I will the machine.

Tag: recovery

  • Letters to Thanatos: A 300 Prelude

    Daemon of nonviolent death,

    We’ll speak in person soon, in a quiet place. Just when I started feeling steady, I up and upped the stakes on myself again.

    I’ve had some ask what the impetus is to keep coming back to the rail trail for big distances when I could just as soon start them from my front door and go anywhere else. The cold little voice on my shoulder says it counts less, and I giggle because the pain inflicted by monotony and metronome turns you inward in a sharper way than the mountain and the wood.

    I cannot hide from you there.

    Some cannot survive you there.

    I come back to you in rehearsal of the day when you’ve decided I’ve done enough, hoping I can appeal to your mercy to meet me with nothing left unsaid.

    I’m certain reckoning doesn’t come after death, but in the centuries-long moments before; it will land like an assault for those whose closets rattle with skeletons not yet dead.

    And so,

    I draw my sword.

    _____

    The sound of clanging metal ascends.

    I put my body on notice yesterday with a 6.5-hour simmer on the trail. It took minutes to remember why I thrive out there even as I continue to describe my one-day completions of the trail as “worse than Kanza” (now known as Unbound). It’s flat. It’s unglamorous. It’s incredibly painful because your only relief is to stop. It’s virtually impossible to blame anything but you if you fail. It’s so predictable and boring that I have the privilege of settling into this virtually unkillable rhythm, listen to the same new song on loop, and become irrationally offended when it’s interrupted.

    I learned in Endogenous Rex that I am most driven when I let everyone else disappear. Getting dropped means innumerable distractions are eliminated. Thanatos came to reap all hope of me finding love for classic competition again and returned me to the holy ground that has weathered everything. The manger where I am allowed to understand my own voice without static.

    My sanctum is internal, the ability to observe my own patterns and come back out at will- that observance is why my writing sounds like it does. It’s how I wasn’t molded by the environment I grew up in, but cut out the bullshit in spite of it. The nearer I draw toward the dark, the more clearly I can discern its language.

    I am privileged to say what it whispers, and what I show you, are the same.

    _____

    Practical updates:

    I cannot find record of someone riding from Kansas City to the end of the Katy Trail within a day. I was keeping a very conservative goal time because 80 additional miles on top of what I have previously done is major, but now I will target sub-24 hours from state-line to state-line.

    I plan to start on Saturday, October 4th, at 6:00 p.m. This is subject to vary if weather becomes an issue.

    I will update again when I have a Trackleaders link. If you aren’t familiar, this link will allow you to view my movement/location live for the entire pursuit. This link can be shared with anyone, and all are welcome to intercept in person.

    But because I am a woman, let me make this super clear:

    I am not polite toward questionable company, and my team will never be far away. If you show up with an ulterior motive, I will know.

  • The Closing Argument: Trans-Missouri 300

    Three years ago, I asked another ultra-minded friend of mine if they’d be up for riding border to border of the state, from Kansas City, MO to Alton, IL. We then spent the summer putting miles in on the Marthasville corridor of the Katy Trail and its adjacent roads, but had to bump the date back twice. Then, the day before we were slated to drive out to Kansas City to settle in for the 300+ mile effort, something urgent came up for them and I waited another day for an update. That next morning, I ripped my knee open on the latch of the van door as I was getting out for the day. I called someone from inside the horse barn I was working at to bring me a towel to control the bleeding, and then drove myself 30 minutes to the ER.

    My teammate still hadn’t updated me on if we could still make the ride happen, and I asked the doc who was stitching me up, “Should I not ride on this then?”

    “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I would recommend waiting two weeks,” he said, with cheeky eye contact. The first statement was him talking to me, the second was him speaking to his medical license.

    Once discharged, I drove to Marthasville to tell another friend about the absurdity of the weekend before it had even really started. I texted my teammate to ask for an update- within five minutes they replied to me telling me they were out.

    Before I could come to terms with things just not working out again, my friend broached an idea.

    “You’re already prepped. Why don’t I drive you out to Clinton and you can go for the Katy record.”

    I was listening, but this concept required a total rewiring of expectations, quickly. This new plan meant I lost two key components- a riding partner, and a support car.

    They handed me the trail map that listed all of the trailheads, mile markers, and their amenities. I now had to consider how much extra I could carry on my bike, where I could buy what I couldn’t, and all of the other time-killing tasks that might come up now that a driver wasn’t going to be available.

    This was around 4:00 p.m. on a Friday.

    At 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning, I was 3.5 hours west now rolling out for 240 miles solo with an Ace bandage wrapped around my knee.

    I broke the original women’s self-supported fastest-known-time (set by Kendall Park) with a total elapsed time of 16 hours, 51 minutes. I then came back the next year to ride it again 24 minutes faster.

    _____

    If you haven’t read anything of mine lately, this year has been mostly devoid of any planned objectives since a last-minute ultra race entry in May where I experienced what was likely a CPTSD episode at 170 miles (see Depths Too Dark). The rest of the summer has been further plagued by logistical stress and nervous system shutdown from a long history of having to push too hard on and off of the bike.

    I’m now fully aware of limiters I wasn’t even at the beginning of this year, and more recently discovered how to work with them even as they have slowed me down- one part science, one part spirit. I think I’m onto something.

    And thanks to the most astutely supportive people I have met, one I’ve known for seven years, the other for hardly one, I have a new bike being built at a local bike shop this week to take over for the one I’ve run into the earth for over 40,000 miles. I said earlier this year that I wanted to make that happen and give the full Katy a run again both mechanically and cognitively refreshed, but the chaos since spring meant I was again not able to provide that for myself.

    A couple of people didn’t want to see me fail again and were in a position to do something about it.

    I want to both honor that in my usual style and attempt to end this season with the magnitude I had hoped for, and thought had escaped me. Call me delusional, but I’m staging an intervention.

    In four to six weeks (official date TBD), I want to be cut loose in a parking lot somewhere in Kansas City on that original pursuit to touch both borders in one ride. At approximately 320 miles, I know now that the key to finishing has a lot less to do with my physical capacity and ultimately depends on not having to be the sole proprietor; I want to taste what it’s like to ride without the lessons of relying entirely on me, for once, even if I am not chasing speed this time. I need to see what I can do when I don’t feel unsafe.

    I also want a spot to take a nap that isn’t on the damn ground.

    What is going to be a 24+ hour assault is going to be arresting for a driver (or a team of them), too. The most difficult part of this is asking for help I seldom feel I deserve but have recently been receiving in tons anyway. I am opening this part of the story up for you, dear reader, to be a part of, if you want to. I have a crew of 2-3 stepping up at the moment, but am also putting out the call for at least one more driver. I am also looking to crowdfund for hotel stays at the beginning and end of this behemoth, fuel costs, and making sure all of us are fed. But because there are no rules with this one, riding company and trailside comradery would make this version surreal for me too.

    If you want to be involved, in ways that I have mentioned above or with your own ideas or questions, please Contact Me directly. Years of van-life as an under-resourced athlete have conditioned me to believe I had to account for every detail down to the punctuation mostly alone; class on not having to do that is currently in session. Can I sit next to you?

    _____

    This will be my final push this year, but still a step toward even greater assaults where self-sufficiency and psychological safety will have to be forged in iron. We’ve already started.

    Trans-Am is coming.

    Follow-up – We’re All Dirt: Trans-Missouri 300 Update