Why We Ride: Sheila Cianci

Now that we are in our new house with tons of space, we have hung up the dartboard that belonged to Rich’s Granddad.  As I type this, he stands in the room next to me and the rhythmic thumping as darts hit board reminds me of how he has been affected by cancer.  That story is for him to tell, should he choose.  With just 9 days remaining before we ride, my mind wanders to my aunt who died of leukemia too soon.

A very happy toddler!

My earliest memories of Aunt Sheila were when my family first returned from living overseas and we spent some time in Connecticut.  It was a short summer interlude of ice cream, playing in the yard, and water gun fights (in the house, which from an 8 year old’s perspective are the best kind).  It didn’t take me long to realize what a special lady she was.  So when, a few years later, I found out we would be moving to Maine and living with her and her boyfriend in the farmhouse they had just bought, I was ecstatic.

Some of my best memories of living there involve singing oldies songs while stripping old wallpaper with her.  Compliments flowed easily and I never felt more important than when I was with her.

Second from left, holding my mom

She could do so many things well that I wanted to learn and yet here I was, this scrawny little kid, and I felt like I was incredibly capable, talented, and hard working because of her praise.  I remember once my mom, sister, and I were helping with the cleaning.  My mom was down on the floor in the bathroom, I was

sweeping the hallway, and my sister was cleaning the shower.  The ever present oldies were blasting (because really, how c

an you clean without music?) and the three of us were chirping along in our broken harmonies with the radio.  Aunt Sheila, passing by us, remarked that she wished

she could sing like us.  I can’t speak to her talent because she never sang in front of us despite her love of music.  Still, she could bake a strawberry rhubarb pie like nobody and her New England boiled dinners made you wish you could eat that and only that all week long.  She also loved to crochet and did so nearly every evening as we watched the nature channel.  Those were idyllic days when we lived there.

All the living Palin kids around 2001

When Aunt Sheila became ill my senior year of high school, I remember thinking how unfair it was.  She was the youngest person I’d ever known with cancer.  I was angry that year for other reasons too, but I remember driving to school in the morning with my friend Sonja and just venting as the tears streamed about how unfair it was.  I still think it’s unfair and while the tears don’t come as readily as they once did, there is still anger there.  I miss her and I know her kids and grandkids do even more.  Her death left an enormous hole and ache in our family.

I know I’m not the only person with these stories.  I know that because of the outpouring of love and support I’ve already received from others.  I still need more though.  With a little over a week to go, I still have huge hills to climb with my fundraising.  Your donation, no matter the size, will be dedicated to easing the lives of those who live with cancer.  Whether it be in studies searching for newer, better treatments or in financial support for families suffering the crippling financial burdens of loved ones undergoing treatment, at Dana-Farber your money will be well spent.  Please, if you have not yet donated and you are reading this post thinking about someone you know and how they touched your life, donate in their honor.

Aunt Sheila at her daughter Shayne's wedding with granddaughter Kelsea

Bumps in the Road

Well, we have ten days to go or something equally ridiculous and it’s starting to hit me how very soon I will be expected to ride.  In case you are paying close attention to the side bar, we have done some more riding but I haven’t updated it due to moving and being without internet for awhile.  We have been riding, if not as much as we would have liked, due to a couple factors.

1)  Moving- it’s hard to convince yourself that riding a bike in the sweltering heat is good when there is a new HOUSE! to get set up.

2)  Heat- oh, it has been miserable lately.

Okay, so those last two were totally motivation based.  This last one is not at all motivation based, though.  Maybe it will raise us back up in the minds of our adoring public.

3)  Carpal Tunnel Syndrome- My hands have been bothering me for some time now.  On rides, they will start to get numb and lose function.  It is often accompanied by shooting pain up my arm to my elbow.  So, basically, not fun.  It had gotten to the point, with all the painting and general house preparation I’ve been doing, that they were pretty much constantly in pain.  I went to the doctor and got a bad suggestion:  no PMC.  I also got an appointment with a hand surgeon that had me feeling rebellious and cranky.

