Booty 2011: Riding Through Hell, and I'm OK With That

The word for this years Booty was “sweltering.” The forecasted highs for Friday and Saturday were 99 and 98; definitely temperatures worth amending your goals for. And I had a lofty goal of 300 miles. But I also have a hard head - not always a good combination.

My Friday prep for Booty couldn’t have gone more perfectly. I slept in until 5:30am, got up, had a huge blueberry pancake breakfast and laid back down at 10am for a short nap. Then I loaded up my car with my camping gear which I had gotten together the night before and my cooler which I had packed to the gills with heat-beating supplies - frozen water bottles, frozen wash cloths and towels, Smuckers Uncrustables, pasta salad, watermelon and as much ice as I could fit. Oh, I also put my chamois cream in there (try it, you’ll like it).

Jill and I met up with my camping buddies, Steve and Jen, and we all headed to Bootyville to set up camp. Holy shit it was hot doing that; just a small sample of what was to come. After camp set up, we hit The Flying Biscuit for a late lunch. My selection of Pasta and Egg Scramble with Creamy Dreamy Grits left me feeling confident for having a full tank of energy to help get me through the night...or at least until the Midnight Pizza Party!

With belly full, I headed home with Jill for a couple hours relaxation and hydration prior to the start of the event. We cranked the AC down in the house and I had a full hour nap before heading back out to Bootyville. My whole day had gone so perfect, which was so different from in the past. Normally, I’m so jacked that I can barely eat or nap. This year I had no problem with either. Maybe after 7 years of doing this thing, I’ve finally learned the proper prep?

Back at camp, with nary a slight breeze for a bit of relief, we yearned for the start of the ride - but first, a team picture (with Bob Roll), a few announcements from the cancer community and ride organizers, and 30 minutes of lining up 1200 riders. Dripping with sweat already, having done nothing so far, I was anxious to feel the cooling breeze that my bike would provide for me.

As a participant of one of the Top Fundraising Teams, my teammates and I were given the privilege of lining up behind the cancer survivors to lead out the parade lap. It’s both a humbling and uplifting experience to be in such a position. On my way to the start line, I ran in to one of my friends, Kellie, whose bike was decorated with a tractor, stuffed cow, alligator, and several different types of flowers. Her Grandfather, a farmer, had died of cancer among many others of her family and as she told me the stories represented by each object I remember thinking, “Wow, this family has seen enough of this disease. This is simply not fair.” At the start line she handed me a can of hot pink hairspray - breast cancer runs in her family - so, I sprayed my platinum hair pink in a very small effort to show my support.

The first few laps of Booty is an absolute surreal experience. Crowds line the streets with signs and sound making devices screaming their lungs out for you. The homes along the Booty Loop are lined with one yard party after another - people, neighbors, sharing in this unique event. PA systems blare out not just music, but words of encouragement. Just before the right turn onto Hopedale Road, which is re-named Alpe d’Hopedale for Booty, there is a resident with a mic that just talks constantly...for hours. He calls it “Heckle Hill,” but he’s only “heckling” at the beginning while you still have energy and are smiling. By Saturday morning, he’s giving you the news headlines that you may have missed since you were on your bike all night. Then, by Saturday afternoon, he really starts in on the encouragement because he knows that this is about the 75th time you’ve climbed this hill.

Sometime during the second hour or so, I gave a quick glance behind me and found myself looking into the eyes of, none-other-than, Bob Roll, who many cyclists recognize as the voice of pro-cycling. He is a former pro who competed on the European circuit during the 80’s and 90's including the Tour de France. I was a little stunned to see him there, so I let him come around me and then decided I’d sit on his wheel for a while. Well, a while turned into about an hour. After a couple of laps I finally decided to spark up a conversation with him. He was very gracious to everyone who wanted to talk to him. He had lots of people yelling for him on the side of the road. Within a few short minutes, he and I had solved the world’s problems and figured that beer and cycling go perfect together. Thank God we’re not running things, eh?

After I attacked and dropped Bob Roll, I continued to ride until midnight, only having stopped to rehydrate and to have a couple of short conversations with friends. All of my food intake on the bike was Uncrustables, Clif Blocks and gels. I felt really good. Full of energy. Had a good average of 16.8 - remember that includes the parade start. My legs were great. No soreness in my body...yet.

At midnight me, Steve and Jen met back up for the Midnight Pizza Party. I had planned this as one of my bigger breaks cuz I knew I needed to stay topped off with food. At this point, my body was still accepting food. What I didn’t realize at the time was that by morning, my body would not be so receptive.

Back on the road at 12:45, I was feeling great. I was closing in on 100 miles and was getting anxious about hitting 130. It was at the 130 mile mark the last time I went for 300 that my body shut down on me. The pain shooting through every joint from my finger tips to my neck and down my back is still memorable to this day. And it happened almost instantly. I still am not sure how I survived another 170 miles after that other than pure inspiration. So, I was nervous about hitting that point. Regardless, I pressed on and hit 130 feeling surprisingly good.

Sometime around 4am or so, I friend of mine came flying past and he had about 7 guys on his wheel. I sprinted to catch up with them and hung in for a lap, but Andy is a very strong cyclist and I knew I couldn’t keep that effort up given my 300 mile goal, so I backed off and went my own pace. About a half hour later, he lapped me, still with a bunch of guys on his wheel. I didn’t even try to get on this time, but it turned out, I didn’t have to. Andy gave up pulling those guys around and came back to find me. He asked how I was doing and then instructed me to get on his wheel; that he would go my pace and help me around the Loop.

In case you’re not a cyclist, let me try to explain how much easier it is to ride when you can draft off of someone...it’s infinitely easier. I was putting in less effort, but going about 4mph faster by having Andy there. And because I know him and know how good a cyclist he is, I know I can trust him to get me around the Loop safely. Believe me, not everyone is like that. I had a dude nearly put me into a barrier just a few laps after I left Bob Roll (who, btw, is also a trustworthy wheel to follow...very steady). So, all I had to worry about was watching his rear wheel and staying there.

Andy set a perfect pace for me for nearly 3 hours. It’s because of him that by the time I stopped for breakfast, I had 178 miles, which is about 12 more than I would have had by myself. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but in perspective he saved me an extra 45 minutes of riding. Also in perspective, the last time I did 300, by breakfast I only had 155. Andy was a huge help. I am still very grateful to him.

