Strength In Numbers

Before dawn rose or birds greeted the day, I witnessed several hundred determined souls joined together in the darkness to take on a challenge that most would question their sanity for even considering.  The dark of night could not keep the path before us shaded.  Streaming down from each set of handle bars and helmet mounts, beams of light created patches of glowing puddles that illuminated the pathways we rode through.

As we cleared the undergrowth, and slowly cranked each pedal stroke up the traversing slope, I looked up and saw a beautiful sight in the darkness.  In the distance, hundreds of cyclists were lighting the way like a crystal strand of white Christmas lights criss-crossing back and forth up a tree until the final strand turned out of sight near the top.  Each individual point of light symbolized a warrior on a quest that only he or she could accomplish . . . but not alone.

I began my quest with a dear friend, Ed, who chose to be my support, as well as taking on a personal challenge of his own that no one had done before.  This race, consisting of 44 miles and an 8000-foot elevation gain, had been completed on bikes with no suspension, and bikes with only one gear (single-speeds), but never on a fifty-pound beach cruiser with only a single coaster brake to slow it down.  I had borrowed Ed’s twenty-one pound, hard-tail beauty the night before because of mechanical problems with my own bike.  So here he was on the heaviest bike to journey these slopes, and I on one of the lightest.  Yet, I would still question jokingly, “Who really has the handicap?  After all, Ed, you’re an outright animal but I still have a weakened body from chemotherapy.”  Such an unlikely, yet perfect team we were as we crested each mountain in determination to continue on and not quit.

Shortly into our painful quest, a third person joined our pack creating the perfect trio.  Terri, like Ed, rode the race by my side becoming that voice of reason when mine had wandered off.  This made the eight hours of climbing bearable and the adventure conquerable.

The downhill was truly amazing; I had a front row seat to a miracle.  Picture if you would, a fast, steep, and loose switchback traverse that seems to never end.  If Ed was out of sight, I would know that he was nearby by the scent of overheated grease (which wasn’t suppose to burn below 500 degrees) burning in his hub.  Smoking.  Really, it was smoking, as if the internals were on fire after each major decent.  He actually had to stop at one point to inject more grease, using a syringe just to keep the wheel rolling so that it wouldn’t seize up.  I witnessed first hand, a ballet performed with grace, as crazy as it may seem, watching this phenomenal athlete working the sweet line between control and total calamity on these dangerous downhill slopes.

Being the last racers on the course to make the final cut off, we were swept and accompanied by a motorcycle and a 4-by-4 up the rest of the mountain and down the backside until we hit the final two single tracks.  There, two guys, Brian and Keith, picked up where the motorcycle and 4-by-4 could no longer go.  They brushed the remaining course riding with us to the finish line.

At a time just under ten hours, Ed, Terri, and I were the last three to cross the finish line for the Counting Coup.  The strength and encouragement of these friends allowed me to finish my quest.  As I sat there dusty and tired, I realized I had just ridden a perfect race, on a perfect day, and ironically, finished last.  At that moment, I understood that not all things should be judged by what you’ve done, but rather by what you receive.  On this day, I received the strength of friends.

In Other’s Words:

“You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

…..You raise me up…to more than I can be”

~ Josh Groban~

(Note: Here is a link to an article in the Orange County Register that talks about the race. http://www.ocregister.com/articles/gold-240490-troy-mountain.html )

Journeying into the Storm - I Was Never Alone

As this year comes to an end and many of us take the time to reflect on the events of the past and prospect for the future, I solemnly sigh.  My exhale isn’t a sigh of relief, but rather an emptying of breath so I can reload with a gasp and grasp of fresh air for my next move.

This has been an amazing year.   I am grateful to be on this journeyand hope to continue growing and learning as I move forward and upward.  Because we are at year’s end it is only natural to look at the past while planning for the future.  My past may look like a rocky one, but I see it as a wide and smooth dirt trail with a few ruts that had to be maneuvered around.  I am still standing and that is what counts.  Even if it appeared like I’d been blown off course a few times my pedal strokes never ceased and I know the secret why:  “I was never alone.”

Lately countless individuals have expressed to me how grateful I must be for this year to be over.  I find it rather strange, as I think of the past events that have brought me to this point; they make me smile rather than frown.  This is not an expression from someone who has been traumatized by the battle, but someone who has taken something of worth and value from the fight.  Sure, I may be scarred and my armor has a few chinks in it, but as someone once said, “They are there in order to let my light shine through.”