I was sitting in the little hospital room waiting for the surgeon, preparing myself to argue with him about why I was going to do the PMC anyway and why I didn’t need surgery when the door flew open and an elderly gentleman wearing a tan suit and blue tie leaned against the jamb, eyeballing me.

“How far into your training are you?”

“Really far!  We’re only a week and—”

“Do the ride.  It won’t kill you.  I did it three years.  It’s a great ride.  By the way, what kind of gloves do you wear?”  At this point he had sat down at the computer and was typing in a web address with the hunt and peck method.  After shooting down my choice of gloves, he brought up a different pair with pads that go all the way across the palm.  “The problem with most gloves is they don’t protect your carpal tunnel.  These will.  Get these.  What kind of bike do you have?”

“A Specialized Dolce.”

“Let’s see what kind of tires that has.”  More hunt and peck.  “No, those tires won’t work.  Get tires that– are you writing this down?  Get tires that have a higher PSI.  That will reduce vibrations, which are what make your  hands feel worse.  They should be smooth in the middle and have tight treads on the outside.  Let me see your hands.”  I gingerly offered him my hands, thinking that this would be the point where he would try to schedule surgery.  After moving them back and forth, manipulating them and asking questions about what I was feeling, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I don’t want surgery.  Is there anything else I can try to avoid it?”

“Oh, I should say so!  I want to you take 50 mg of B6 to supplement your regular vitamin.  I used to say 100 but the other doctors started getting cranky with me.  Keep wearing your braces.  I think once the PMC is done, you will find that you go back to your normal functioning.  If not, come see me and we will run some tests to see if surgery is right for you.  I don’t think it will be.”

So basically, I got an old doctor who used to ride the PMC but can’t now (due to vertigo) and who obviously still wants to and who is way more awesome than my general practitioner.  I probably don’t need surgery, I can still do the PMC (even though it will likely be difficult, given how painful my last ride this weekend was).  That’s what is important.  Cancer won’t go away as easily as a bout of carpal tunnel.  I feel an irrational need to show it up by being tougher.  I really want to finish this ride.  I will finish this ride.  I’ve resigned myself that it might be in a support van if things take a turn for the worse, but I will have done my utmost.

Surely, that merits a donation.  Help a girl (and a guy) out.  Make a donation today.  10 days and counting.

Pacing Shmacing

After finishing up a strenuous school year, Rich and I took a much needed break on Martha’s Vineyard.  Oh, sweet glorious vacation!  We left our car on the mainland and brought our bikes with us on the ferry.  No cycling shorts, no cycling shoes, no Garmin to meticulously calculate how many miles we were riding.  It was lovely!  I am still uncertain how much we actually biked, but that’s okay.  This was vacation, and the emphasis was far more on relaxing for four days.  I devoured an entire book, daily ice cream, and a lot of delicious seafood.

This weekend was back to reality.  We still hadn’t gotten in a pesky century, because weather, motivation, etc.  This was the weekend!  We were going to do it!  You guys, a century is 100 miles.  Seriously.  That’s a lot of miles.  Saturday was a bust.  We slept in.  Woops (but hey!  We started packing for the move instead!).  Sunday, we were scheduled to ride 35 miles with friends and, not wanting to disappoint, we decided to sandwich that ride with riding before and after to make up 100 miles.  After the first hour, our pace was good and I thought we could get in about 60 miles before meeting up with our friends at 10 o’clock.  After two hours, we had maintained the pace and I was still pretty confident.  Then, we realized we had taken a misstep in our route.  And, we hit some ugly hills.  Things started to fall apart.  We still managed to get in about 47 miles before meeting our friends, but oh my lord I was tired.  This was intensified by the fact that I had not had a very big breakfast due to a bad incident with my morning vitamin (I’m not good at taking pills.  If they touch my tongue, I immediately need to evacuate the contents of my stomach.  The vitamin touched my tongue).