It was at breakfast that my stomach quit accepting food. There were scrambled eggs, whole wheat rolls, fruit, oatmeal, bacon and sausage. None of it was appetizing for me. And I couldn’t rely on just cycling food. I still needed real sustenance to get me through the last 122. I forced down what I could before getting nauseous and then had some pasta salad. I knew I needed to eat, but the heat was beginning it’s attack. The thought of food had me dry-heaving.

I’ll tell you what. The sun comes up fast. Just before breakfast, the sky had barely started to lighten and then, within minutes, the sun is up and it’s 1000 degrees.

Back on the bike. A short time after breakfast, I ran across another familiar face, Christina, who I had seen the night before as well. But, this time she played Sherpa to me much like Andy had earlier. Like Andy, Christina is a seasoned cyclist who you can trust to just follow. And follow I did. For about 2 hours. Then we took a short break and rode for another 30 minutes or so. At this point, the fatigue was starting to settle into my legs. The hills were quite bothersome and my lack of food intake was about to threaten my whole day. I was at 251 miles when I cracked. 50 to go. An easy training ride on a typical day for me. But, the heating of the day happened very quickly and although I hydrated well, I could not seem to get any real food into my stomach and cycling food was not cutting it. Then, out of nowhere, my heart broke and I forgot about food and water entirely.

A few months ago Jill surprised me with a 2011 Booty Charm necklace; a limited edition that was designed by Donald Haack Jewelers for this event and sold for donations. With my jersey unzipped trying to stay cool, I could see the charm dancing around my neck each time I climbed a hill. Until it wasn’t there. I looked down and only saw 2 parts of a broken chain; the charm gone. Under normal circumstances, this would only mean we’d go purchase another one, but after no sleep and 250 miles, it became a huge emotional loss and all of the air left my lungs briefly. I rode straight to Bootyville where Donald Haack had a booth set up. I began explaining to them in a very disjointed manner what had occurred. I couldn’t quite get it out properly. I was trying to explain its importance to me but I was aware I was sounding like a fool. The more I tried to not sound ridiculous, the more confused they looked. I finally just said, “I don’t supposed you’d consider replacing it for me?”

“Oh, honey. Of course we would.” New chain. New charm. New resolve.

At this point, Jill had finished her volunteer work and was sitting at camp. I was having to take more breaks now because of heat and fatigue. When Christina left me, my average speed had gone up to 17.8. Within a couple hours it plummeted to 16.3. Each time I stopped, Jill had iced wash cloths and towels for my head, neck, arms, legs and chest. I’d eat as many bites of pasta salad as I could without throwing up and drink extra water then head back out. Oh, but the miles came so slowly, I might as well have been riding backwards. And the heat index was up to 104.

With about 30 to go, I was able to eat half a black bean burger. I was looking at about 2 more hours to reach my goal. I headed back out on the bike.

I rode about 3 laps. And to be honest, this is where it all gets a little fuzzy. As long as I was on the bike and had a wheel to focus on in front of me, I was ok. But, every time I stopped for water, I got very dizzy and the heat and humidity engulfed me. I went through that process a number of times before I found myself self sitting under a tree blacking out with a horrible headache. Head between my knees, I said out loud, “Enough.” The point of this ride is to keep people out of the hospital and I had already heard two instances of emergency vehicles that afternoon. I poured ice cold water over my head and went to my car 5 miles short of my goal.

Jill had already broken down my camp, loaded it in her car and headed to Moe’s to pick up burritos and queso.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally made it home. I left the bike on the car, barreled through the door and laid on the floor in the middle of the living room with my dog, who was (as usual) extremely happy to see me. Jill arrived shortly after with food and by the magic of being home and in the AC, my appetite returned.

Then I slept for 12 hours.

It’s Sunday afternoon now and already it’s all a blur. The important thing is that we raised 1.25 million dollars for cancer charities. The important thing is remembering why we do this. The important thing is that as I sit here sharing a glass of champagne with my wife, dog asleep at my feet making little doggy dreaming sounds, just as the sticker on my laptop says...Life is Good.

Indeed.

Booty Time: F--- Cancer

Fuck Cancer.

There, I said it. Think of me what you will for dropping the f-bomb. Sorry if your kids were watching.

Sorry if you’re appalled that there is a word available to me in the English language that allows me to express exactly how I feel about this piece of shit disease...and that I used it.

Actually, no. I don’t apologize.

Say it with me.
Fuck Cancer! It feels really good, doesn’t it?

Scream it at the top of your lungs.

FUCK CANCER!

Wow! You’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, haven’t you?

That’s okay. This is a judgement-free zone.

When I look back, I think it would’ve been nice to stand next to her while she was in that bed...while she was wasting away; hairless, colorless...lifeless...and, if only for a few seconds, to tip-toe to that hospital window, disregard my parents words, and allow all that anger and resentment to fly out of my mouth, out of my pores, out of that window, with a cathartic bellowing of those two words.

But, one of those words was forbidden to me back then.

Cancer stole my Grandmother when I was 12. I’ve been telling this story for many years now trying to find a way to heal. Trying to beat the crap out of cancer. But, curiously, the most important thing I’ve learned over all these years is that my story is not so different from yours.

You taught me that last year.

Last year, I asked you to submit to me the names of your loved ones who had battled cancer; victorious or not. I wanted to take them with me on the 24 Hours of Booty, pinned to my jersey, as a piggyback...as an honor to their fight...because this disease is so much bigger than me.

You blew me away last year. I’m not understating that. I learned so much about you and your loved ones. I connected with you the likes of which I never thought possible. The stories you told me. The hurt. The triumph. You shared it all with me. I was equally humbled and empowered...for me it was amazing, but more importantly, I hope your willingness to share helped you because cancer sucks.

I don’t know how to top what you did for me. I’ve thought about it for almost a year. I’ve contemplated how to return the favor to you. I want to inspire you the same way you inspired me. But, how?

By riding further than I ever have in 24 hours.

301 miles within a 24 hour period is not a claim a lot of cyclists can make. I did it 2 years ago and I remember the hurt all too clearly. I thought I’d have forgotten it by now. Unfortunately, I have the video, which I barely remember making, to remind me:

On that day, I took myself to a place that was far beyond the reach of what most humans will allow themselves to experience by choice; a place that completely broke me both physically and emotionally; a place that changed me for the good...and I’m going there again.

The goal this year is to exceed 301 miles. And I’m taking your personal messages with me. This year, with your donation, write a personal message about how cancer has affected you.

Lost someone close to you? Let them know they are not forgotten.

