Male Mammogram (yes, they're real - but not so spectacular)

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I went to my mammogram appointment. I noticed quickly I was the only man in the room. Lots of women of different ages and ethnicities. There are more common types of who gets breast cancer, but as this room shows, particularly with my presence, there are outliers, too. I fill out the copious paperwork and jump up each time they call my name. It takes about three of these jumps before I get the call that tells me the machine is broken. No joke. The patient who is in the room just before me has it break during her appointment. I have to reschedule.

This is hard – not just on me, but on those who are waiting for the information. When I get home, my wife practically jumps me at the door. “What happened?” she demands. “The machine broke,” I explain with a shrug. We stare at each other dumbly for a moment, then it passes. No putting a lid on this today.

I’m still not scared, but after being in the office and that close to the machine that will give potentially life-changing results to me, I’m more anxious than ever to get this over with. The reschedule is set for eight days later. Life happens. Ups and downs. Some good laughs, some burning anger. I have an appointment with a cardiologist during this time regarding my varicose veins – I didn’t even know that was what was going on until a friend pointed them out in a facebook post beneath some family pictures from Maui. I felt weird about her comment at the time. Now I need to give her thanks: Thank you, Pavlina.

It was good to discuss my heart with this specialist, as I’ve never seen a cardiologist before. I’ve thought about my heart a lot – from a physical and emotional standpoint. I’ve had fears of it stopping outright. I’ve felt like it’s being shredded. I swear it’s been worn on my sleeve, dragged behind my and shattered into a million pieces. But all in all, it seems to be holding up well. I have long been curious about getting a stress test done on it, like they do for the elite athletes. The cardiologist checks me out and says he wants an ultrasound done on my leg to get a better idea of what’s going on. He says he’ll let me know about my treatment options once he sees that chart. Scheduling says that will take a month, then another month to get back in to see the doctor. So it goes.

In fact the rest of the week goes by. I’m conscious of the test on the day of, but not overly worried about it. I go back to the office. There’s one other guy there this time. That doesn’t make me feel any better, or any worse – I simply notice it and wish him (and all the “hers”) the best.

They call me back. My radiologist is very quiet and kind. She asks me to take off my shirt and go up to the machine. The machine. There it is. It has pink lettering, with the name “SHEILA” on it. I’m guessing that’s there to make the women more comfortable with it. As my radiologist positions what tissue I have for the slowly compacting plates that will soon hold my suspect right breast (I actually feel better calling this my “chest” if you don’t mind), she assures me that breast cancer in men is extremely rare. That’s what everyone says. I hope they’re right. I’ve also heard this process hurts from many people. I hope they’re wrong. My tissue is squished between the plates and I’m told to hold my breath. This caught me off guard so I barely have any to hold. I hope the little I have will last me. A few seconds later a beep and a “you can relax” releases me. We go through the same drill on the other side of my chest, then side views for both. She says I can sit as she goes and checks out the pictures. I was told by my General Practitioner that he would look at the results of the mammogram after the test and if there was nothing to be worried about, I wouldn’t hear back from him. The radiologist re-emerged just then and said three simple words: “It’s not cancer”. I didn’t realize how good that would sound until I heard her say it. I stood and smiled. I managed to say “oh”. She said it was likely a reaction to something else that I couldn’t quite discern. Maybe my ears were buzzing in excitement or her accent suddenly got heavier or I don’t know what. Whatever it is it’s not cancer. And, by all account, it's nothing to worry about. I’ll follow up with my General Practitioner to get his best guesstimate, but for now it seems I’ve dodged a large bullet.

I hugged the Radiologist before she or I knew quite what I was doing. She laughed and hugged me back. I barely held back tears. I didn’t expect to be so emotional. I didn’t expect to hear such definitive news so quickly. I am relieved. I am thankful. I know I’m okay today. I talked to my parents afterward and after celebrating the good news, my mom asked me what else I was working on – as I tend to be a bit of a work and certainly project-aholic. “Being happy”, I said without hesitation. Not even thinking about work right now. That’s a relief, too.  

please see my new documentary about health, cycling and hope: Share the Road

Breast Cancer, Male, 43 yrs

What is health?  Click here to see my new inspiring health documentary.

 
I have a lot to live for. I have a beautiful wife and two incredible kids. I have dreams. I’ve laid a foundation of artistic work that continues to open doors toward those dreams. Though I’m sometimes disappointed in my current station, wondering why I’m not further along, I try to remember that the road is the journey and there is no one destination.

My parents were always bastions of health to me growing up. They often seemed to shine above others their age, to me, because of their zest for living and their tremendous generosity of home and meals. We had friends and family over regularly. There was always a lot of laughter and high praise for my parents cooking. Their food left people wanting more. The laughter healed hearts that I never knew needed healing. My parents exercised, ate well and had a wonderful group of friends in a thoughtful, progressive community. They were a large part of how I would have defined health.

In July of 2001, my parents were diagnosed with breast cancer (mom) and Parkinson’s Disease (dad) within two weeks of each other. Everything I thought I knew about health changed. If that could happen to my parents, were they no longer healthy? Had they done something wrong? Was it just bad luck? What did being healthy matter if this could happen to them, seemingly so randomly?