We finished the ride with our friends (well, sort of.  They were pretty far ahead of us) and I was convinced I was done.  No more riding.  No more.  Done.  Done.  Done.  Rich offered to ride home, get the car, and come back for me.  I took him up on his offer.  Still, it would mean sitting for about an hour waiting for him.  We sat for about 5 more minutes in the parking lot of this little elementary school and I unhappily thought of what a lousy rider I am.  I was doing a pretty good job of beating myself up.  Rich suggested that if I could ride maybe one mile we might find somewhere a little more comfortable for me to wait.  After deliberation, I agreed.  Once I was back on my bike, I realized maybe I could go further.  So I did.  All the way home.

90 miles may not be 100, but it’s awfully darn close.  And, I saw the darkest part of me, stared it down, and conquered it.  That feels amazing.  Do you know what else feels amazing?  Donations.  Thanks, as always, for reading.  And, thanks for your support.

Persistence Pays Off

Last weekend, Rich posted the following status on Facebook:

I’m pleased to say we did it (sans Rachel.  We’d love to have you, girl!).  I may have questioned my husband’s mental faculties, but it turns out I was capable of completing not just 100 miles, but closer to 105!   It feels good to have someone who believes in me even when I have serious doubts.

Read the rest of this entry »

Why We Ride: Beckie Hunter

To look at Beckie, you would never know that she has cancer.  You might not even guess that she’s sick at all.  It still astounds me how active she has remained throughout treatment for the breast cancer she was diagnosed with months ago during a routine mammogram.  Over the course of her whole battle, she has continued to work at her office job and run the community theatre company she started with family and friends several years ago.  In fact, as I write this Theatre @ First is gearing up to open their production of Equus (go buy a ticket.  Seriously.  It’s going to be a great show and you would be supporting not just local theatre but more specifically local theatre that is supporting me.  It would also make Beckie very very happy.  Have you done it yet?  No?  Go buy a damn ticket already).  Beckie has been continuing to serve as President of the Steering Committee, helping with publicity, recruiting volunteers for all the ushering jobs, as well as showing up to lend support in whatever way she can at work days, rehearsals, and performances.

And yet, she has cancer.  Over the last few months, she has undergone surgeries, chemo, and now radiation (for which she is the owner of five dot tattoos!).  Years ago, a cancer diagnosis meant a long period of convalescence.  It also meant almost certain death.  It is a testament both to Beckie’s fortitude and also to the great strides in cancer research that she has continued on with all of her previous obligations and will end up whole and cancer free less than a year after she was diagnosed.  Have I mentioned she amazes me?

Beckie at the concession table, ready for business

I had the honor of sitting with Beckie a few weeks back for a chemo infusion.  For several hours, Beckie, our friend Gilly, and I sat and socialized, eating ice cream.  It could have been a normal outing of friends except for the hospital room and the IV protruding from her hand.  “Go look at the view from the big window at the back of the wing!”  she suggested.  We did, and it was beautiful.  I suppose when you are sitting in treatment for hours with little to do, you notice everything around you.  It still amazes me that she has remained so cheerful, so optimistic.  She still sees beauty and joy in life even if it has been a little tougher lately.

Maybe you’re the kind of person who doesn’t like to give money unless you get something in return.  And that’s totally cool.  If you buy a ticket to see Equus, you get a great show, a chance to buy cupcakes that will help my cause, and the opportunity to know that you have supported one of Beckie’s greatest loves.  If you’re feeling extra generous, you can donate to my ride here AND buy a ticket to Equus.  Have I mentioned you should buy a ticket to Equus?

If you do donate money to my ride, you should know that a lot of cancer research is going on right here in the Boston area, and Beckie has participated in a study at the hospital where she is being treated, hoping to help those who come after have an easier time of it.  Every dollar of your donations to my ride goes directly to fund more studies, making new treatments available and bringing us closer to a cure.  So far, I am 5% of the way to my goal.  With your help, I know I can reach 10% this week!