So, I admit that it has been an eventful year with one cancer diagnosis, three surgeries, four rounds of Chemotherapy, and a few other boo-boo’s along the way.  But it doesn’t end there.  The other day I was told by a dermatologist that the scraping she did from my nose has a 70 to 80 percent chance of being malignant.  Yup, they now tell me that I might have skin cancer.  It is all right though because it is not melanoma, which is a really bad boy to fight.  Mine just might be a simple surgery to remove the offender.  Funny how something that could appear so huge and life shattering really doesn’t seem to be that big of a problem when you look at the worse case scenario.  We’ll just add this one to the two plus surgeries I will be having in the New Year.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to head up a new Cancer Support Group.  My positive outlook in the bleakest of situations was the catalyst for being asked to step into this position.  In preparation for this new journey, I attended several support groups in the surrounding area to see how other groups function.  While at one of these meetings, after sharing my story, the facilitator asked, “What do you do on a bad day?”  I had to pause and think for a second and try to remember a bad day.  I couldn’t!  Not that I haven’t had rough spots in my journey, but, I couldn’t remember actually feeling like it was bad.  So, my answer to her and the group was quite simple, “When you wake up each day with an attitude of gratitude and thanksgiving that you are still five and a half feet above ground rather then six feet under, it can’t help but to be a good day.”  To realize that the key to contentment could be that simple is really a gift.  First, you must be grateful that you have another breath.  And second, with that breath do something for others – or let others do something for you.  By incorporating these two principles into my life, I have learned the secret to having joy in the journey no matter where my journey takes me.

Yes, I have had many bad things happen to me. But, what I am saying is “Don’t define the day by bad things that are happen.”  We all have problems to handle and some people’s problems are huge. Even in the darkest of places something good, something to appreciate can be found. Say “I am thankful for . . . ” and whatever it is, hopefully, will bring a small ray of light to that moment, minute, hour or day.

I believe these skills can be learned by practice, then in the bleakest and darkest moments one can draw strength through the pain as they find one thing to be grateful for and do one act of kindness for another.  It most likely won’t make your problems go away, but what it can switch the focus away from you, your problems and pain, and in turn make them more tolerable.

When I was 15 I was blessed to have a mentor who taught me the impact that someone can make on another simply by seeing sunshine through the rain clouds.  Her lessons of gratitude and appreciation made a differance to a typical, self-centered teenager, which is what I was.  I remember her well, as if we departed each other’s presence just yesterday, yet it has been over 30 years since we’ve laughed together.  Her name was Emily Benny and she brought sunshine to the dark corners of my life.  I first met her while visiting a friend in the hospital, where Emily occupied a bed in the same room.  I would visit with the two of them daily, but the visits didn’t cease once my friend was released.  Back then I didn’t realize how much this 71-year-old lady would change my life.  Our visits went on for months as she lay there recovering from having had her leg amputated.  No matter the pain or loneliness, she always wore the biggest and brightest smile, framed in fire-engine-red lipstick.  If smiles could be patented hers would have been the smile from which to make the perfect mold.  Emily had been widowed for many years and her two sons lived away and were unable to visit much.  She was all alone on this journey of pain and loneliness.  Having had diabetes for many years, it took its toll on her body but definitely not on her spirit (at least not that I could see).  Wherever she was, she carried sunshine with her and was a beacon of light to any who came within sight of her smile.

Emily recovered well enough to be moved to an old folks home in a nearby town, approximately 15 miles away. Hitchhiking was common in those days so I would use that form of transportation to go see her on the weekends.  I was just so happy in continuing our visits each week.  That summer our visits ended when I went to work in the Canadian Rockies.  Just before I returned home, Emily died on the operating table while having her second leg amputated.  I missed her dearly then and still do, but have never forgotten the lessons she taught in appreciating the breath of each day and the hearts of those you choose to connect with.  Emily had a very rough life, yet you would not have known it because of her radiating smile and genuine spirit of light that shone through her armor.

I have often reflected on my many blessings and recently had an opportunity to let someone know of my gratitude.  Last November I received an email from a friend in our church asking for stories of women who have given or received service.  In the subject line she entitled it “Errand of Angels.”  This was my reply:

Dated: November 7, 2009

I am writing you this note in response to your email request.  I am more then humbled and blessed to be on the receiving end of “The Errands of Angels.”  One of the gifts in a trial is the love that surrounds an individual by the actions of others.  As I went through my planner this morning to count how many acts of service have been rendered on behalf of me and my family, the numbers became staggering.  I stopped counting after 248, not because those who followed weren’t important enough to be counted, but because the numbers were just a drop of water in the pond of generosity.  I came to realize, as I was counting, that the dear woman who prepared a meal for my family was, most likely, assisted by her children and spouse in this act of kindness.  So, these numbers can’t be counted as to how many have really served my family and myself during this year of trial.  The peace I do have is that “I know the Angels record each and every action of love that is brought to another.”  Heaven truly does know the heart and actions of each individual.  For this I am grateful because I may never be able to repay, or express my deep gratitude to the depths or to its measure that my heart wants to.  At times such as these, the veil is made thin in exposes the grand design and beauty of this earthly journey.  We are sent here, as the Master has told us, simply to “LOVE ONE ANOTHER.”  My family and I have been loved beyond measure.

Sincerely, and with my greatest appreciation,

Elaine Gold

So as this year comes to a close I leave with you all with my deepest love and appreciation.   I do not feel like I am riding into a storm as I face the New Year and more repairs to my body.  If the truth be known, I am actually looking forward to a year of healing and becoming strong.  Those storm clouds in the distance may be raining elsewhere, but they are not raining on me.  They are there to make the picture more beautiful and to bring drama and mood to the scene.  I believe that, metaphorically speaking, even if you are riding into a storm you can know that storm clouds do part and that the sun is shining somewhere.  Sometimes it takes a state of mind to see beyond our storms, and just maybe we have to create our own sunshine to make it through.