Know someone fighting cancer right now? Write some words of encouragement.

Know a survivor? Tell them how they’ve inspired you.

Are you a survivor? Send others a message of hope.

Write whatever you want to whomever you want. I’ll have all the messages posted at my campsite during the event.

So, how do you add a message? When you make a donation online, you will see a box for a Personal Message. Write whatever you want in that box. Not donating online? Email, Facebook or a restaurant napkin are fine, too. In any case, I will send you an email confirming I have received your message. Here’s the link to my fundraising page:

http://www.24hoursofbooty.org/site/TR/Bike/General?px=1002716&pg=personal&fr_id=1150

Thank you for your donation.

Fuck Cancer. Cancer sucks. Booty doesn’t.

Jodi

Women in Cycling: Liberate Me, Baby!

“Many a girl has come to her ruin through a spin on a country road.” – Charlotte Smith, 1896.

Charlotte Smith was a feminist with concerns. Her concern was of the new found freedom that women felt by being on a bicycle. Freed of the heavy, uncomfortable dresses and able to feel the wind on her skin, women could ride as far as their legs would take them. This was a freedom they had never experienced before; a freedom depicted repeatedly in the advertising posters of the day.

Smith feared that this freedom was leading women to ride off on escapades of sin. What a Debbie Downer, eh? The freedom afforded by their bikes allowed them to “mingle” easier with the opposite sex sending them coasting straight down the dirt path of immorality. “The bicycle is the devil’s advance agent morally and physically in thousands of instances,” she once wrote.

You may be thinking, "Oh, c'mon. How can a feminist speak so horribly about a device so liberating?"

Well, Smith’s view on the bicycle is actually the perfect parallel for the complicated feelings within the Women’s Suffrage Movement in the United States. The movement for Suffrage (women’s right to vote and run for office) began in 1848 and by the 1890’s was a very divisive social topic. Many people did not feel it was a woman’s place to interfere in the affairs of the State, including many women. Some women were fine with their current roles. Some wanted to vote, but still felt their place was in the home. Some felt they deserved the exact same rights as men, which was a very extreme view to have. Let’s not forget, women had only just started putting pants on for the first time (thanks to the bicycle)!

Despite Charlotte Smith’s feeling that bicycles were “indecent and vulgar,” she was a central figure in the feminist movement. She fought for women’s rights in the workplace, edited two women’s magazines, lobbied and pushed for women to get into business, and was known to knock a guy over the head with her umbrella if she caught him mistreating a lady. So, I can only fault her so much.

To be fair, Smith’s remarks probably held some truth to them. In the late 1800’s, the lives of young women were looked after very closely and their interaction with the opposite sex was strictly guarded. They were not afforded much independence at all and they rarely left the home by themselves.

Oh, thank God for the bicycle, right?

Thanks to the bicycle, women were finding a way to explore the world for themselves and, for that matter, explore themselves. Courtships changed as women started experimenting with relationships outside of their strict households. This was the very beginning of women taking charge of their own sexuality!

Oh, thank God for the bicycle, right?

The religious community was in a haze of confusion on what to do. Some churches sided with Charlotte Smith’s view that the bicycle was a downward spiral of sin and loudly denounced the use of the vehicle by women. Others were concerned that their congregations were shrinking as more and more people chose riding their bikes on Sundays instead of worshiping. In fact, several pastors took their services out of the church and onto the bicycle, meeting the cyclists on their own turf. It was the perfect compromise!

Oh, thank God for the bicycle…(seriously, God, I’d personally like to thank you for the bicycle. Amen.)

So, the general concern in the anti-women-on-bicycle movement was that, given her newfound independence, women’s role in society would change completely and permanently. And you know what? They were right.

Oh, thank God for the bicycle!

Women in Cycling: Get Me Out of This Dress!

“Let me tell you what I think of Bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel.”
- Susan B. Anthony, February 2, 1896

I read that quote for the first time recently. I instantly attached myself to it. After all, as a woman who loves the freeing feeling of being on a bike, I knew exactly what Susan B. Anthony was talking about.

Or did I?

The bicycle was brought to America in 1876 by Colonel Albert Augustus Pope. At that time, bikes had huge wheels in the front and teeny tiny wheels in the back. The bigger the front wheel, the faster the bike. In fact, they went so fast, that most horses couldn’t keep up with them. And since you didn’t have to feed a bike, the “high wheelers” became a much more economical form of transportation than horses. The bicycle was an instant success.

The high wheelers, though, were highly dangerous. They were difficult to mount and the front wheels were so big that hitting any sort of rut in the poorly maintained, horse destroyed roads would send the rider crashing down to Earth. It was during this time that the League of American Wheelmen (L.A.W.) fought for road improvements. Road improvements that would pave the way for the invention of the automobile.

Rather quickly, a new iteration of the bike dawned – the type that we all know and love to this day – with 2 wheels of the same size and a chain that drives the rear wheel. This bike became known as the “safety” because…well, it was safer. Popularity of the safety soared. Hundreds of manufacturers popped up almost overnight as bikes were selling by the hundreds of thousands by 1896. And at $50 - $150 each, it was driving millions of dollars into the American economy.

But enough about the general awesomeness of the bicycle, how did this silly little thing emancipate women?

Think back to what you know about life for women in the late 1800’s. Firstly, women only wore dresses. Huge Victorian dresses. Huge Victorian dresses that oftentimes couldn’t fit through doorways! Women were strapped tightly into corsets - a garment that was not only painful to wear, but was extremely detrimental to internal organs and made it hard for women to breathe. Secondly, women stayed in the home and didn’t wander very far. Lastly, they were discouraged from exercise – it was thought to be bad for them; bad for their reproductive organs.

Enter the bicycle.

The popularity of the bicycle could not be denied. The craze exploded like a cargo ship of Mentos sinking into a sea of Diet Coke. And women got into it. They really got into it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that trying to pilot a bicycle dressed in “proper” women’s clothing was nearly impossible.

Almost immediately, women started tossing their dresses aside in favor of more appropriate cycling clothing. Corsets were the first to go – if she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t ride. And that was a huge deal back then. The use of a corset defined the curves of a women’s body and gave a visual definition of gender roles during that time. Refusing to wear them caused a great uproar especially among men and church groups who feared the blurring of those roles would lead to the infringement of man’s domain.

