Ode to Fate

You gave it your best shot.

I weathered the broken bones with muttered patience.

Endless rehab robbed me of precious hours, days, years, decades.

I could easily be an asphalt-stained memory if not for one thing.

You don’t own me.

You never owned me.

“Be careful!”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Why take so many chances?”

As if you had any say in the matter.

I say when it’s time to go. 

My flicker of time on this spinning rock will end when I pull the plug.

You’re just along for the ride.

I may not be whole.

My body racked with pain.

Concussed memories fade in and out.

Every scar a mark in my personal timeline.

Sleepless nights a constant reminder of risk versus reward.

But your contribution isn’t even measurable.

Regrets? None.

This vessel has been well used.

And will continue to punch a hole in the earth until it can no longer move forward.

Soon I begin my 47th trip around the sun.

If it ends tomorrow I’m satisfied with my time spent.

Until then, bring it.

Take another swing. 

Take as many as you like.

I’ll be too busy living my life to notice.

Nice try...

...but I'm still here, standing tall and lookin' pretty.

Peace out my strong friends!

- Ian

Chasing Wabbits!

Hello friends!

Forgive me, I just realized I never mentioned anything about my first mountain bike race since the comeback! Please forgive the slip!

Anyhoo, back in May I competed in my first race in over 3 years. I had to take almost three weeks off from riding leading up to the race to let my back accept the stem cell injections (doctors orders) so my fitness level for the race wasn't exactly where I'd hoped. But my only goal was to finish the race without embarrassing myself too much. And of course I entered Open Single Speed, because I'm just not that smart.

The course took place in beautiful Wilder Park in Santa Cruz, overlooking the deep blue Pacific then twisting in and out of emerald green forests. Each lap was 11 miles with about 1500 feet of climbing. My class only completed two laps while the pros did three, but at race pace and minimal fitness it felt like twice that amount. I'm a notoriously slow starter, so I got smoked on the initial climb. My old lungs just don't appreciate being played like a bag pipe from a cold start. But once my wind bags settled down and my thighs stopped screaming at me I began sliding into a rhythm and started catching some of the riders in front of me who went out a bit too hard.

Ripping down the Enchanted Forest loop

The course wasn't terribly technical, but there were enough roots and rocks to keep you on your toes. My competitive streak has long since faded into my rear view. The days of caring about where I finish are replaced with blissful joy at the simple and wonderful fact that I can turn a pedal. And as people passed me, and I passed others, I smiled (and heaved and sweated and labored) realizing my journey, while slow, had brought me to a place I secretly feared might never materialize.

So when I crossed the finish line, with no clue as to my finishing position, I was rather shocked to discover I had landed on the 5th and final spot of the podium. The post race beer tasted that much sweeter being able to stand before my fellow racers and receive a medal. Three years removed from my last race and a mountain of pain behind me, I soaked in every second.

Big grins all day long!

I have no plans on returning to racing on a regular basis, picking and choosing from events rather than training for a particular series. These days I can begin a big ride knowing I will finish in manageable pain, rather than complete destruction. This past week saw my biggest numbers to date on the mountain bike over a 7 day stretch, and my legs are cooked as a result. When my legs are more exhausted than my back, that is a good day!

A big week!

I hope this entry into my meager little journal finds you well, my friends.

- Ian

It's good to be home

For the uninitiated, Downieville is home to some of the most fun and challenging trails in the California sierras. Mountain bikers from all over the world descend upon this little town along the Yuba River padded up and ready to shred. The preferred way to the top is by shuttle van from town, but my old friend Mike and I chose to ride to the top. We don't need no stinkin' shuttle!

The climb from town to the top is about 18 miles and 4400 feet, peaking at the summit around 8000 feet above sea level. We took our time pedaling up the never ending fireroad and labored in the heat, but we knew what awaited us at the top. Miles and miles of untamed, rocky, flowy trails that whip and twist until finally spitting you out back into town. So we grunted and sweated out the climb, catching each other up on our respective lives, having not ridden together in a few years.

Pause in the action after ripping down the mountain.

Mike says it's time for a break on the climb to Big Boulder

It's been over three years since I've been able to ride Downieville, and one of the places I dreamt of returning to once I was physically capable of absorbing the terrain. I must admit, I was a bit nervous about this ride. I've been pounding on my back pretty hard in Santa Cruz and surrounding areas on the bike, but Downieville is a different beast. It never relents and if you're not careful it will bite (I've got scars courtesy of previous Downieville trips as proof of my arrogance). My back protested a bit on the climb, forcing me to move around the bike to keep things loose, but it was all manageable and never forced me into submission.

