You Never Know

“Please keep your conversation, your talking, to a minimum. Respect your fellow riders. You never know what others in the stadium next to you are going through.” 

Flywheel instructor Utley Lee starts each class with this message. And he’s right. 

 For over a year, I was showing up at Flywheel with discipline and heart, four to five days a week, and no one there could have ever guessed what I went through each day to get out of my house and onto that bike. 

 I was suffering with ulcerative colitis, an irritable bowel disease that I was repeatedly told was not caused by what I was eating, and could only be controlled by anti-inflammatory medications—which for me had stopped working. Even after giving myself two hours to leave my house in the morning, I often had to stop during my drive into the city to use a bathroom. I got to know all of the temporary parking spots on my route and prayed one would be available if I needed it. Most days, I would rush into the coffee shop on the corner before class. I am sure everyone working there got to recognize the girl in the bright blue Patagonia jacket heading to the restroom each morning like clockwork. Once, I even stopped at a port-o-potty before dawn in the dead of winter, terrified to be there alone in the dark, and praying it would be unlocked and have toilet paper (thankfully it was, and it did).

When I finally arrived at Flywheel, I was greeted with smiles and hellos and this genuine happiness everyone had to be there. Every day I would feel the same joy that I had made it, I am here. Even if I started my ride feeling a hint of discomfort, I would start to breathe as the lights went down and the first song came on, and everything would just vanish. Throughout the ride, I would start to find my strength, which I met with sheer gratitude and awe for what my body was capable of in that moment. When the instructor told us to push, there was no question I was going for it. Something about giving it my all made me feel almost invincible, which was a powerful antidote to the vulnerability and insecurity I had felt just hours before. When I gave it my all, my heart would open and I would feel like I was actually flying—euphoric, smiling, laughing even—like I was on top of the world. This is the feeling that motivated me to get there, no matter what else I was experiencing in my life, whether physical or emotional. It didn’t have to do with my results or my ranking on the TorqBoard, it was all about that feeling, and it still is. 

 Four months ago, I went to see an acupuncturist who recommended that I modify my diet by eliminating gluten, soy, legumes and certain grains. Almost immediately, the symptoms I had been experiencing started to cease. My body started absorbing nutrients again, and I began to gain weight and muscle. Today, I feel healthier and stronger than I have ever felt in my life, and I continue to give all that I have to my Flywheel classes. Because I can. When you face a debilitating illness, it puts a lot into perspective. And I will never, ever take for granted what my body can do. 

A letter to 2013

2013 was one intense year.  In January, the news of my mother’s recurrence of cancer made me feel vulnerable, angry, wobbly, sad, and out of control.

On my parents’ wedding anniversary in February, my brother, sister and I wrote a family group text to my parents which had them in hysteric, joyful tears. My mom died a week later. We flew kites on the beach in Pawley’s Island in her memory.

When I got home on Valentine’s Day, my dad sent me a bluebird house that he built for our yard. 

 

I kept my resolution to get a massage once a month and signed up for my first Flywheel class in March. I literally started catching my breath, and going to Flywheel became a deeply personal escape for me.

 

Roy and I cooked dinner for ten people on a Monday night, entertained until 1:30 in the morning and went to work the next day. We cooked amazing recipes for ourselves, dined out, and dressed up a lot. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary with two dozen red roses and a bonfire in Scranton in a hotel room that we shared with my step-daughter at, you guessed it, a tennis tournament. We indulged in a slice of our wedding cake top, drank an amazing bottle of wine that we received as a wedding gift, and splurged on buying each other a painting which we absolutely cherish.

 

There were nights when we could grab them of parenting advice and motivational talks with my step-son who since graduating and spending the first part of his adult life in pajamas all day has suddenly fallen in love, cleaned out his room, and moved to Canada for grad school. There were hours laughing with tennis moms, spent college planning, driving to tennis, tutoring and juggling after school pick-ups. There were the months spent getting Cristina’s passport approved, finally get her driving permit and going on afternoon driving lessons. By the time Mother’s Day came around, I truly felt like I had earned bon-a-fide stepmom status.

 

The best moments of the summer were nights spent on our front porch, moving slow, relaxing with a glass of wine, farmer’s market caprese salads, friends, sunsets, birds and neighbors.  

 

My almost 20 year old cat Shotzie held on until his other cat mom, Audrey, could make it home from Mexico in time to say goodbye in July. 

 There were lots of phone calls to our dads and visits to see Roy’s mom whose health was also fading. All of her children and their families came to give her their last hugs before she left us in August.

 

There was more grieving and more phone calls, and then an unplanned getaway to New York City with my husband in October that reminded me that I love being around the energy of uninhibited people and need to live more like the way I do when I am in Paris. 

There were family gatherings in Delaware, Philadelphia, South Carolina, Pittsburgh and Atlanta for birthdays, holidays and remembrances along with hugs, tears, laughter, play, dance parties and pedicures.

I am grateful for the love, friendships, music, motivation, health and experiences that graced my life in 2013, and also grateful for the challenges that have pushed and shaped me and made me feel stronger and intensely alive. My wish in 2014 is for more love, balance, relaxation, patience and trust that things will work out the way that they are meant to for all of us and all of you.

Happy New Year!