Over the course of the next several years I began to examine my own health – eating habits, exercise habits, social circles, relationships, environment, and spiritual connection. These were all categories to explore, measure and question. I’ve tried walking in the footsteps of many whom I’ve admired from sources as wide as Jack LaLanne to Mahatma Ghandi. I’ve picked up some things, left others behind. I’ve never felt bullet proof, but have had to fight the egotistical part of me that says well, I live this healthy lifestyle so I deserve x, y and z. It just ain’t so.

About six weeks ago I had a sharp pain beneath my right nipple. As cancer, including my mom’s breast cancer (of which she is a survivor still), has several occurrences in our family, I was scared. A common male response in our society is to bottle up at this point – tough it out.  I felt that urge. Not me, I thought. I do all the healthy things. I’m a guy people point to as an example. Yes, me.

My friend and health mentor Gary Earl’s voice rang out in my head: “It’s so important to have a relationship with your General Practitioner”. These words weren’t said directly to or for me, but at this moment they were boring into my skull. I am fortunate to have insurance through my wife’s work. But even with such, I had not formed a relationship with a General Practitioner. I called the doctor that my wife and her family often went to and set up an appointment. He examined me and my medical history, then set up a blood test, x-ray, cardiology appointment and ultrasound. At first, I was overwhelmed by all the information. And, frankly, I didn’t want to believe there was anything wrong with me. The appointments were difficult to schedule with life – kids, work, things that must get done… My wife and I talked and knew these tests were important, but we hadn’t yet prioritized them. I went back for my follow up two weeks later, only having taken care of the ultrasound. My doctor confirmed he found two lumps. They were still painful. And though I knew  through a bit of research that their being painful might, in fact, be a good sign that they were not cancerous, it didn’t make me feel any better. The next day I got my x-ray and blood work done.

The information was clearly weighing heavily upon my wife. I do what I often do in these moments, which is look over the cliff. I considered my death. I felt incredible sadness and loss – mostly for my kids. The thought of them growing up without a father began a dull pain throbbing inside of me. My wife has often told me she doesn’t know what she would do without me. I’ve just as often told her she doesn’t have to worry about it. I couldn’t let this happen – I couldn’t let a disease, condition, illness – whatever you want to call it – end my life now. But, at least to some degree, it was out of my hands. Now I was a bit scared.

I brought the news with me to our annual family reunion in Washington. It was very hard for me to share my news, mostly because of pride and not wanting anyone else to worry about me. At the same time, I knew I had to because my wife was sick by not being able to talk about it. When I shared my news with the family I felt detached, almost as if I was watching myself, from behind, say the words I was saying. They sounded hollow. My family did what they do: they loved us, hugged us and prayed for us.

I’m happy to say that the results from the x-ray and blood test came back negative. My doctor prides himself on being overcautious, something I’m thankful for. The only test that remains is the mammogram, which is scheduled for today - in about two hours as a matter of fact.

What is health?  Click here to see my new inspiring health documentary.

The movie is live!!!

It took over eight years to edit, but here it is: http://www.sharetheroaddoc.com.

Why it took this long? Not because I couldn't have done the work sooner, but I wasn't sure where the market was. I've taken plenty of projects into film festivals and a few beyond. I'm at a place now where I don't do work on a speculative basis anymore. In order to invest myself, there has to be a tangible return. With the new platform of Pivotshare, the preponderance of social media devices (and usage) and the follow-up journeyforhealthtour hitting the road tomorrow, I feel that audience is not only out there but reachable.

I look forward to your comments and will be adding information and thoughts as I get them here. I feel extremely blessed and excited to finally share this story with the world.

Enjoy the ride.


-- Robert

My First Triathlon - the stats

Okay -- so I "meh'd" this last night, but the numbers are in so now I care (go figure - ha ha).
SWIM: 20:02
Transition 1: 5:17
BIKE: 47:00
Average speed: 15.9
Transition 2: 3:22
RUN: 25:45
Average mile: 8:19
TOTAL: 1:41:24

Interesting -- I knew the swim time was bad (and it was). I didn't realize my first transition was that slow -- I didn't set anything up the way I needed to. I'll be better prepped for next time. My bike time was slower than I imagined; that might be because I'm just so comfortable on the bike to begin with as that's where my greatest experience lies. Also, I did 99% of my training on the stationary bike. I know next time to get out on the road some more. Finally the run -- I actually feel pretty good about those splits as I knew I was cruising by that point. I can go faster for sure.

And as faster relates to all these things, it gets back to the question: does it matter? I suppose so as I'd like to continue to see what I'm capable of. But I'm also interested in lengthening the distance. I'll have to think about which is next. It's great to have options.

Triathlon Virgin

I am proud. It was never an event I doubted I could or would do -- but the difference between that sentiment and the actual accomplishment of the goal is sometimes vast. After about four months of training, the event seemed to happen all at once starting with check-in last night. I've been finishing my master's degree during this time, so I really haven't given much thought to the triathlon itself beyond my training (which is just as much a sanity keeper as anything else -- I've had people say they don't know how I can get my workouts in five days+ a week with my schedule. I say I couldn't have the schedule I have without working out five days+ a week).

At the check-in, things got very "real" when they wrote my race number on my arms and hand as well as my age on the back of my left calf. It made me feel a bit like a cut of beef heading to the butcher. The woman shotgunning beers (Pabst Blue Ribbon no less -- well, you never shotgun the good stuff) in the semi-official looking tent right next to me didn't give me the greatest confidence in the event, but I was far too deep to pull out now.