Achy eighty

80 miles over two May days.  After a slow start, our training picks up  steam while the weather does the same. Read the rest of this entry »

Why We Ride: Paul E. Palin

Pip in his uniform

Paul E. Palin was born on January 23, 1924.  He would go on to live an incredibly full life that would end too soon on November 3, 2002. At the age of 17, he joined the military by lying about his age.  He did this because he was worried WWII would be over before he was old enough.  This move was characteristic of his entire life–  he was never one to worry about what others thought and he certainly wasn’t one to worry about rules he didn’t agree with.

Mim and Pip on their wedding day

One of the things I loved most about Pépère was his quiet determination.  People who knew and loved him called him Sarge, not because he was a domineering man but rather because he was always the calm in the center of a storm of action surrounding him.  One year, while burning my aunt’s blueberry field, I remember standing, shovel at the ready, to tamp out stray flames.  I was jittery and hyper as the blaze licked near my feet and the heat washed over my face.  Pip calmly directed me where to go.  Life had been too harried, too hard to be worried about a bush fire.  His waters ran deeper than that.  He didn’t  have to be loud for people to listen.  He didn’t say much and because of this, the words he did utter achieved incredible importance.

He and Mémère married just after the war, then went on to have six children:  Paula, Sheila, Paul, Cynthia, Tamara, and Cory.  He lived through the death of two children, mental illness in close family members, alcohol addiction (perhaps fueled by horrible memories of the war), and a separation that thankfully, did not last.  Yet, through it all, he remained strong.

He had an incredible love of nature and would often get away from the bustle to feed squirrels in the park or cast a line into the nearest body of water.  I was lucky enough to go with him on some of these excursions.  I was almost always worried about talking too much.  Being with Pip was  time to be peaceful.

Pip & Uncle Cory fishing

It was a welcome time.  We would drive in his old boat of a car to the park, where he would open the capacious trunk to reveal a bag of bird seed.  Then, using an old cup, we would scoop out some seed and find ourselves a bench.  The squirrels and birds would come and he would chuckle at them as we scattered seed.  Closer, closer, until they were eating right at our feet.  He would undoubtedly smoke a cigarette while we sat and listened to the solitude around us.  We were silent but happy partners in this endeavor.  These were my favorite times with him.

It all ended too soon.  I don’t think anybody was ready for him to go.  He had no reason to be healthy and yet he always seemed invincible.  He was staid, solid, unflappable.  Then, the c-word.  I was in college when he got the diagnosis.  My Pip, Sarge… liver cancer.  It’s all a blur now.  I think it’s just too hard to remember.  Maybe I was just so entrenched in college that the time between his diagnosis and death flew by.  All I know is I still miss him.

I know there are so many other granddaughters out there with similar stories.  I want so desperately to stop my story from repeating.  Please give what you can to my ride in honor of Sarge, or of someone you know who has battled or is battling with cancer.  A cure will be found.  Researchers are so close and already such strides have been made in the 9 years since Pip’s passing. Thank you for reading and for helping Rich and I with our fundraising goals.  Your support is eternally appreciated.

Me, Pip, and Heather (eons ago)

Metaphorical But Not Synonymous

This weekend was a huge weekend for me.  The last week was incredibly rainy and sadly, I could not motivate myself to do much other than short runs in my neighborhood.  Still, I knew I needed to get off my butt and saddle up because PMC weekend is fast approaching (and people like to remind me).  Saturday, we rode 50 miles (thanks to an accidental diversion at the beginning of our 48 ride) and roughly 13 on Sunday (it was supposed to be 20).  I won’t lie.  It was really tough.

Saturday, Rich again showed me the joys of riding a route with markers painted on the ground (no cue sheet, no getting lost).  We started in Concord and wended our way through the hills of Sudbury, Wayland, Lincoln, Stow, and Hudson.  I kid you not, 48 miles of hills is not easy (at least for me.  There were other cyclists on the route who seemed to be breezing through, not the least of which was my own husband).  The name of the ride is A River Runs Through It, which is apt given how much water you actually wind up seeing.  It goes through farm country and the views could not be more beautiful.  It’s a good thing, too.  Just when you think your legs will stop and you will topple over in a heap of disgrace, you crest a hill and look out over forests and streams and farmland.  Oh, it was breathtaking!