The concern of gender roles would only increase as women’s riding fashion continued to change. Once free of the corset, the dresses got smaller. Woman finally got tired of trying to ride in a long dress altogether and began opting for a garment called “Bloomers”. Emily Bloomer had developed the shorter skirt with flowing trousers underneath in the 1850’s. But, they caused such an outrage (the thought of a woman wearing any sort of pants was completely unimaginable …only men wore pants; it defined him), that they didn’t really catch on…until the bike came along.

Bloomers became the most useful bike riding garment, but were still not an acceptable form of women’s fashion off the bike. Off the bike, women were still expected to be in their dresses which caused problems of its own. One New York [state] school board banned female school teachers from riding a bike to work to prevent them from showing up in bloomers. “If we do not stop them now they will want to be in style with the New York [City] women and wear bloomers. Then how would our schoolrooms look with the lady teachers parading about among young boys and girls wearing bloomers…We are determined to stop our teachers in time, before they go that far,” said one trustee to the New York Times .

Funny thing is, for all the controversy they caused, the bloomers popularity was short-lived. Although functional, the lady cyclists actually found them ugly and started rejecting them in favor of shorter skirts. Now women were showing their legs. Pictures of women wearing pants (GASP!) even started showing up in advertising and on cigar boxes; the first gender-benders of the New World! American Society was aghast at the impropriety that the bicycle had begun; aghast that women were demanding proper riding clothing…aghast that women were demanding anything at all.

It was the mid 1890’s and women were spiraling out of control at the hands of the bike. In a few short years, the entire image of a woman had changed. But, the emancipation went beyond just clothing. Women were experiencing a freedom they had never known before.

And not all feminists were happy about it. Up next, the anti-cyclist women's movement.

24 Hours of Booty 2010: The Piggyback

30 miles in about 12 hours. I think that sets a new record, right?

My Booty started with a broken rear brake lever so my first stop in Bootyville after setting up camp was at the “Bike Medic” tent otherwise known as “Bicycle Sport.” My sweet bike couldn’t possibly have been in better hands, after all, that’s where I purchased her. Ilan said he needed a couple of hours, but that he could have it fixed for me before the ride started. And he did! Whew!
While my bike was being tended to, I took a stroll around Bootyville. The first thing that caught my eye was a tent set up for The Melting Pot. The Melting Pot is one of my favorite restaurants, so I was curious about what they would be serving. Nobody was at the tent yet, so my curiosity would have to wait.

Along the other side of Bootyville, I found a large Booty themed canvas on a table scattered with black Sharpies. I picked one up and adhered my thoughts to the material. So did others.
Directly next to that was another place to display your thoughts. Mine was pretty self explanatory.

Feeling empowered by my public declarations of hate, I snuck back to The Melting Pot tent. Damn, still nobody there. I began walking back to camp.

And then I saw them. They walked right by me. I instinctively turned on my heel and matched their pace until their procurers stopped and looked at me suspiciously. OK, maybe I was walking a little close, but, c’mon, I’ve never seen so many chocolate covered strawberries in one place before. Tray after tray. Cart after cart. White chocolate. Dark chocolate. Milk chocolate. I was like Charlie entering the Wonka factory. Eyes huge. I may have drooled a bit. If you had an unlimited supply of chocolate covered strawberries in front of you, what would you do? The Melting Pot served them for 24 hours straight. I don’t know the exact number, but I do know that’s a lot of strawberries!

Back at the Bicycle Sport tent, Ilan had restored my baby to like new condition. I thanked him and went back to camp to put on my jersey.

My jersey. It started with a silly idea I had one early morning in January. I was registering myself for the event when I started remembering the whole reason Booty means so much to me: my Grandma dying from ovarian cancer when I was 12. I started thinking about the last movie I saw with her, “An American Tail.” I found the theme song on Youtube that morning and I watched it with tears in my eyes.

Sitting there alone, I began to wonder if anyone else registering for the event was experiencing the same type of thing. Then something hit me that was so obvious that it’s embarrassing I hadn’t really thought about it before. There’s no reason my Booty has to be just about my Grandma. I know for a fact there are lots of people out there sitting alone and crying over a bad hand that cancer dealt them. I knew right then wanted all my friends involved. But how?


The Piggyback

I wanted to hear your stories. I wanted to be affected by you. I wanted to cry with you. And delight with you. And be angry along side you. I wanted to honor you and your losses and survivorships and fights. This would be the defining factor in this year’s Booty for me. But how could I factor that in to the bike ride?

There is a line in one of my favorite songs that says, “I want to tell the world I’ll give them all a piggyback and try to take away my negative effect.” The song is not necessarily about cancer, but it is about holding up the weight of someone who is sick. If you have watched a loved one fight cancer, I challenge you to listen to this song and not feel something.

And so the idea of the piggyback jersey was born. I asked everyone who would listen: My family. My friends. My Facebook friends. Forum members. My co-workers.

And you responded…in a big way. I received names week after week and day after day.

Your Granddad, Duke, died of brain cancer. Your mom, Lillian, died of ovarian cancer. Your Uncle Dale died of brain cancer. Your Aunt Bettina beat stage 3 lung cancer. You lost your Mom, Elizabeth last Christmas to colon cancer and you feel alone. You survived cervical cancer and found a surrogate to carry your biological child. Your cousin Melissa died of stage 1 cervical cancer. Your dad, Ron died of colon cancer after a 7 year battle.

You lost your sister, Lorraine, in April to breast cancer. Your sister in law, Missy, is fighting breast cancer. Your friends Jim and Clay were both recently diagnosed with prostate cancer and are undergoing surgery next week. Your dad, Arnold died of Lymphoma while your mom, June is currently fighting breast cancer. Your wife lost both her parents, Viv and Al, to cancer as well as your good friend, Ed. Jen has been fighting breast cancer for 3 years. Emily beat thyroid cancer when she was 19. Judy, Bob and Sarah all beat cancer!

Jody is currently fighting breast cancer and just finished her second dose of chemo. Your Mother in Law, Barbara, is a breast cancer survivor. Your grandma, Giggi, died of esophageal cancer. You’ve lost your mother in law, Ginger and grandmother, Betty. You lost your mom, Nancy when you were 1 year old. Your friend, Velinda, just celebrated 12 years cancer free! Your Uncle John has survived throat cancer twice. Your friend Heidi survived rectal cancer and is currently cancer free. And the list goes on and on.