I dropped my son off at Nonno and Nonna's (thank you so much!) at 5:45 a, then hit the road. The drive to the race (or any early morning event like this) is always exciting for me. I contemplate how far I've come and what today will be like. I usually engage in the last of my illusions de grandeur, too. In this case, I'd told myself I was going to be the surprise athlete from nowhere who, in his first triathlon finished in the top three (I'm a realist illusionist) and was now a "triathlete to watch". I've got the headlines down, baby.

Parking and getting set up was far from glamorous -- much more in the neighborhood of clusterf__k. I parked once, started getting my gear out, then a little old gimpy man cranked by barking "you're all gonna get towed! Move your ve-HIC-les!" Dude had authority. I moved.

I really was operating on blind faith and a flyer I received the night before with a lot of 8-point font text on two sides of a paper. I put my bike in corral (a narrow runway where all we wild stud horse-triathletes park our gear), laid out my gear in what I hoped would be a reasonable manner for my transitions the moments between events which everything I read seemed to agree would be horribly chaotic, then got on my wetsuit. The only nerves I really had at this point were about whether or not I was late for my start time. I left in what I thought was plenty of time. I didn't allow for the old crank, lack of signage and my general "make it up as I go" approach.

I got down to the water just in time to hear my group (40 and over - when did this become my group?) being announced. Good deal. The water was beautiful -- felt like low 60's. The air temp was mid 70's. It was 7:10 in the morning. I was stoked.

Another first time racer in the 30-39 group and I shared a few words of excitement about our first event, then they were off. Our path to the first buoy was lit by the morning sunlight on the water -- how perfect is that? Our group was up soon after. I did my typical clap-clap, here-we-go rah-rah bit, (which really isn't a bit at all but just who I am) and we got the horn blast. Dive face first! Go! Go!

OH...CRAP.

I had heard the open-water swim thing with a crowd was different. I played it off. I love the water -- I do. The pool, if anything, is kind of boring to me. I love the ocean most of all. Lakes are good, rivers better (they have more flow, dig it?). But this...this mass of humanity kicking, punching and crawling with their bug-eyed goggles and surreal-smooth capped heads was too much. I was a part of this? These bug-people were crawling on me and it was freaking me out. I put my face in the water but all I could see were bubble contrails from bug-people all around. My arms wouldn't stroke the way I had trained them these past few months. My wetsuit was too tight. My breath was going out fine but it wasn't coming in at all. My mind raced: Did I really train as much as I thought I did? Is the water colder than I'm allowing myself to believe? Am I getting hypothermia...in a wetsuit...in the late spring...in Vegas? I didn't train with a wetsuit -- that's what it is.

Whatever it was, the rope around my chest tightened. I literally couldn't breathe. No use putting my face back in the water lest I want to drown. I was panicking. I have never had a panic attack up until this moment and I've done some hairy things -- jumping off heights, racing over 50 mph on a bicycle, bodyboarding waves with faces in the double digits. But never before had I felt this freezing panic. I rolled to  my backside, reminded myself the wetsuit would help me float, then let the competition swim by. This was extremely difficult as the de grandeur illusion competition part of me went with them. Let them - my survival instincts scolded. And I did. I relaxed for a solid two-to-three minutes (I'm guessing), then felt the rope loosen. I started to swim with the few clydesdales in the back (that's literally what they call the "big boys" of our division). After about 50 yards, I found my stroke. The silt settled. It was awesome.

The rest of the swim was fantastic. The transition to the bike area went off without a hitch. I took to my bike like a fish to water -- which was good because I took to the water like an aardvark. I caught up to and passed several of my competitors (reading their calves for confirmation) and the illusions are reborn. Back for the run -- another smooth transition. I know I could run harder, but I'm quite peaceful at this point. I'm just really happy to have this opportunity. I put it in cruise control -- I'm not getting dusted by anybody and I'm still passing a few (including the clydesdales -- don't want those guys beating me no matter what).

I finish strong and very happy. The time and finish place was not what I deluded myself to/expected: one hour and 42 minutes and 16th out 26 in my division (beat those flippin' clydesdales, though -- yea boy). I understand I'll get more details on that later. Meh. My bottom line is I did it. And you know what else? I'm very thankful for the humbling experience of that panic attack. I'm a pretty confident guy, particularly when it comes to physical matters. This taught me a lot about myself and, overall, I'm very pleased with how I responded to the fear. I didn't quit.

I completed the goal. I can keep dreaming, too. There will be other races -- that much I know for sure.

Share the Road - Today

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Revisiting the blog that was our 2005 cross-country journey was very interesting to me. I've never attempted something as large or challenging as that. I know, at the time I accepted the offer from Gary, I wasn't scared at all. I don't feel like on the road I was scared (generally), either. Certainly there were specific moments (watching my tire buckle on an asphalt grade while riding the side of a relatively busy highway, for instance), but overall I had a very peaceful confidence that I was there to do a job and I would get it done. In that sense, I was wrong -- I didn't get it done, we did.

I was never an endurance athlete before this trip. Although I've always enjoyed being athletic, the type of training and games I've played have been more immediate and fast-paced: basketball, football, sprints and throws in track and field. One takes on a different mindset when participating in an endurance sport. It requires me to be calm, to release, to allow my body to do what it does (slowly as necessary, while learning the new skill) and keep focused with my mind at the same time. This is one of the reasons I'm glad I never got into wearing an ipod while cycling. I never felt that disconnect. By listening to my body (and the ever-changing environment around me) I believe I gave myself the best chance to succeed. 

