CHSP

It started with a cookie from time to time, then it went to halloween candy, chocolate covered pretzels, christmas cookies, cereal, girl scout cookies, donuts, easter candy, jelly beans, cupcakes, birthday cake, breads, pies...the list goes on an on...most recently it has been vanilla creme sandwich and chocolate peanut butter cookies from Aldi. At first it was three or four around lunch time...then it was six...then it was six before and six after...when I finally said enough is enough the total hovered around twenty cookies a day.

I didn’t eat a single one. I chewed them, just for the taste, and spit them out into a plastic cup.

I have been struggling with an eating disorder for the past three and a half years. The funny thing is that initially, I didn’t even know it was one. It has a name. It is called Chewing and Spitting Disorder (CHSP).

My brother’s cancer diagnosis sent life into a tailspin. It was a wild ride, one that left me feeling helpless and out of control. With so much unpredictability, I sought out something I could control..food.

I can’t say that I have made a ton of progress in breaking this habit, but I have taken small steps. Tootsie Pops have been a good alternative. One of those can last me at least a day, if not longer.

The largest obstacle I face is lack of access to decent mental health care. This is something that I should discuss with a therapist. Unfortunately, I cannot afford to pay for the service out of pocket and the limited options provided by my insurance are not appropriate.

The thing that took the most courage wasn’t sharing my story with people. The real courage came a few months ago when I took a glass (cookie) jar into the woods and threw it against a tree, shattering it to pieces.

I’m sure there are other people out there struggling with the same thing. I’m sure there are people out there struggling with much worse. Remember, just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Caffeinated CX 2018

Nervous energy…thats’ the only explanation I had as I watched the hours pass...2am, 3:12am, 4:25am 5:15am...I conceded, rolled out of bed and went down stairs to make a cup of coffee in the French press. 

The sun wasn’t up when I headed to the basement gym to burn off some of that nervous energy. I put in a decent 50 minute effort on the rollers and felt satisfied completing a workout in case I did not race. That was still a very likely possibility, even though I purposely put on my skin suit before leaving the house. 

As I walked out the door my dad said “good luck” to which I replied “thanks, I don’t even know if I am going to race.” Then I paused and said “I used to enjoy it so much, but it’s just not fun any more.” 

And there it was...I said it...what I was really thinking was that nothing is much fun any more. It’s been a struggle to find enjoyment in anything since my brother passed away. 

The first step was driving to the race venue. I was greeted by a handful of familiar faces as I made my way to the registration table. Step two was getting my number. Step three was pinning it on. So far so good. I made a few handup requests and decided to give it a go. 

The race started and it wasn’t long before we caught the back of the field who had started a minute ahead of us, one of whom went down right in front of me. This forced me to get off my bike in a bad spot. The woman who was in second place behind steered clear the traffic jam. I lost contact with her. 

And the was the race...four laps of seeing her just ahead of me...no one in sight behind me. I picked off riders from the 4/5 field for motivation until the bell lap when I got my Fuego handup. 

Second place was not a bad showing for my first race in over two years. 

The takeaways: First, I am definitely NOT in bike racing shape. Second, the cx community is full of wonderful and supportive people. This, I have always known and I am thankful that it has not changed in my absence. Finally, racing was much more of an emotional experience that I had anticipated. The physical strain is something my body is well prepared to handle, but emotionally, I am not quite there yet. 

Coming out of retirement for a day felt pretty good, but I’m not sure what the future holds.

The (delay of a) Comeback

The idea of entering a few cyclocross races popped into my head at the end of August. I spent most of my free time for the past three summers in New Hampshire, chipping away at the Four Thousand Footers. Riding a bicycle seemed like a nice change of pace

The first thing I did was request a downgrade from Cat 2 to Cat 3. Let’s be honest, I’ve never been Cat 2 material and racing Cat 3 would provide me with more options.

Once that was approved I started looking at the race calendar. The biggest obstacle I’ve faced when I comes to racing is the cost. After paying for a license, registration fees and gas it becomes quite costly. Not to mention it prohibits me from working on weekends, which I frequently do.

A few posts on social media landed me in a much better position. Not only was I able to coordinate volunteer work in exchange for free registration, an old cx pal “sponsored” me by covering the cost of my license.

I was all set to return last Sunday at Cooper River CX.

On Saturday morning I helped with course set up which involved raking leaves, picking up sticks and taping the course. When I was finished I went home and passed out. The next morning I woke up feeling like shit. My sinuses were full of yuck and my chest felt heavy. I went to the gym to see if I could loosen things up a bit to no avail...if I could barely breathe inside then a full blown effort outside was out of the question.

I struggled with this decision, mainly because I told people that I would be there and I don’t like going back on my word. When all is said and done I am not doing this for anyone but myself so when I do finally get out there again I want it to feel right.