YOU affected me profoundly this year before I even threw a leg over the top tube. Last year, I defined my own experience by riding 300 miles and breaking myself physically and emotionally. This year, you defined the experience for me. You gave me 84 names to give a piggyback to; to take along with me on this journey. And let me tell you, they all came willingly. I could feel them rustling in the wind behind me as I rode and so I thought about them constantly. And when I wasn’t riding, I displayed my jersey at camp for everyone to see.


I don’t know my final tally. My odometer crapped out Friday night after only 30 miles. I was so upset when I noticed. I wanted to be able to tell you all exactly how far I carried your loved ones. In the end, I spent about 12 hours on the bike. I estimate about 170 miles.

My head was dizzy and I was beat as I left Bootyville, but as soon as I got home, I was ready for more.

I‘m already thinking of next year; I hope you will all decide to be involved again. I hope that sharing your stories was as therapeutic for you as it was for me. I hope you realize although you have lost a lot to cancer you don’t have to lose yourself. I hope you never forget your loved ones. I hope that you feel ok with crying about your loss even if it’s been 23 years, like me. I hope you keep fighting and I hope you beat the shit out of cancer. I hope you never feel alone and I hope that someday, if you need it, there is someone there to give you a piggyback.

F*ck Cancer. Cancer sucks. Booty doesn’t. Thanks for playing and I’ll see you next year!

A Star is Born (not really, but I did get on TV)

Earlier today I appeared on Charlotte Today to talk about my experience with 24 Hours of Booty. I'm not bragging, but I do see some star quality in the cute blonde chick.

But, seriously, a want to send a huge thanks to Charlotte Today, its hosts and staff for allowing me the opportunity to come on the show and talk about something so close to my heart.

Also, notice that Colleen is pedaling twice as fast as I am. She's competetive, that one.

Oh, and try to ignore "The Doctors" promo...blah, blah...sorry I didn't cut that out.

Video is courtesy WCNC-TV.

Cancer Music

I love music. I mean really, who doesn't? I plan on listening to a lot of it during the 24 Hours of Booty. There have always been several songs among the thousands I own that really make me grit my teeth remembering my own personal experience at the age of 13 watching my Grandma fight and lose her battle with ovarian cancer.

I was close to her. I spent my summer vacations with her and my handicapped Grandfather camping at Disney World in Orlando, where I was born (I was born at a hospital, not Disney, although, sometimes I like to say Mickey and Minnie are my birth parents). Oh, she was a hard ass, don't get me wrong. Some would say she was strong, but that would be putting it nicely. She was opinionated. I know now, she was the product of the life she had been handed.

Juliet Legendre was shunned by her large family (11 siblings, she was the youngest) for being born out of an affair, something that was not her fault, of course, but something for which she bore the burden. She took charge. She married a pure-hearted military man...a man who would father her three children, one of which is my mother. Master Sergeant Raymond Penda would be called to duty in WWII. He would be taken prisoner by the Japanese in the Philippines and survive the Bataan Death march and 5 years as a Prisoner of War under insanely corrupt conditions while watching two thirds of the prison population die around him. He would come home from Bataan and try to become the family man he wanted to be. With their youngest child being only 10 years old, Grandma faced another one of her many challenges in life.

The affects of the imprisonment on Raymond’s body would become too much even for him. He suffered strokes and heart attacks. He became what you and I would call a vegetable and would need to re-learn how to eat, talk and walk, which he did eventually. For years the military refused to acknowledge that the stress he had endured in Bataan could possibly be causing these episodes. They fought for military benefits, but none came. My Granddad, an American POW, had very quickly been forgotten by the government he had served and suffered for. With 3 children and mounting medical bills, Grandma was forced to become the sole provider for her family having no marketable skills. She did what she could, though and she made it work.

Juliet’s hard personality matched the life she was given. I know that now. I didn't know that then. Not that it mattered when I was 13. She and Raymond were my summertime buddies; my friends. They own some of my best childhood memories.

Grandma was the first person in my life to pass away. Perhaps that's why I cling on to her memory so tightly. Maybe it's because I made a promise to her I know now I can't keep - I can't cure Cancer.

The last movie I ever saw with my Grandma was called "An American Tail." You know it. Fivel gets lost as his family immigrates to America because there "are no cats in America!" Kinda funny given that Raymond's parents were Polish immigrants and Juliet's family was French-Canadian. So, naturally, the first song that absolutely breaks me every time I hear it is the theme from

that film. Eerily, the lyrics haunt me…in a good way.

The Most Ridiculous Article I’ve Ever Read

Creative Loafing, a free entertainment magazine available in the Charlotte, NC area, published an article recently by staff writer Tara Servatius called “The Cycling Epidemic.” It has to be one of the most ridiculous pieces of garbage I’ve ever read…even for Citizen Servatius. Here’s the link:

http://charlotte.creativeloafing.com/gyrobase/the_cycling_epidemic/Content?oid=996069

Go read it. No, seriously. Go read it. I’ll wait.

Really? Comparing the risks of riding a bike to the risks of smoking? Are you a fucking idiot?

There’s so much wrong with this article it’s hard to decide where exactly to begin. I guess the most logical starting point is to address the very question that Citizen Servatius poses: “So, where are the public service announcements against bicycling on public roads?” (Ms. Tara clearly believes she has provided sufficient evidence to demand such a thing.)

The answer to that is pretty easy – because no matter how craftily you skew the numbers for your cute little magazine, no logical human being is going to believe that cycling is as likely to kill you as smoking. Your numbers are about as solid as the diarrhea that you’re trying to sell as gold. So instead of using Freakonomic’s to prove your case, let’s simply look at the numbers of death per year in America for each:

Number of deaths per year related to smoking according to the Center for Disease Control: 443,000

Number of bicycle deaths per year according to 2008 NHTSA Traffic Safety Stats, the latest available: 716

Yes, clearly cycling is to be feared as much as smoking.

Moving on –we’re 12 times more likely to die biking to work says a study done by Rutgers. Um, Tara, did you also happen to notice that same study found those "shocking" numbers could easily be reduced if American communities could follow the lead of biking policies put in place by countries like the Netherlands and Germany? In fact, the study says all kinds of glorious things about biking. Maybe you should read it again (or for the first time). Here's the link: http://policy.rutgers.edu/faculty/pucher/AJPHfromJacobsen.pdf

Go read it. No, seriously. Go read it. I'll wait.

Tara, you may also be surprised to find that Rutgers has done numerous studies on the benefits of active communities that encourage walking and biking. Here's one as an example: http://policy.rutgers.edu/faculty/pucher/JPAH08.pdf

Go read it. I'm good at waiting.

