This past weekend I had the privilege and honor of participating in the Livestrong Challenge in Austin, TX. Our team, “cancer sucks.”, raised $26,895 for the event ($20k + by team leader Kari Kehr alone. Awesome). Total raised for the weekend by all participants was $3.1 million. It was 3-days of emotional highs and lows, inspiration, and a fair bit of suffering over 90 miles of Texas hill-country roads.
Got to meet Chris Carmichael, Lance Armstrong’s longtime coach, which was cool. Incredibly nice guy, by the way. Saw Levi Leipheimer, Lance, Patrick “McDreamy” Dempsey and others throughout the weekend. But for me, the coolest part of the weekend was the unbelievable outpouring of support from people along the 90-mile course. People sitting and standing out in the heat and humidity for hours, clapping and cheering on each of the 3,100+ riders like they were family. A total stranger walking up to me as I am filling up my water bottle, shaking my hand and thanking me for what I’m doing. It’s times like that when it really hits you just how devastating and far-reaching cancer is. If you don’t know someone who has cancer or who has died from cancer, you are a truly fortunate human being.
My mother’s battle and eventual death from breast cancer was obviously on my mind the entire weekend. I also thought a lot about both of my grandfathers, as well as other friends and relatives I’ve lost over the years. I also thought of the survivors and those who are currently fighting their own battles. The 90-mile course was tough enough on it’s own, but trying to ride while trying not to cry makes it even tougher. One minute you’re fine, just focusing on turning the pedals over. Then you pass someone with a picture of their 6-year old daughter pinned to the back of their jersey, and you pray to God that you don’t see the words “In Memory of” above the photo. But then you do, and you lose it. The next minute you pass someone who has a “Survivor” tag on their jersey, and you give them a huge smile and a thumbs up as you ride by, and you feel inspired to hammer up the next of a seemingly endless string of steep grades. Your legs are on fire, your ass hurts from being in the saddle for over 4 hours, and it’s over 90 degrees outside with a steady 20mph headwind, but compared to what that person with the “Survivor” tag on their jersey has been through, you’ve got nothing to complain about. And you don’t complain. You put your head down, turn the cranks and thank God for the fact that you are alive and well.
Perhaps the only thing that rivaled the roller coaster of emotions was the actual roller coaster of a course we were riding. Just shy of 3,000 feet of elevation gain over 90 miles of ranch land in the Texas hill country. It seemed like we were climbing forever, with the occasional but way-too-brief downhill. Not the smoothest roads in the world, with a headwind for what felt like almost the entire route. The morning started out overcast and it felt like rain was a foregone conclusion. Then about halfway through, the clouds were gone and it got hot.
I rolled out with “cancer sucks.” and Peace Coffee Racing teammates Clayton McClagan and Cory Mortensen. We caught up to our other teammates who got to start with Lance Armstrong’s group, and stopped for a team photo. Then we all rode at our own pace. Clayton and I rode together, and we were absolutely flying for the first 40 miles or so. I’ve been in cyclocross mode for almost two months now, which means no long endurance rides, just short high-intensity intervals. Usually no more than an hour of riding. Well, I had basically just done about 2 hours of hill repeats at Tuesday Night World Championship pace and my ass was dragging big-time, with another 2–3 hours to go. I could tell the bonk was coming—had that hollow feeling where you are so hungry you feel as though you no longer have a stomach, just an empty space where it used to exist. Got to the next rest stop and I was just hoping to find a banana or a bagel. Even better was the box full of PBJ sandwiches and quesadillas. 3 sandwiches, a peanut butter and strawberry quesadilla (outstanding), some ClifBlocks, a Gu, and a bottle of Gatorade later I was a new man. The last 40 miles were 100x better than the first 50, even though the hills just kept on coming.
After our “safety break” near the end (some people in a minivan with a cooler full of ice-cold Shiner Bock), we rolled back towards Dripping Springs for the finish. The last few miles were lined with people cheering everyone home, with tons of people at the finish chute clapping, yelling and workin’ the cowbells. Cancer survivors had their own lane at the finish and each got a yellow rose. Very moving to watch people cross the line as they were greeted by family and friends.
One of the things I like most about Livestrong is their focus on the patient. A percentage of your donations goes towards research for treatment and hopefully a cure, but one of their main goals is patient advocacy and education. Just knowing where to start when you are diagnosed is an unimaginable task. Doing this ride probably isn’t going to result in a cure anytime soon. But it will give somebody the resources they need to help them navigate through the maze of specialists, insurance claims, employment issues, finances and so on. That is a very tangible benefit that you can see in action. I’m already looking forward to next year’s ride. I would strongly encourage anyone who has thought about doing it to join me. Whether you raise $250 or $25,000, ride 10 miles or 90 miles, you will know that you made a difference.
A huge thanks to everyone on Team Cancer Sucks. It was great meeting you all -- can't wait to do this again next year.
Top Photo: Chris Van Ert, Cory Mortensen, Clayton McLagan
Second Photo: Chris Van Ert, Chris Charmichael
Third Photo: Chris Van Ert, Clayton McClagan, and two ice-cold Shiner Bocks
Fourth Photo: back of our team jersey, with "In Honor of" and "In Memory of" lists
Bottom Photo: Team Cancer Sucks. Corey Mortensen, Liberty Lucken, Tom Crouch, Chris Van Ert, Clayton McClagan, Shawn Parker, Kari Kehr