The tours continued officially in 2006, 2007 and in a very small way (a single 100 mile ride for Gary's birthday) in 2008. I trained hard for 2006 & 2007 (though not as hard as I did for 2005 because neither '06 nor '07 were cross country trips). I enjoyed the process -- they were different but still very enjoyable trips. As I write this, I realize I haven't ridden in nearly three years. That's astounding to me because the bike is still so familiar to me. I look at it hanging on the wall in my garage and I feel like I could just pick it up and ride 100 miles. That's folly, of course. What the mind remembers, the body needs time to catch up on. I know I could get back in that kind of shape, but cycling takes time and different priorities (namely the beautiful kids we now have in our lives) have taken over.

That's not to say I'm not still training or that I'm not still involved in endurance sport -- it's just taken a different and, once again, completely unexpected turn. More on that tomorrow.

Share The Road - On the road - Day #36-38

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DAY 36
Ocean City Recovery

Everyone sleeps -- except me. I’m up at 5:45. I don’t need to wake anyone else this morning as I have for the past 35 days. In fact, doing so would more than likely get me a punch in the face.

I get up and go down to the beach, a mere block from the Earl’s rented beach house. There are not many people out this morning. I stretch, breathe, then wade into the water. It’s said to be 82 degrees but it feels cooler than that to me. I get knee deep, then waist deep, smiling at my slowness to submerge myself completely. In my mind I know all the truths I need to know about diving in and the way things open up for me when I do so. And yet I stand half in and half out of this water...1, 2, 3 dive into the small wave that rolls at me. I am in. I am committed. I am wet and no longer cold.

I body surf for about 15 minutes -- the waves are just barely ride-able, but that’s not important. I get out and stretch, do my morning pushups and some tai chi.

The boardwalk is beginning to wake up. I retreat to the Earl’s house. I’m still the only one up.

As the crew starts to rise, the chatter begins. Where’s my helmet? Did you get my supplements? Pass the butt butter -- no wait! Don’t. We’re done. We will ride no more forever...on this tour at least.

I get some bagels and muffins with Gary’s friend Ken, who congratulates me again and says how he really hopes he can do something like what we’ve done. I’ve been hearing that a lot -- a lot of people want this ‘once in a lifetime’ experience. I understand that...and I feel this will be far more than once in a lifetime for me. I think this is the beginning of adventures for a lifetime -- perhaps the definition of a lifetime. These adventures and all that goes into them are consistent with what I feel about the purpose of life: to explore, to consider, to grow, to discover, to be scared, to laugh and to share.

I have today to detox, tomorrow to help clean up last minute details of the journey (breaking down the bikes, cleaning the SAG and prepping for life back in L.A.) and I will fly out on Tuesday. My flight is a long one as I have a stop-over in Atlanta to go along with the five hours in the air. It will be even longer because I’ll be chomping at the bit to see Bella. I’ve been chomping for some time...

LATER...

We went to the boardwalk tonight -- quite a scene: packed with people, rides, miniature golf (I won with an impressive 36 over 18) and Kohr’s ice cream. We came home and watched ‘Boys of Summer’. It was nice to share that with everyone -- and it made me very sad, too. I miss my folks and seeing the changes Dad’s gone through in just a year’s time really made me think about the value of time with him - the value of time, period.
 

Day 37

Ocean City, NJ

Thoughts begin to blend one into the next. I got up early again this morning and Gary’s 10 year-old son, Tommy, joined me at the beach. He is a great kid. We did some body boarding together, then I did some yoga/tai chi and he did some cool sand design. We both had fun.

There was much work to be done today -- the biggest coming in the cleaning of the SAG and the packing of bikes and everyone’s goods. Stripping down and out the SAG was a very sad affair -- our mobile home suddenly became nothing more than an empty box. The logos were torn off, the insides gutted, the stallions (bikes) stabled (boxed). Gary has been nice enough to pick up the tab for SO many things, including paying for a bike mechanic to put the baby back together in L.A. -- I could do it, I know, but...I’d much prefer a pro do it well so the next time I take her out I’m not worried about the front wheel popping off. The next time I take her out...when will that be? It’s good that it take a little while, though. The chafing has not subsided -- not by a long shot. A few weeks off will do me well, even if I’m screaming inside (and the moans have begun).

The one thing that may keep me off even longer is the back rim -- it’s completely tweaked and I know it’ll cost about $200 to get me a new one. When I’ll have the money for that? Whoooooo...

Saying goodbye to Raul was the worst. He was such a heart and soul piece of our group. Having him leave was the final nail in the coffin -- our team is truly dead.

We hit the waves and water one more time. It was great as the swell had actually picked up a little bit and we were all getting slammed around. The ocean is truly a healing place for me.

Day 38
Ocean City, NJ

I fly out today. I hoped to get up this morning and go say goodbye to the ocean, but it just didn’t happen. I was tired and if I need the sleep, I’m going to respect that. There’s a piece of me that’s always Go! Go! Go! and this time I told it no. I have the ocean on the west side -- even if it is colder -- it’s there and waiting for me. The ability to sleep -- or the allowance of sleep -- is a premium.