Back to Upstanding Citizen Servatius. Forget the fake stats in your article – they are deliberately misleading. Interestingly you mention that walking is even riskier (23 times riskier!) than driving, but make no suggestion to outlaw that.

But, according to you, because cyclists can get hit and killed by motorists (which, according to the NHTSA, is the motorists fault 90% of the time), we should punish the cyclists by outlawing cycling? By your own reasoning then, and using the example you mention in your article, we should be punishing children because they can die of SIDs and we should also be punishing pregnant women because they can die from H1N1.

You may hold many awards for your writing, but this article alone negates all of them.

Forget the re-working of East Blvd – I haven’t been held up there since the change was made, so it’s a moot point anyway.

Forget the so-called lawsuits against drivers that will “wreck you financially for the rest of your life” none of which did you cite because they simply don’t exist. They don’t exist. Sorry, but motorists are rarely cited for hitting cyclists…or pedestrians or even other cars for that matter.

Forget that same old “poor you” argument because you had to cross a double yellow line to get around a biker – I’ve done it. It’s just not that hard; at least not for me. If it’s that’s hard for you, then maybe the State of North Carolina needs to re-think allowing you to hold a drivers license.

Forget the dogging of Mayor Anthony Foxx for supporting bicycling advocacy – most community leaders do because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the benefits of cycling far exceed the drawbacks. It’s been documented and proven time after time after time after time.

Forget your suggestion that cyclists don’t accept some of the blame – that’s simply not true. They do. There’s a huge initiative within the cycling community to accept the same responsibilities as motorists when it comes to the Share the Road Campaign. If you’d spent a little time in the community before publishing your article, it would have been the first thing you’d have noticed. Too bad you didn’t bother.

Forget this statement: “It’s politically incorrect to point out the risks of cycling because cyclists have become yet another protected class.” Being a protected class has nothing to do with political correctness or the risks of cycling. It has to do with being an American, North Carolina, Char-Meck Taxpayer. All taxpayers are a protected class in this country. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The funny thing is you present all this stuff like you’ve discovered the proverbial nail in the coffin to end cyclist’s rights to the roadways, but the reality is none of it makes any sense. In fact, I’d argue that you’re the one being righteous to the point of coming unglued.

I will agree with your final statement, though – if they died another way, it would be called an epidemic. But you should complete the sentence:

If they died another way, it would be called an epidemic by an irresponsible media report that would invoke unnecessary fear in a mostly over-reactive society. Kinda like the article you just wrote, Citizen Tara.

Bottoms Up for BOOTY!

Mac’s Speed Shop BBQ. Olde Mecklenburg Brewery beer selections. The chance to win a Pinarello bike among other prizes…lots and lots of prizes (lots of non-cycling prizes, too)! What else could you possibly need for a fun Thursday evening out with friends? Oh, and did I mention you’ll be helping the fight against cancer, too?

As a fundraiser for 24 Hours of Booty, our Booty team, Team Gita, has organized the 4th Annual “Bottoms Up for BOOTY!” event. This year’s installment will be at Mac’s Speed Shop on South Blvd in Charlotte. They have graciously donated their restaurant for the event and, really, have you been able to find ANYONE who doesn’t like Mac’s? No, you haven’t.

Tickets are $25 and here’s what you get aside from the good feeling of donating to a charity – a Mac’s BBQ plate w/ 2 sides, a commemorative “Bottom’s Up” cup which you’ll need for sampling the beer provided by Olde Mecklenburg Brewery, a Charlotte favorite. You’ll also get one raffle ticket and are welcome to purchase more if you’d like. Our goal is to have no one go home empty handed.

The bottom line about Bottom’s Up is it will be great fun as always. So mark your calendars for Thursday, July 22nd. Now go to the website and purchase your tickets!

http://bottomsupforbooty-efbevent.eventbrite.com/

Did I mention LOTS of prizes?

STOP! Booty Time!

Last year I suffered through 301 miles on my bike all in the name of raising money and awareness to fight my nemesis: Cancer.

The experience is still pretty fresh in my mind and although I swore I’d never attempt 300 again…well, I’ve started thinking about it. I like a good challenge. I like to push myself. But, I also like to socialize – something I have not done enough of at this event in the past. And so I shall forgo another 300 mile attempt and instead focus on getting to know my teammates and hearing stories from more participants. I’ll still ride; but perhaps only 200 miles this year. I will document and share the stories I hear.

And I’d love to hear your Cancer story. I’d love to ride in honor of you and your loved ones. If you’d care to share, feel free to leave a comment.

But, of course, this event is about awareness AND money. So, I need your money, too. Got an extra $5? Nobody would appreciate it more than me. Small contributions made up the bulk of my fundraising last year.

They really do add up to a lot. If you can give, you may do it online with the link below. Don’t wanna do it online? Drop me a line and we can figure something out. All donations are tax deductible and you will be provided a receipt.

Visit Jodi's 24 Hours of Booty page.

Thanks for your ongoing generosity.

Open Invitation to ESPN's Tony Kornheiser

Dear Mr. Kornheiser,

I would like to invite you to the funeral of Adam Little this Saturday, March 20th.

Adam Little was hit and killed by a car while riding his bike to work this past Wednesday morning. He was 35. He leaves behind a wife and two young children along with an entire community that knew him as a loving person and all around really great guy.

Perhaps, you can come and explain to his kids why their dad will never again be home for dinner. I'm sure they will understand when you tell them people like you allow yourselves to get so angry at "the little water bottle in the back and their stupid hats and their shiny shorts" that you somehow feel justified to "RUN THEM DOWN, like Wile Coyote's, run them over."

I feel certain his wife and kids will just laugh it off when you explain that you're "not saying you kill them. I'm saying you tap them. Tap them once." It will greatly ease their pain, I’m sure, to hear how "you pop them a little bit and see what happens."

The viewing will be at 11:30am. The funeral will be at 2:00pm at Hartsell Funeral Home in Concord, NC.

I hope to see you there.

Sincerely,
Jodi Winterton
"disgusting poseur"

Giordana Team Camp 2010

As I walked out of Cielito Linda, our favorite Mexican food in Brevard, I glanced back through the window to the booth six of us had occupied only minutes before. Instantly my face contorted to a one-eyebrow-up confused look as my gaze was met by two men who had been sitting in the booth behind us and were now leaning over that booth and sucking the bottom out of the margaritas that Stacie and I had decided not to finish. We laughed so loud I’m sure they heard us through the glass. And laughing was good because just hours prior, there was very little laughing going on and instead of confusion, our faces contorted in sweet agony.