On January 1st of this year I set a goal of visiting Whistler, BC later this year. At the time my back wasn't near ready for a visit to the mecca of bike parks, but I was optimistic. After yesterdays journey I'm feeling rather positive about spending a week shredding the gnar in Whistler.

Biggest and most challenging ride since the comeback began.

For all my friends who are in pain and seeking relief, don't give up. Yeah, it's corny and cheesy and cliche. But it's the truth. Don't stop moving forward. If each day you can only take one step, that's one step in the right direction. I know some days it feels like living without pain is forever out of reach, and every day I still deal with pain and discomfort, but I continue to find solace in the even the tiniest of victories.

Peace out my strong friends,

- I

Body Weights

It's been years since I touched a dead weight (barbell, dumbell, etc). As far as I'm concerned we have all the weight we need to push or pull right here in our flesh and blood. So earlier this year I finally felt comfortable enough to start a body weight campaign to get my strength back - push ups, pull ups, dips, using all sorts of creative apparatus to move this lanky frame around.

Thankfully, calisthenics parks are popping up all over the place, taking advantage of the new wave of fitness geeks who would rather bask in the sunshine as they wince and strain than sit in a dimly lit box, sweating to bad techno music. Now its taken a few months to get to a point where I can truly push myself without fear of popping something, and I'm finally at the point where I can start getting creative. So Ive set some goals for myself this year.

By years end I'll be able to do:
• Muscle up - No kipping crap, but a true and strict muscle up.
• Planche - this will be harder on my shoulders than anything else.
• Archer/walk step pull up - Just because it looks so damn cool

As luck would have it, there's a pretty decent calisthenics spot at UCSC overlooking the Monterey Bay (rough life, I know). It offers most of what I need to GET STRONG, and these mini bars are great for a variety of exercises, including curled-up dips only people with short legs can really master. But I thought I'd give it a shot.

To pushing your body around!

Peace out my strong friends!

- I

Freedom of movement

Hello my friends!

It's been a while, my apologies. Recent events have kept me on the down low, but I'm slowly crawling back. I want to discuss something that might get under the skin of some of the more able-bodied folks out there.

I was talking with a fellow spiney friend of mine who is having a rough time coping with life after surgery. He's in constant pain and residing in a very dark place. A place I'm more than familiar with. He spoke of being a prisoner in his own body. Of locking himself away from the world, of feeling inadequate. Of wanting to move on from this mortal coil. This is a feeling I know all too well.

I didn't judge him. I didn't try to brighten his spirits with empty talk of 'life will get better'. I just listened. I gave him the space to say what he needed to say, free from any obligation to explain himself. Because I know what he's going through, and sometimes you just need someone to listen to you explain what you're feeling without fear of being ignored or patronized.

For those of you reading this who are otherwise able-bodied, meaning you aren't in agonizing pain and live a rewarding and comfortable life, please don't offer your opinion to someone whose existence can only be described as a daily, naked crawl through broken glass. Don't even speak. Just listen. Wanting to bring an end to the pain is very personal, and unless you have been stuck in this bottomless pit of despair with no hope and no end in sight, you have no idea what you're talking about.

If you get upset with a friend who wants to end their pain once and for all, you are being selfish. You are  thinking only of how their absence will affect you, and not their struggle. When every second of every day is a prison cell of pain, the only thing you want is relief. And for some, relief is a soothing pint of morphine away. So if you find yourself speaking with someone who can't see past the mountain of pain crushing their soul, don't speak, just listen.

Sometimes just being heard is enough to get that person through another day.

With that said, I'm thankfully no longer a resident of Darktown. My struggles become more tolerable as time goes by. I'm back to riding my single speed mountain bike, hammering out mile after mile. Pain is still my co-pilot, but I can cope.

Two weeks ago I underwent another round of stem cell injections in my low back, but this time we hit the facet joints further up my spine to help get some relief in areas I'd been neglecting. My body is enjoying a freedom of movement that two and a half years ago seemed impossible. I'm feeling strong for the first time in far too long, and every day is a new opportunity to get stronger.

I will never be satisfied, which helps drive me, but I appreciate each and every moment that I can rise without daggers digging into my spine and forcing me to my knees.

For anyone currently living in Darktown, I know what you're going through. I know the thoughts swirling around in your head can be difficult to rationalize. But they're normal. Don't beat yourself up for simply wanting an end to the pain. My only advice is to find something, a glimmer of progress, any change that feels like a sliver of improvement or hope, and grab onto that hope with everything you have and work your ass off to push forward.

