My Bicycle Racing Season Review, 2010 Edition, Part 1

Being that this is a bicycle-related blog, and that I recently "completed" my first bicycle racing season in five years, I thought I'd do a "Season Review."

A lot has happened this year, to say the least. Obviously, Rose had twins; my progeny. We moved from California back to Wisco, and I started a new job while Rose has assumed the stay-at-home mom role. It's been an unbelievably busy time in our lives, what with work and doctor visits and being back near friends and family. But somehow, I found time to ride like I haven't ridden in five years. And it was fucking fantastic!

The season started early for me, and for Wisco' from what I remember. I was doing lots of long weekend rides with my good friend Glo Tube and Team Sluggo. These are consistently some of the best rides I've ever done. Captain Sluggo, Pauly K., does a fantastic job of planning routes finding the most obscure and scenic of Northeast Wisco' back roads. The group generally consists of well-seasoned, experienced riders who really know what they're doing, are great people to talk to, and who have great stories to tell. So average speeds were around 18-20 mph for anywhere from three to six hours with very few stops, but with such good company, the time and miles flew by. Beers always rounded out those long, cold days. It really doesn't get any better.

Sluggo Ride in Full Effect. In front, Marky D., and Me. Rear, Glo Tube and Anonymous. Photo by Team Sluggo.

These early season rides really helped bring down my weight, which over the last five years had ballooned (for me, at least) to 160 pounds, maybe more. I shutter to think. Plus, I think I just got soft over all; lots of fat and muscle atrophy. My first ride of the season, a mere 25 miles resulted in a very unpleasant and embarrassing bonk that could only be quelled by two bowls of Honey-Nut Scooters. Seriously, I was that out of shape.

Tired

Shit's getting pretty fuckin' real around here these days. It's good. All of it. But we're pretty tired. I knew this would happen - all our friends and family have been saying it would happen - but I felt like it was one of those things I couldn't really know until I experience it for myself.

Really, the hardest part is just waking up. Once I'm moving, it's not so bad. But stopping, even for a little bit, can sometimes bring about a crash. This is annoying to me because I've never been a napper, but at this point, I kind of have to.

The low point so far has been last Tuesday night. I spent all day running around, feeding and changing Oscar and Petar, and then I did a 2 hour ride with friends. I just had to get out and ride, and it felt fantastic, despite a terrible head wind on the way home. It must've been a steady 20 miles per hour. We got back to our place and had a couple beers on the porch while Rose and M.I.L.M. tended the boys. I suppose I had, like, half a beer too many, because when I was requested inside to feed Petar, I was dead tired. I could barely keep my eyes open. A shower didn't help, and I just felt terrible. Not drunk from the beer, but tired from the day. Dehydrated, too, but I didn't feel much like drinking water or anything, I just wanted to sleep.

I've been taking the late-night/early-morning shift since we brought them home, so I don't usually get to bed until one or two a.m. But this was the most difficult night so far; by far. Generally, I've got the energy to stay up and it doesn't really bother me. Sometimes I can doze off a bit before the one o'clock-ish feeding. But I was so tired, I couldn't even sleep. Plus, the food I ate gave me a stomach ache; it was bad. I hadn't felt so run down in a really, really long time.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like complete dog shit. My mouth and throat were dry and my voice was hoarse. I could barely talk for a few minutes, and my voice was raspy the rest of the morning. Still, nothing is as cool as watching Oscar and Pete suck down a bottle of breast milk and formula. I could watch it all day. Then they burp and fart, and for me, that's hilarious. They say you're only young once, but you can be immature forever. I try to live by that.

That's what makes being so tired not matter that much: seeing these two boys being alive. Eating, breathing, making faces, flailing their arms and legs, pooping, peeing, burping, farting, crying, grunting. It's all so amazing, I forget about being tired.

B-Day as Best I Can Recall, Part One

On Tuesday morning, 6 July, 2010, about 10:30, Rose called my cell phone while I was at work. By the time I got to my bench to pick up, it stopped ringing. Almost immediately, the store phone rang and was picked up by another employee. A page went out: "Sean, line two. Sean, phone call, line two please."

I picked up, and it was Rose who sounded distressed, to say the least.

"I'm leaking," she said, "I called the hospital and they want me to come in."

I told her I'd be right there, and I left. Immediately. Her bag of waters had broken; shit just got real.

When I picked her up at 41 BDM, she was in tears and scared, saying, "I'm not ready."

I knew better though. She'd been preparing for this moment for two years; had read just about every book a person could read on pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood; and we'd taken 12 hours of birthing and child care classes. She was ready.

We got to the hospital and saw the on-call doctor since ours was on vacation. He examined Rose and told us this looked like the real thing. There was a problem though: since her water had broken before labor began, she and our babies were at risk of infection. Plus, it being six weeks before their due date, the boys still had a lot of developing to do. The doctor wanted to stave off labor for at least 48 hours so a course of steroids could be administered to help their lungs develop.

To hold back labor, Rose was given shots every four hours, on top of the pills she'd been taking the past six weeks. Between those two meds, which served the same purpose, we were hoping to get those much needed hours so Oscar and Petar's lungs could have a chance to develop enough so they could breath on their own at birth. We got close.

Rose's body was simply out of room and it was ready to deliver, despite all the anti-labor meds that were pumped in. Late on the evening of July 7, our doctor told us she was going to stop with the pills and shots, and let the labor take its course. She did however offer Rose and Ambien to help her rest up for what we thought would be an induced labor the next morning at 9:30. But again, Rose's body was just ready.

Around midnight, she began to awaken with contractions at regular intervals, but because of the Ambien, she would doze off between. At two A.M., we called for the on call doctor to see where we were at. Rose was dilated five centemeters, and she'd gotten their essentially in her sleep.

"Do you want an epidural?" this doctor asked.

Dreary-eyed, groggy and a little confused, Rose looked at me. I shrugged.

"I don't think so," she said, and a nurse standing near the door spoke up: "Are you kidding me? Most women would be screaming for an epidural at this point!"

But Rose seemed calm, if not a little aloof - it was the Ambien - and the labor thus far didn't seem that intense.

Again she dozed off.