The six of us who were able to make it to camp early on Friday embarked on a swift little 55 miler I had decided on. Side note about being the only one who knows the roads – your fellow riders have to trust your judgment on how hard the ride will be. Too bad for them because, as they learned Friday, I am highly untrustworthy. We climbed Bob’s Creek and then hit the wall that is Sassafrass Mountain. Looking up the road from the bottom, it barely looks walk-able, much less ride-able. And it goes on and on. So with contorted faces of pain, we all began zig-zagging up the steep pitch.

After we all made it to the top, we began a long gradual descent of Gladys Fork and I assured everyone that the climbing was over except for the backside of Caesar’s Head that lead back to the house which, comparatively speaking, was an “easy” climb.

As I stated before, though, I can’t be trusted. I had completely forgotten about 3 good climbs on East Fork and as I was forcing the pedals over to get up those bitches, I could only think that I had successfully made five enemies that day. I was sure they’d be mad, so when I arrived back at the house I began my apologies. To my relief, no one was upset with me. At least that’s what they told me. Although, they could be liars, too, right?

But, I learned my lesson. The next morning I went out early and drove the intended course so there would be no surprises. By this time, everyone that was coming to camp was there and by 11am, we were suited up and ready to ride. The weather was warming; the roads were rolling; the valley was stunning and the snow covered mountain tops were uplifting. We had a great ride with a moderate amount of climbing. Add in Beer n’ Brats for lunch, a bit o’ wine, great company, good conversations, a huge pasta dinner and the day was pretty much as perfect as it could be.

Even warmer weather greeted us for the final installment of Team Camp on Sunday. I had a good hard ride planned for this day – no reason to ease up on the last day. Along with a bunch of shorter and steep climbs, we would also do the front side of Caesar’s Head which is a good 9 mile ascent that only gets steeper as you approach the top. Those 9 miles would be the last miles ridden for the weekend. As we rode that day, I heard rumblings from some that they didn’t think they’d be able to do that climb. That they weren’t quite in shape enough to survive it. So, we decided whoever made it to the house first would grab a vehicle, drive back down the mountain and pick up those who couldn’t finish.

Well, I’m happy to report that when the sweeper vehicle arrived back at the house, it was empty. Everyone decided to tough it out, grinding out the miles one pedal stroke at a time.

Beginning with Sassafrass on Friday, at least once on each ride, I surprised myself by doing something I was SURE I couldn’t do. And by Sunday, I saw a bunch of my teammates doing the very same thing fighting through what they thought they couldn’t do. That was a very proud moment of the weekend for me.

The defining moment, in fact. Bring on the race season.

Happy ridin’.

Cancer Chronicles: The Facebook Effect

Facebook is pretty easy to sum up. Users acquire more friends than they can possibly pay attention to, most of which are blasts from the past they re-connect with for a quick message exchange only to forget about them again a day later, all the while “updating” people on the mostly mundane and uninteresting occurrences in their lives.

And I love it!

It has been fun re-connecting with old friends and I have found FB to be instrumental in organizing and keeping track of my cycling friends. But, I have found something else about FB. It has reminded me that everyone has a story. See, although most status updates are really vague or passive aggressive in an attempt to garner lots of comments to make the user feel justified in their thoughts, occasionally someone will surprise you with something really significant.

Michelle Whitlock, or as I knew her back then, Michi Christy, was a friend of mine in high school. I spent many a weekend night hanging out with her and my other friend Gigi doing whatever it was the teenaged girls should do…and probably a bunch of stuff teenaged girls should not do. We were invincible. We were headbangers. Our hair dos stood so high they were in restricted airspace, especially our bangs. Not unlike most of my friends in high school, though, we lost touch after graduation and went on about our lives and would never have heard from each other again if it hadn’t been for Facebook.

Over the course of several months, Michi’s status updates began touching a nerve in me and I couldn’t quite figure out why at first. As more weeks went by, I began to piece together her story and had a vague feeling that Cancer had really affected her life in some way; although I wasn’t aware to what extent.

Cancer interests me. It interests me because I hate it so much. I ride my bike a lot of miles in the name of Cancer research and I will do it again this year in the 24 Hours of Booty.

Michi has told her story many times through many different venues. But, I think it deserves to be told here as well. Because when I heard Michi’s story, I put my head in my hands a let a very angry toned “Fuck!” slip out of my mouth. Why was I angry? Because I realized that through all my talking and ranting about Cancer, I had not taken nearly enough time to consider that I am, in fact, not invincible. I had stupidly neglected that fact and it made me feel…well, stupid. So, I want to tell you her story in the coming days and weeks.

Believe me, it’s more significant than any status update you’re going to read. Ever.

To learn about and donate to my Booty cause, click here.

To learn about and donate to Michi’s cause, click here.

BMI Freak Out...Officially Over.

6 weeks after being knocked upside the head with the scale at my doctor’s office, I’ve settled into my new training routine with my new coach. My BMI freak out is over. My cute little beer gut has shrunk and I’m beginning to see the outlines of the abs I once had. But, more importantly, I’m starting to feel strangely strong.

Not necessarily cycling strong – I have not really tested that yet due to poor weather and the fact that, thus far, my training has been focused on low intensity to increase my endurance – but overall I feel strong. That’s because Coach has had me hitting the weights. HARD. I have not lifted like this since I was a Div. 1 soccer player in college.

In the past, I’ve read article’s suggesting that heavy lifting for cyclists is a bad thing. The epitome of this can be seen in Lance’s comeback to cycling last year. For the 3 years he was out of the sport, he had been lifting weights and had gained a significant amount of muscle weight. Theoretically, when he came back to the sport, the extra weight hindered his cycling. This year, when you see pictures of Lance, you can easily tell that he has lost a lot of that excessive bulk and dropped his weight. Based on this exact scenario, I have shied away from heavy lifting in the past.

