Sometime last May, I was at wits end. I hadn’t been recovering since sometime last year and I had virtually quit training. My race results this season were inconsistent and derived from guts rather than form. I had dramatically won the Whiskey Off-Road only weeks before but it was more of a “last gasp” than a sign of improvement.

I notified my friends and sponsors that I had to take time off and get to the bottom of it. My EB labs had shown recent activity, but I was sure there was more to it. I took two weeks off the bike and sequestered myself to the bed and couch. Only folks close to me knew the real story and some offered encouraging words like: “you just need a break–you’ll be back in no time.” Others threw gas on the fire of doubt with comments like: “you aren’t a kid anymore–maybe its time to give it up.”

My doctors had ordered a sleep study more at my pleading than protocol. Afterall, I wasn’t old, overweight, or had any other sign of poor health like most Americans exhibit. They had basically said: “why do you keep coming back? you have nothing to complain about.” I decided to try a local race. After a night with me in the hotel room, a good friend of mine told me he was glad I was having a sleep study because he was really worried–I stopped breathing multiple times that night even keeping him awake!

I suppose my hopes were bouyed. Maybe this was it, the magic bullet that would turn the tide and reverse the downward spiral that had lasted nearly two years! The test results were positive to sleep apnea but the specialist wasn’t sure if it was “serious” enough to cause such major symptoms. However, we were both convinced it was worth treating to see if things would improve. In mid-Jone, I got a CPAP machine and indeed life has changed for the better.

It wasn’t a “shot-in-the-arm”, “back-to-normal” sort of change, but a slow turn–something like changing the course of a large ship or stopping a runaway train. Everyday, instead of feeling like I had slid further down the rope into a pit of dispair, it seemed like I and taken a new grip and pulled myself up an arms length away from impending doom. For those who follow this blog and my social media posts you know things have truly improved significantly.

When I decided to compete at 24 Hour Championships last month I harbored a thread of confidence but was still doubtful if I could even finish such a challenge. My first foray into this disipline was way back in February 2009 when I rode to a dominating victory “In the Old Pueblo”. That was the peak of my career and I followed that win with crushing victories in both a road and MTB XC race on back-to-back days just one week later! Then in April, I came down with what we believe was my first case of EB and when I attempted to repeat the performance at National Championships in Moab, I couldn’t continue past midnight.

This time, I wanted to ride singlespeed, both because of some sponsorship agreements and because I knew it would be a different challenge and possibly even a greater test of my endurance. As a final jab to my fragile state, I woke up with a sinus infection last Wednesday just a day before I flew to Colorado Springs. I think I only told my wife… maybe not wanting to believe it was true, or just fearful of having an excuse for failure.

The trip went well, and I even got some pre-riding done. The stage was set, the weather forecast was great, and the course was SUPER–a true test of MTB skill and endurance. The race started and my body responded fantastically! In fact, I was glad to be able to watch my HR on my Garmin simply to keep the throttle in check. Sure, there were minor hiccups like my chain unexplainably coming loose on the first lap, and my seat pack tearing off on one of the many stair-step descents only two laps later.

These setbacks only cost three to four minutes and probably helped me establish a reasonable pace by separating me from the rabbits at the front. By midnight, I was firmly in control of the singlespeed race and in second place overall. I had slowed my pace in the dark and decided to walk five of the most difficult uphill sections since they were so demanding I wasn’t sure my legs would hold out for another 12 hours of such exteme stess.

Then in wee hours of morning, I finally caught the last rider on the lead lap of the singlespeed race. He was riding strong and smooth, but I was able to descend so much faster that I knew all that was left to do was hang on for another few hours. At that point, my mind was weary but not numb enough to glaze over the fact that a quarter of the race still remained to be ridden!

I shaddowed this closest adversary–not to annoy or belittle him but simply for company. Sort of a kindred spirit as the sun warmed the horizon. This is my favorite moment of my 24 Hour experience–when the sun first burns into your blurry vision and you KNOW that darkness has lost its battle with daylight, and that your fate no longer hinges on the performance of one tiny LED.

After a few more laps, I knew it was finally over, and I left my friend/opponent. Shredding the descents and smashing even the steepest climbs I rode most of the last lap with aggression that was fueled not by the imminent victory, but by repudiation of the doubt and anguish that had only months ago nearly quenched my last spark of hope.

I have been resuscitated!

Thanks for reading.

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