As I was riding today and realizing how very exhausted my body is, I started to think about how, in just a couple of months, I will ride 190 miles over two days.  Just riding 63 over two days was really difficult and I started to think about how I would never make it.  Then, my thoughts turned to people fighting cancer.  I absolutely know that there is no way the two things are synonymous.  People fighting cancer have a much harder road to travel and far higher stakes.  I could hypothetically quit at any time.  But at the same time, I realize there were parallels.  Just as I struggled this weekend, there are people who this minute are struggling with their fights.  Maybe there are rays of hope, like when I would finish a steep ascent.  I hope there are.  And if I can, in any way, be a ray of hope for somebody through my training and fundraising, then I am determined to do that.

This is real stuff.  This isn’t just people getting out for a summer of weekends to ride for the heck of it.  This is me.  Raising 4,200 dollars and riding a lot of miles so that I will make the people donating proud.  But more importantly, it is me pushing myself to do two things that are really hard for me (riding and asking people for money) to help people who get absolutely no choice in their battles.

Great points about this weekend:

* I learned that if I get momentum going downhill, the uphills aren’t as hard

* I rode both days in the clips with NO accidents

* I discovered that it is possible to pee in the woods while wearing bib shorts, without taking my top off too (twice)

* I ate a LOT of delicious barbecue food afterwards, at two separate cookouts

* Rich is amazing at taking pictures while riding.  Seriously.

Hey, folks.  Thanks for donating.  Every time I get an email telling me someone has donated, it just makes me want to jump on my bike to prove to them that their donation was worth it.  You guys rock my world.

I’m a two minuteman

No, there’s not a missing space, and yes, this post is family-friendly.

Last Sunday Wendy and I did a double loop on the Minuteman Bikeway, compiling 40 miles over mostly flat terrain on an unexpectedly wonderful day. Wendy piloted her road bike sans shoes – a mutually beneficial decision because 1) my road bike was in the shop, so I was on my heavy hybrid, and 2) Wendy was able to focus on all the other fun of riding a road bike, not constantly thinking about clipping out.
I did my best to keep up with the speedier Wendy and her lighter ride, but – as we discussed beforehand – she was given a green light to pull ahead if she felt like it, and we spent one lap apart.  When we were riding together, we talked about the people in our life who have battled cancer, primarily our grandparents.  It was a sobering reminder of why we ride, and how much we miss family who left us too soon.

Sunday’s are homemade pizza days in our house, and our pizza couldn’t be baked soon enough for our liking.  40 miles works up an appetite.  We might have to start making two pizzas when our mileage creeps higher.

Training Week One

Week One Mileage:  79  (Woah.  That’s more than I thought.  Cool.)

And… we’re off!

Today in class, I outed myself to my students.  We were talking about pacing (for them, it relates to our current unit and how it’s more student paced and less teacher dictated) but I decided to share my own struggles with pacing with them as a way to relate and open up discussion about what good pacing means.  Of course, pacing means going at a speed you can maintain while still pushing yourself.  But it also means scheduling in advance so you’re not suddenly trying to cram in tons of work (in my case, riding and fundraising) at the last minute.  I fully intend to keep them updated on my progress because I hope it will help them to see that even adults have challenging deadlines and goals.  They warmed my heart; a lot of them were asking me if they could donate to my ride and were wishing me luck.

Rich preps his commuter bike for a trip to see the runners

Rich and I got out on the bikes for the first time this last week.  Our first ride of the season was a short 8 miles down to the Boston Marathon course where we watched the wheelchairs and elite runners whiz by.  This was, of course, followed up by an 8 mile return trip.  Rich was working the rest of the week while I enjoyed April vacation, so I spent a little more time on my bike.  This is probably a good thing since I am far less experienced than he is.  He’s done a few of these rides.  I’ve done none.  In fact, the only organized bike ride I’ve ever done was Hub on Wheels a few years back.  This speaks not well to my capabilities.  Never fear!  I believe I will do this.  I won’t ever say it’s easy but I will do it no matter what.*  Read the rest of this entry »