I got up at seven and had to do Chris’ last interview in a bit of a hurried fashion as he was off on another adventure -- deep sea fishing. Good for him. The kid continues to run. Pat (Gary’s wife) said with a sigh, ‘Ah to be 23 and just be able to drop everything and go at a moment’s notice...’.

I had a quick liquid breakfast, then it was off to Sally the SAG -- which is now just a big white box -- to ride up to Newark. The long drive gave me a great chance to interview Gary at length. He was the most important member to get, truth be told. This trip was his brainchild and he got it going. I’m very, very impressed with him and really feel I have made an amazing friend.

He was very candid, as he was throughout the trip, and had many wonderful things to say about me. I was very humbled. I was also glad to feel closer to Pat. I don’t know her all that well, but felt like over these last couple of days I got to know her much better. The Earls are givers -- I am thankful and humbled to have made their acquaintance.

At the airport. Goodbye. It’s emotional, but not over the top. I’ve said goodbye in my heart long ago. Still, I will miss them.

The flight to Atlanta is first. I’m no fan of layovers, but this ticket was provided -- one of the many things provided by the Earls. I had a little snack in the cafe here (in ATL) and got to talk to Annamaria. That was nice. We have an opportunity to do some work in Vegas -- may be headed out there tomorrow -- swim goes my head. It would pay us a little money -- maybe that makes it worthwhile. What’s next? What’s next? What’s next? rings...:).


 

Share the Road - On the road - Day #35

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DAY 35

Philadelphia to Ocean City, NJ 

95 miles

Bad stomach.

I spent last night sweating and clutching my stomach. Apparently something I ate at that awesome Cuban restaurant did not agree with me. I have to believe that at least part of me was overly-worked up about the last day of riding, too. Regardless, I spent an equal amount of time on the toilet and the bed and woke up with serious doubts about my ability to ride. I even joked (half-heartedly) about finding and wearing a depends diaper. If I could have found one...

We got down to the RV and did our last gear up for the ride. I was in pain because of my stomach and also because of the fact that this was it. Everyone else was talking about how relieved they were. I didn’t feel that way.

I watched Gary go up the ramp and off to the location where we were to meet the other riders. The rest of us took a little more time to gear up. It was a sacred and eerie moment.

We met the riders at 6th and Walnut. Mikey, the DP, was there -- right on time (great guy). It took us 45 minutes to get all 25 riders together. This was to be quite a different adventure with all these new riders -- extremely variant levels of riding ability, too.

We rode over the GW bridge into New Jersey -- another state sign we wouldn’t get as it was on a river (like MO to IL). It was fun riding on the bridge -- we had to have a police officer let us in as the bridge has been closed to foot traffic since 9/11. That’s really too bad.

I rode very slowly for the first two rides, really soaking in the mood. I didn’t talk much. Finally, in the third pull, I decided to get riding out of my head and talk to the other riders. I met the president of Cigna Insurance - his name is David. He’s a young guy (39) and a serious triathlete (he has competed in the Hawaiian Ironman among others!). We had an awesome conversation about the health problems in America. His perspective was amazing. We agreed to stay in contact after the trip.

After breaking out of the pack, a group of us decided to pick up the pace and really start riding. It was fun, but it didn’t take long to get lost, either. We called Chris and after some debate, agreed on a manner of getting ourselves back on course (which included him coming to pick us up and drop us off in the right place. We didn’t lose any miles on this path as we had gone more miles than we would have the other way -- just what I need, more miles).

Back with the group, I took over the point position in terms of direction. I like being in this leadership place. I like being counted and relied upon. We rolled on and eventually found a hot pace again -- averaging about 23 miles per hour. This time we were on the right course and about eight of us stuck it out and worked this line together. It was awesome to work as a team like this and have everyone do their part.

We stopped about three miles shy of the boardwalk as we had to wait for our police escort. Three miles to go and I began to flatten out. The emotion of the earlier part of the day was gone. It was replaced by an even buzz in my head. This was it. This was the end, my friend.

We rode into Ocean City and took pictures at the welcome sign -- perhaps our last group photo. Mikey jumped in the police cruiser to get the reverse perspective of our final ride and I grabbed last second interviews with the riders. We lined up: Bernie, Raul, Geoff, Gary and me. The salt air filled our lungs. The people on the streets stopped and stared. We waved. They had no idea what we had done or who we were. Why would they? Much as this was worldwide news to us, that just demonstrates how small and how large our points of view had become. It was similar to when I was on the cruise ships or on the road last year -- I became so focussed on what I was doing that the rest of the world went away. That’s not to say we didn’t touch our outside environment -- technology has certainly played a big part in that. We had internet access every couple of days and everyone had cell phones that worked to varying degrees. Still, the focus on the now was razor sharp.

And now that fades...unless, of course, like me there’s a need to stay on that edge. Annamaria and I talked yesterday and we decided it’s time to move on marketing “Boys of Summer”. We have a basic strategy to approach as many companies that we have contact with (and there are some good biggies) and raise money toward getting on the road during the playoffs/World Series to see games that we can get to and have screenings in the cities that are hosting games. I’ll be laying out the budget in the next couple of days. All those with ideas (and, more importantly, contacts) should contact us immediately!