Nothing in life is static. Life IS change. Up, down, sideways, backwards, forwards. We keep moving in different directions. You might have to take two steps back to go one step forward at times. Progress can arrive in inches or miles. It can come slamming down with thunderous force or drizzle across your face like a sweet spring rain. But just Keep. Moving. Forward.

Peace, my friends.

- I

Anniversary

Hello Friends,

Well, my two year anniversary came and went a couple weeks ago. I had been anticipating the two year mark for a while, but the past few months have put my back, well, behind me. I may have mentioned a while ago that my mother was diagnosed with cancer in the fall of 2013. Right after my back took a nose dive. Sadly, mom departed from this rock recently after giving cancer a good run for its money.

I moved back in with mom last December to take care of her while under hospice care at home. So my recovery has taken a back seat to mom's care. I managed to get out early some mornings for quick workouts, and in January I finally started doing some strength training to compliment the biking and swimming. And after a few weeks I'm able to eeek out a few pull ups.

This is from a few weeks ago. Nothing to write home about, but progress. By summer I'm hoping to be up to 25. Pardon my brevity, just not feeling terribly enthusiastic. But I promise more energetic updates in the future.

Peace out my friends.

Year of the Comeback

Hello friends!

First, I must apologize for the long absence. Sometimes when you're living life you lose track of time.

By the end of 2013 I could barely walk more than a few blocks without back seizures forcing me to the ground, literally. I often found myself daydreaming that while hobbling down some random street a Steinway would break free from its swinging cable three stories above and crush me like a cartoon character. I just wanted it to end.

By the end of 2014 I could hike up to 8 miles, albeit in a great deal of pain. The pain wasn't completely limiting me from moving, but it certainly made life far more difficult. The piercing pain I had experienced the year prior was replaced by a deep, and at times over-bearing pressure that, while not enough to make me reach for a gun, still weighed heavily on my spirit.

Today, the final day of 2015, I went for a spirited ride on my sexy-as-hell titanium Kona Honzo in the Santa Monica mountains and hit some sweet jumps! I was far from pain free, but I can ride. And that in and of itself is a massive victory.

I hit the much smaller jumps...

I started (really) riding the mountain bike in May. Now, when I say I rode my mountain bike, what I really mean is I rolled downhill like a snail on quaaludes, and pushed my bike uphill like an asthmatic sloth. Every ride was painful, and the hours after each ride were filled with anxiety about every little twinge and lightening strike down my back and left leg. But as the weeks and months passed things improved, and the mechanical and structural pain turned into muscle pain.

There was a total of 20 glacial months between bike rides. Twenty long, brutal months wondering if 1.) I would be able to ride again, and 2.) If I could manage to turn a crank, would I split in half. Those fears were quickly addressed and now, 7 months since hocking up my lungs at my first Wednesday Night Skeggs ride in over two years, on a good day I can handle 40 miles in the saddle with up to 5,000 feet of climbing. And I can even manage to keep some of my old shredder riding friends in sight on the descents. I'm far from pain free on rides. Riding is still a lesson in patience and my thresholds are tested with each passing mile. Right now in fact, my back is burning up a pretty good storm after today's ride. But I CAN ride. Physically I can turn a crank, stand and mash, bounce off rocks, and put this bit of titanium and polycarbonate wizardry in my spine through it's paces. And for that I'm grateful.

My year in numbers. I didn't start recording my rides until June, so for 6 months
these are respectable stats and more than I had hoped for.

2015 was my year of regaining some strength and finding a place physically where I felt the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't indeed the N Judah train bearing down on me. There are moments, not entire days, but delicious, blissfully serene moments where I'm almost pain free. No pressure, no tension, just a sense of what I think (and hope) most people feel as they walk through their days. And I plan to string together more of these moments until they form a complete day.

I've got another series of stem cell injections planned at the beginning of the year. But this time we're going all the way up my thoracic spine as well. No more playing games. It's go time. The stem cells worked wonders rebuilding the torn ligaments in my SI joints, so I'm hoping it can help with the cranky facets in my mid back.

At the start of the year I had certain hopes and goals, but wouldn't say out loud what most of them were. Over the summer I rode trails in Oregon and the Sierras, and covered hundreds of miles aboard the mighty Honzo in my backyard, AKA the Santa Cruz mountains, appreciating every drop of sweat that gleefully danced down my cheeks. Goals achieved. My hopes and goals for 2016 are bigger...but I'm keeping those a secret as well.

This time next year I hope to be reporting that I met or exceeding my goals for the year both physical and personal, and that pain is an even greater distant memory. And for those of you who have followed my journey, thank you for your time, and I wish you the best year imaginable.

Peace out my friends!