial rides were much easier and on a road bike. He talked to me about how impressed he had been at how I had a “quick first step” and that he had trouble catching up to me. Somehow, as he talked, my disappointment in my limitations turned to hope and resolve. His words made me feel stronger and although I was tired and felt that the first trip out was way too short, I felt good about what I did today.  My legs are still trembling and my arms at the keyboard still move like lead, but I took that first ride, my shaky first step.

-Dawn Grove