Goals and January 1 go hand in hand. While I’m not a New Year’s resolution guy, I am a believer in reflecting on the previous twelve months in the form of a journaling exercise to begin each year. I love sharing this exercise with my twelve-year-old daughter. We are big believers in the gratitude journal, which we try to keep up with throughout the year. When the year comes to a close, we sit down and write all of the noteworthy achievements, accomplishments, memories, trips, shared experiences, books read, songs listened to, movies watched, trails pedaled, water swam. Then we pull out my phone and start at the beginning and go on a trip down memory lane, journeying through the entire year via photos snapped and stored. I added a little wrinkle this year for myself, doing a decade review, jotting down a handful of notable memories from each year. Why the reflection? To remember good times (and the not so good times too) I suppose. Being present, mindful, intentional, in the moment certainly matters, but I think a lot of our depression and suffering stems from not feeling like we’re not doing enough in the moment (perspective), but I really believe it’s the body of work that matters. It’s the long haul. Life is so full of ups and downs—especially when we’re hurting or living in chronic pain–that I find it important to shine a spotlight on all of the good, the pedals pushed, the miles ridden, the strokes counted, the mountains seen, the water explored, the adventures shared with my daughter and wife (and dog).
A goal by its very nature is something meant to stretch us, to achieve a ‘desired’ result. Goals are multi-layered. Some are more attainable than others, some take more effort, some of the more lofty ones I like to call ‘stretch’ goals. Perhaps my 2020 list of goals on the bike are too full of stretch goals, perhaps not. The funny thing is, with my level of fitness and commitment to training and nutrition, nobody would think my goals are too ambitious if it were not for spondylitis, migraines and a hip tear. But perhaps spondylitis, migraines and a hip tear are exactly why I need these goals, and why these goals inspire a sense of audacity.
I went pretty big in 2019, experienced the best health, and most injury free summer season in the water, on the bike and in the weight-room that I can remember. I felt the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment of completing my longest open water swim to date, pushing PR’s on my daily trail ride, participating in (and pulling off a top ten finish) an ultra mountain bike race, and pushing my autumn saddle sessions on the long, desolate dirt roads here in Montana far beyond the time and distances ridden in the past. You see, my reasons for going hard and fast hasn’t been from a lack endurance or desire to spend more time in the saddle, but it stems from a lack of cooperation from my body. One of the most common side-effects of ankylosing spondylitis (more known for its spine ravaging characteristics) is something called enthesopathy, a disorder causing inflammation where the tendons attach to the bone.
For a climber like myself, spending the better part of a decade working as a ranger in Yellowstone, I pushed through one achilles flare after another, leading to a collection of walking boot casts and many months of frustration (added together I spent a total of two years in a boot cast). Year after year, I climbed on my bike from Gardiner to Mammoth, a steep journey from the high desert floor of the Maiden Basin to the otherworldly landscape that is Mammoth Hot Springs. It was a big climb that I rode as a time-trial, night after night, trying to best the previous evening’s effort. The amount of time spent out of the saddle, cranking on the pedals put massive amounts of strain on my left achilles, and when a spondylitis flare struck, it always announced its arrival right there, in that ever important tendon.
I’ve celebrated a relatively injury free last five biking seasons after a challenging two years where I spent twelve of eighteen months in in a walking boot cast or on crutches as doctors and physical therapists tried one thing after another to dampen the flames of my achilles flare. This was followed by a bike related wrist surgery and months later a hip surgery and a week-long brush with eternity in the hospital after getting diagnosed with a rare clotting disorder following my hip procedure. Like any athlete or human with a desire to move, I’ve been forced to adapt, adjust and retool. This has included rethinking my approach to training at the gym, and accepting limited ride time per outing, in order to increase the number of days on the bike, and hence the frequency of joyful endorphins that few things can induce with more potency than a mountain bike. One of my strategies for staying in the saddle all summer long has been to push my intensity on the trails, while reducing the load by keeping my ride time under the two and a half hour threshold. So I ride hard and I ride fast, cross-country style. The achilles has necessitated this approach. But, a super rare and potent clotting disorder requires me to take blood thinners, not the best combination with charging hard and fast on a mountain bike. The first thing they tell you on blood thinners is, “Don’t hit your head.” Riding hard and fast on a mountain bike is synonymous with hitting your head, eventually, it’s just going to happen.
So, back to the drawing board I went. Now, I climb fast, and I ride smart on the descent. And I find myself gravitating towards longer, slower, simpler ways to ride my bike and explore wild spaces. I’ve never gravitated to riding pavement, but since starting blood thinners, I avoid pavement like the plague, too many distracted drivers, and here in Montana, not enough shoulder or bike lanes. So I stick to the dirt. Trails and dirt roads. And this brings us back to the audacity of setting goals with spondylitis, migraines and poorly shaped hips. When I unveiled my bike related goals for twenty twenty to my wife, I did so in a public place, and not just any public place, but at our favorite Bozeman breakfast joint FEED. Though it didn’t stop her from calling me “crazy” “insane” and “wild” it did keep her from walking away, because nobody walks away from a Muff (Feed’s standout menu item).
Goals are like everything else in life, they’re all about the effort. All we can do is focus on our circle of influence, that which we have some control, in the case of my bike goals, things like nutrition, training, rest and recovery. So, I’ll do everything I can to prepare physically and mentally and then it’s a matter of seeing what happens, seeing how the body responds.
I’ve learned a lot about IFS (Internal Family Systems) in counseling, they call it parts work. There are parts of me that need to set these goals, that need something to look forward to on a personal level during these long, dark, cold, spondy ravaging Montana winters. And there are other parts that are afraid, afraid that no amount of training will prepare my achilles to handle the rigors of 100 mile days on washboard dirt roads or multi-day bike-packing adventures with upwards of 30 thousand feet of climbing in store. And then there’s the part that says, “What happens when you get a massive migraine on day two of a four day ride?” And that part, the afraid part, doesn’t want me to set these goals, and that part is even more terrified to verbalize the goals knowing that I’m one achilles flare, or labrum tear (I’m currently training with a 180 degree labrum tear in my right hip which has a propensity to cause stabbing like pains during long efforts in the saddle), or multi-day migraine maze away from not even showing up at the starting line.
Goals–any goal really, but especially ambitious ones–take courage for any of us to write down, let alone talk about. I’d argue that goals–especially physical ones–with spondylitis, migraines, poorly shaped hips, clotting disorders, and any other form of limiting factors that at times makes doing laundry, cooking breakfast, walking through a grocery store, or getting dressed feel like a herculean effort, are much more than ambitious, they’re audacious.
So, to all of you spondy warriors (again, you can substitute ‘spondy’ for any other kind of energy zapping malady, loss or limiting factor), I encourage you to be audacious by putting your dreams and goals out there, not because it’s January, but because they matter. What’s the worst that can happen? We don’t pull them off. We don’t show up at the starting line. We pullout midway through. Would this be a cause of disappointment? Sure. But that’s what a counselor is for. Talk therapy, CBT, IFS, it’s a good fallback.
Pain can rob us of our energy, our mood, even our drive at times; but let’s not let it steal our goals, our dreams, our hopes and our curiosity, “I wonder where that road leads?”
Goals come in many different shapes and sizes, big and small, and the size of a goal is subjective and deeply personal (again, a matter of perspective), but whatever your goals look like (for me, that was hooking up gluten free chocolate chip pancakes AND savory GF waffles on New Year’s Day when my hips screamed at me to take a seat), by all means, let’s embrace the audacity of our goals (big and small) and see where 2020 takes us.
With nothin’ but love, mwl