Sidetrack -- sorry. Back to story:

We went up on the boardwalk among a cheering crowd of hundreds of people. They blocked off a portion for us and the mayor greeted us with handshakes, baseball caps and mugs. We each got a chance to address the crowd. It was wonderful to have the opportunity to say a few things on my heart. A moment later it was time to do the ceremonial dunking of our front wheels in the Atlantic Ocean. Rear wheels in the pacific, front in the Atlantic. We carried our bikes down to the ocean and, as a team, rolled the front wheels in. Huge applause. Gary then announced that since Chris dunked his feet in Pacific, we would dunk his head in the Atlantic. Fortunately, Chris complied as it would have been a struggle to try to get him to submit via force. In he went and so went the rest of us. Swimming in the warm Atlantic (82) was beautiful, healing and completing. The even numbness continued. There were no tears, no terrific outbursts from me -- more of a stunned look on my face than anything else. I watched everyone hug and reunite with their families and I did my part -- I filmed it.

Raul asked me several times if I was okay. I told him yes. He tried to hug a smile out of me and I complied.

Afterward we piled everything in the SAG and went the few blocks over to the Earl’s beach house where I’ll be staying for the next couple of days. I sat in the SAG off to the side as everyone did their last-minute work. I waited them all out. I needed a few moments to consider what was coming with me and what would wait until later. More than anything, I needed a few minutes to myself. I grabbed a few clothes and my bathroom gear and headed inside.

The house was jumping. I smiled and shook some hands, but couldn’t shake my numbness. I called Annamaria -- something I’d been meaning to do but just hadn’t gotten to yet. That grounding, that love, brought me back to a place of comfortable calm. I was able to realize that the depth of my pain was coming from the fact that I had been part of something very important. I also realized that my heart was engaged fully -- I had meaning and was part of something that served my highest good. I was supported and loved on a daily basis. The work was hard -- sometimes torturous -- but always rewarding and rewarded. This doesn’t happen in my daily life -- and I would venture to say not in many people’s daily lives.

So what’s the answer? How do I fill this hole? I don’t think it’s any one thing. I think it’s being available to many things. I think it’s being open. I think it’s listening for people who need help and finding out how I can be of service. I do think a great part of my existence is to help give voice to those who have a hard time being heard and yet have much to offer. That is my gift. I am a communicator and an entertainer. It is my gift and my honor to share it.

I know this for sure: I can’t do pointless work. I can’t do 9-5 for a paycheck. If I need to make money (as that is a part of living in this country -- and most others), then I will do so, but never in such a manner as to turn my back or my heart or soul on the larger picture of what I am here to do: serve.

Share The Road - On the road - Day #34

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DAY 34
“Rest” day in Philadelphia

It has to be in quotes because so far I don’t feel like we’ve rested. We’re going out to eat tonight and I hope to be in by 11AM as tomorrow’s meetup is at 6:30. It’s not a small day on the bike: 85 miles. ‘Course for us...

It is a relatively flat day, though the challenges will come, I imagine, in the group. There is much to figure out - and as I write that I release it, too. The figuring will happen in the action. The die is cast.

We start with a brief continental breakfast -- the most spare of all we’ve come across, but hey, I’m grateful for a little grub to get things going en la manana. After that, we’re up and out to meet Ruth at Cigna -- just a few blocks away in downtown Philly. I’m taken aback as we’re walking through the hustling morning city. It’s a great feeling city -- alive and electric. The smells and sounds are all right -- reminding me of New York and San Francisco (two other cities I love very much).

We are across the street from our destination when I run into our supplemental cameraman (volunteer 2nd unit DP) for the next two days, Mikey Catalanado. I got wind of him last night from Annamaria through a friend of mine in Philadelphia who’s working for the film commission out here, Maria Gebhardt. By the by, Maria, if you’re reading this: THANK YOU and NO, I’m not mad at you! I don’t know where you get such ideas, but we’ll have to talk. Mikey’s wonderful...as I continue...

The meeting at Cigna is easy and full of laughter. They’re all so happy to have us with them and accommodating to a level I can hardly believe. They’ve blocked off a piece of Market Street for us (RIGHT downtown!) and have a police escort, antique bicycles (with the riders) and Benjamin Franklin, himself, joining us! It’s a scene as we ride our bikes out of the garage and onto the congested streets. I’m rolling two cameras (one in my hand and one attached to my bike), Mikey’s rolling another from the SAG and people on the sidewalks are staring at the freaks in green on bikes following the 34-foot RV.

Welcome to Philly. Now move your freaking car!

We arrive at our holding position early -- awesome. Plenty of time to chat and get involved with the awesome energy that everyone’s bringing: motorcycle cops, police car, university cops on bikes, the antique cyclists, Ben Franklin, loads of Cigna people and lots and lots of others all crowding around and taking part in the festivities.

Before we know it, it’s time to go. We line up and the siren from the police car begins to wail. I’m rolling two cameras again, holding on to my handlebars with one hand (and trying to hold a steady picture, mind you --what’s really important?). Mikey’s dropped my other camera on a tripod and has it grabbing a static shot coming down the street. He’s got another camera in his hands that he’s working on a monopod like a steadi-cam, weaving in and out of the riders (can’t wait to see this footage).

We get to the spot, Ben F. just avoids crashing (bonus), and we have a thick crowd surrounding our stage. The president of Cigna welcomes us and gives a great speech. Gary’s up next and he charges up the group. Next comes Ben and he’s classic -- a great character (and I should know having donned the Caesar gear for a few years in Vegas). The crowd is very responsive and the whole scene just works.

I’m still thinking every 10 seconds or so -- we just biked to Philadelphia!

Then it’s over. Whoosh. The table and chairs are gone with the cat and the hat like it never happened. I get a MUCH-needed chair massage and the guy works on some tight back muscles that have been knotting for weeks now. They’re certainly not worked out, but I greatly appreciate the effort. Annamaria has already promised to help work them out when I get home.

Home is not so far away now...

We have one more appointment at a wellness center in New Jersey. This is a building that Gary’s brother actually helped design. It is an amazing place, integrating an extremely high-end gym/fitness center with a rehab center to work with local hospitals and recovering patients. The atmosphere of getting a patient out of the hospital to do their work and into a place where “healthy” people are (to serve as inspiration) is an amazing dynamic. The ladies who run this place are enthusiastic and so excited to share the ins and outs of their facility with us.

Oh -- I weighed myself and I’m down about five pounds -- not as much as I thought (but not a problem either -- I didn’t need to lose weight). Gary was down about ten (he doesn’t need to lose it). Geoff didn’t weigh himself.

Gary’s taking us out on the town tonight. More on that in a bit.

LATER...

The disintegration has begun. Geoff reunited with his wife tonight. The rest of us went out to dinner. Amazing food -- but something was missing. There was a piece of our group that wasn’t there. It is what it is. Tomorrow I expect chaos in terms of the reunions. Everyone will be with their families. Mikey and I will do our best to cover it.
 

Share The Road - On the road - Day #33

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DAY 33
Hummelstown, PA to Philadelphia, PA

86 miles

We get on the road early. One of Gary’s good friends, Chris, is joining us. Chris is a 37 year-old man who has begun a wellness center with his company in South Carolina that is largely inspired by Gary. He is a very sweet and humble man. The bike he’s riding is not anywhere near what we’re riding -- more of a cross between a mountain bike and a road bike -- this will make his ride terrifically more difficult. That, and the fact that his training seems to have been rather light is going to make for a tough day. Nobody shares why this is so important to Chris, but Gary assures us that this ride means the world to him. Gary commits to staying behind with Chris (as he’s riding slower than the group pace).

The scares start early. We get on HWY 30 and it’s morning traffic in a Philadelphia suburb -- the real stuff. At several points we have to merge across off-ramps where cars are screaming at 70 MPH to get to their stop light (important to get there fast, you know). At one point, Geoff cut me off from behind to the right (we’re always supposed to pass on the left) just as we were merging on to a busy on-ramp. This really riled me -- I’ve got heavy traffic rolling at 70 to my left a bumpy median closing in on the center and I’m trying to read a nearly blind on-ramp to my right and...well, you get the point.

It got worse.

Raul misread a sign. He cut quickly across THREE lanes of traffic including one with a big rig in it. Bernie and I screamed. It just missed him. He made it to the median. Bernie pulled off to the side and put his helmeted-head in his hands. I was really riled -- the thought of losing Raul to an awful accident like this hammered home the fragility of life. It could have been over that fast. Had I seen it happen -- and it was right in front of me -- I might have absolutely lost my mind.

Raul apologized later, saying it was a stupid move. At the same time, he insisted that he had plenty of room. They could both be true.

The ride continued without further incident. Chris made 56 miles on his hybrid which is really quite an accomplishment. There’s something to be said for the awesome machines on which we ride (which doesn’t lessen the accomplishment).

We had a tense moment late in the day as we started to get close to the time we needed to get off the road in order to make a committment that Chris had lined up for us with a mentoring group he has worked with in Malvern. We had crossed into Philly proper, acccomplishing our miles for the day, but Gary really wanted to get downtown and say hello to one of our major sponsors, Cigna Health Insurance. There was pull between two things and eventually Gary relented. I was sorry for him as I knew what a big deal it was. At the same time, I could see why Chris was getting edgy -- these people were counting on him; two things going on and the need to keep the group together (based on difficult logistics in splitting the group).

The meeting with the group (Second Mile) was awesome. I also met one of Gary’s good friends and Gary’s older brother while there. I did an isometric/resistance workout with Chris and the group (because 86 miles wasn’t enough, apparently) and that took the last of all I had. Chris spoke briefly to the group, then Gary told some of our stories from the road. They were both great.

The biggest highlight for me was speaking to the coordinator of Second Mile. His stories about why he runs the center and the results he’s produced are nothing short of amazing. I have a good feeling he won’t end up on the cutting room floor.

We went back to Philly and parked the RV downtown in a garage. Big time security, rock star treatment from the guys -- all good. We meet Ruth Stoolman, our coordinator from Cigna. She’s wonderful. We go to Buca di Beppo and order the menu -- I mean the MENU. We got after it big time: pasta w/ oil and Veggies, Bruschetta, Garlic Bread, Warm spinach salad with tomatoes, pecans and feta cheese, stuffed shells with sausage, eggplant parmagiana, chicken (prepared in a way I can’t remember) and green beans w/ lemon.

Are you kidding me? Are YOU kidding me? We tore it up. Delicious.

The most special part came at the end of the meal when we got back to a tradition we hadn’t done in some time: each of us sharing highs and lows from the day. There were some fun ones in the beginning, but then it began to get deeper and more emotional. There was still great humor in there, but also great tears, too. Much love -- and at the same time desire to reunite with family and our lives outside of this adventure. Sadness and jubilation, day and night, yin and yang.

Share the Road - On the road - Day #32

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Day 32

Mapleton, PA to Hummelstown, PA - 90 Miles

6600 foot climb

The ups and downs...

Last night, I felt so down, so sad because of missing my family. At this point in the tour, especially knowing how everyone is looking forward to Ocean City and their reunions with their families, I feel a bit empty. There is a touch of dread, actually, in the moment where everyone hugs, greets and reunites with their families because my reunion with Annamaria won’t happen until a few days later. 

This morning we had breakfast at a great little cafe and I interviewed Chris’ mom (Christina). She had gastroplasty (sp?) surgery a few years back to try to deal with her obesity. She developed a blood clot in her leg that moved to her heart not long after the surgery. She also suffered a stroke from a fall in her back yard where she damaged a piece of her lower brain cord. She is still overweight today, though she has lost about 80 pounds. Through all her difficulties, people have asked her if what she has gone through has been worth it -- not having lost the weight she hoped to and suffering as she has. She says she doesn’t think she’d even be here today if she didn’t have the surgery. Chris, an only child, is a major influence and inspiration in her life. She speaks very frankly of the difficulties she has in accepting his advice, then says a few days after hearing what he says, she often reconsiders her resistance and is ready to try. 

Just the time since the tour has begun she has lost 15 pounds. 

LATER...

The first crash. Raul went down. It happened very quickly. We were past the halfway point for the day and in a nearly exuberant place as we had defeated two of our toughest hills on the tour, back to back 1000 foot climbs at a 10% grade. These are our last real hills of the tour and this made the end feel closer than ever. “We did it:” my mind rang out over and over again. We also narrowly avoided a thunderstorm -- literally outriding it. Everything seemed to be breaking our way. 

We were sharing the lead, pulling the group along and doing a good job of keeping together. Raul had mentioned how tired he was at our last SAG stop. He apparently said to Geoff (in jest) “that’s it. We don’t need to ride any more after those hills.”

Bernie and I were heading to the front. It was my turn to pull. Raul had just finished a typically strong effort. Not more than 5 seconds after I passed him, I heard some shouts behind me. I looked back just in time to see Raul start to flip over his handle bars. Actually, I didn’t know it was him at first. For some reason, my first thought was that it was Gary. Raul actually seemed to be the least likely candidate because of his experience. I got back to him in a hurry and cars and neighbors lined up all around him. He was face down on the pavement. He responded, but not coherently. 

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” one man asked. 

I told him to give us a moment to assess the situation. A neighbor went ahead and called anyway. It was a good move. After about two minutes, Raul slowly turned over to sit on his butt. He wanted to get up, but we kept him down for a minute, making sure the basics were all there. The police, fire department and ambulances showed up. They were excellent. 

As it turned out, Raul’s helmet probably saved his life. Geoff and Gary, both of whom were behind him, saw him skid on his helmet for about 10 feet as he went down. He had road rash on his hip and shoulder and some minor cuts on his face and arm. We went to the hospital in an ambulance and by then the situation had been calmed. The medics had a good sense of humor. Geoff and I rode with Raul. I filmed it. 

It’s a strange place to be as a journalist and some would say my position is cold or uncaring. It is not my job to judge a situation, only to capture it. Often people are uncomfortable with a camera being present in difficult situations. If I only filmed the happy times, it wouldn’t make for much of a movie. Why? Because life isn’t just happy. There are crashes. There is pain. There are tears. There is anger. It all goes in. Not good or bad -- just as it is.

Truth be told, I sometimes have a hard time filming these situations. I didn’t get out on the street yesterday like I should have when Gary was riding on his own through the storm and Geoff tried to stop him. I think I was afraid of another blowup like Gary threw at me in Arizona. At any rate, I was kicking myself a bit for not being brave enough to brave that and capture what needed to be captured. It’s hard to walk into the dragon’s lair -- especially when he’s blowing smoke already.

Raul was treated with three staples in his head and given a tetnis shot. We scrapped the rest of today’s ride. Geoff told Raul he could have just said he didn’t want to ride anymore today -- no need for the theatrics. 

We’re off to a hotel in Hershey where we will meet another friend of Gary’s who will be with us for the last two ride days. I don’t know how much he’s going to ride. After today’s accident, I’m going to recommend not much as Gary has said he’s not very experiienced. The last thing we need is another accident. Though we feel very good about what we’ve accomplished, the road is still the road -- dangerous if you do not pay it complete respect. 

LATER...

I did get a small taste of home tonight and it made me very happy: we ate at Fuddruckers, a hamburger joint that I worked at for my first job. It’s a place I go to almost every time I head back to the Bay Area and have never had a bad meal at. I had a veggie burger, a delicious salad and splurged on some fudd fries (a true rarity for me).

We’re on to our 2nd to last ride tomorrow. Again...amazing just to look at. Though I thought we had completed the worst of it, there’s still a pretty good climb, not to mention 92 miles to knock down tomorrow. It is what it is. The worst thing going for me right now is my groing. The rash is nearly unbearable. The only thing that will take care of it? Time (though I am ready to give the Atlantic Ocean a shot when we arrive on Saturday. SATURDAY!!!).