But, there’s one problem with my reasoning…I’m no Lance Armstrong. I’m not a world class athlete. And I’m a girl. What does this mean…or, rather, what am I hoping this means? Not being Lance means I have to build the strength before I can lose it and being a girl means 1) it’s harder to gain strength and 2) I lose my strength faster than my male counterparts. So, that leads me to 2 conclusions 1) I shouldn’t train like a guy and 2) I don’t need to worry about bulking up with heavy lifting. As a female, that’s really not going happen much. So, basically, I’m hoping to get the strength benefit without the excessive weight.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to gain muscle weight. I am and I have. In fact, so far it would appear that each pound of fat I’ve lost, I’ve replaced with a pound of muscle, but I’m ok with that. The lifting I’m doing is cycling specific – I won’t be lifting heavy weights 3 days a week year round. In fact, at this point, the lifting begins to decrease more to strength maintenance while my time and intensity on the bike begins to increase. So, theoretically, my muscle weight gain should cease and I should begin burning mad fat. And having leaner muscles means I burn fat faster even when I’m not on the bike. Man, I’m making this sound GOOD! But the proof is in the pudding (I have NO idea what that even means).

Basically, it’s time to put my chin to the stem and see if this lifting is gonna effect my cycling in the way I’ve been hoping. The next few months will be the tell all.

For now, I’m just glad my clothes are getting baggy again.

Happy ridin’!

OMG! My BMI! WTF?

I’m officially overweight. My Body Mass Index is technically in the “Overweight” category for the first time in my life. I’m not really sure how it happened… well, I have an idea on how it happened…I’m just surprised my weight shot up so quickly. But, I’m glad it happened.

Glad? says you. Yes, glad, says I.

It’s a serious reminder that I am not one of those women who is perpetually thin no matter what I do. I’ve been athletic my entire life, and still am, so weight has never been a high priority issue for me. In fact, up until last year, I stayed within 15 pounds of my high school weight. But, I’m coming up on my 35th birthday this May, and my metabolism has become about as efficient as driving a dump truck with the emergency brake on. Unfortunately, I only noticed this after a doctor’s appointment a few weeks ago. I went in for a sinus infection and came out demoralized by the reading on the scale.

I don’t want to give the impression that I’m obsessed with my weight and the scale, per se. I’m not. I never have been. I am, however, obsessed with my overall health (always have been); weight being only a small part of the equation. Heart disease runs rampant in my birthmother’s family and my birthfathers side has a whole other host of problems, so I have taken the time to educate myself on health and fitness and nutrition. What I realize today, though, is that I need to take what I know and change my thinking about it.

My entire athletic life has been sporadic exercise. That’s what I’m used to. On season. Off season. 4 months hard. 1 month off. It’s worked for nearly 35 years.

But, I can’t do that anymore. My body won’t let me. I need to re-train myself after all this time. I need to get more consistent about my exercise. I train to race my bike and that helps to keep me motivated. But the days of going out on the bike and hammering 18 hours a week for four months only to burn out in May have got to end. I can’t allow myself to burn out. But this is going to be a hard transition. All out is all I know. So the question is: do I have enough discipline to hold myself back? And the answer is no.

So, I’ve hired a coach. And we have discussed at length all that I’ve written here. And it will be up to her to design a program I can stick to. She says she can do it and I’m on board. I agreed to do everything she asks – no more, no less.

We’ve been at it for nearly 4 weeks. It’s a lot different than anything I’ve ever done. So far, I’m feeling really good. I’ve lost some weight and I’m not feeling overwhelmed. I have time for my family and I’m not drained of energy at work, but I still feel like I’m getting good training for the race season. Am I going to come out with guns drawn for the March and April races? No. But then, that’s not the goal is it?

Happy ridin’!

Soggy Bottom Dollars

Most training rides typically include a stop at a gas station for drink refills, snack, potty break or whatever. This past Saturday’s ride was no different.

I walked carefully around the store, not only because walking in cycling shoes is as awkward as walking in ski boots, but because I was taking careful inventory of what I wanted to eat. I decided on a turkey sandwich and proceeded to the cashier.

My total was somewhere around 3 bucks. Once I finally fumbled and bumbled my plastic baggie containing my wallet out of my jersey pockets, I heard the cashier say something to me. “Excuse me?” I replied. I couldn’t hear him through my ear warmers.

“I said, ‘Thank you, by the way.’”

I stared at him confused.

“For putting your money in a plastic baggie,” he said as he pointed at my wallet. “Usually, you cyclists come in and pull wet bills out of your jersey pockets and hand it to me. I’m sorry, but I don’t want your soiled bills. It’s gross. So, thank you for using a baggie.”

I stood there for a minute. He was absolutely right. That is very gross. When you think about it, sweat is mostly just less concentrated pee. And would you want to handle cash that someone has pee’d on? Probably not unless you have a pee fetish. And if you have a pee fetish…well, that’s a different blog.

So, my fellow cyclists, please be considerate and keep your sweaty dollars to yourself. Use a baggy and make someone’s day!

Happy riding!

Missing You Now

From a forum friend of mine, GlennK, responding to my inquiry about how cancer has affected your life:

"Great-grandmother died of colon cancer at the age of 56 (never knew her)
Grandmother died of lung cancer at the age of 64 (I was 13)
Mother died of kidney cancer that spread across her entire body and was dead within 86 days. For my birthday present (which was four days away), I sat by her bed asking and crying for her to let go. She did and the pain was over....

I have never shared this with anyone:

Missing you now....
Your gentile voice...Your loving nature...
Patience and comfort...
Respect and understanding...
I can still hear you now
From within my soul guiding me now
Protecting me from those whom would hurt me
Helping me to understand how to respect and love myself
You always tried to help me see the best in myself
Even though it was impossible for you to do yourself
You tried your best and for that, I will always love you

Now that I see you here
gasping your last breaths
wishing I could do something to ease your pain
all i can do is let you move on
knowing, I will miss you...

One day, I will see you again
I know you are waiting
When that day will be, I don't know
But know this, I love you so

So, if I begin to forget you
Please forgive me now
I don't mean to, its just you just seem so far
oh, how I am missing you now... "

Thank you Glenn for that beautiful poem.

You can help fight Cancer...

I'm Actually Speechless

Dude, WTF? Even if you are getting paid to wear this, you had have been dissappointed when you showed up for team camp, opened your team kit and saw this staring back at you. And the National Champions on the team wiped their forehead's and thought, "My win at the big dance could not have come at a better time." The bike is pretty sweet, though.

I Want to Hear Your Cancer Stories

I know it seems early to be talking about an event that is still 6 months away. But, with 1500 people dieing EVERY DAY in the U.S. from Cancer, I figure it's never too early to begin fundraising to find more treatments.

For the 4 years I have particpated in 24 Hours of Booty, I've ridden in memory of my Grandmother, Jillian L. Penda, who died of Ovarian Cancer when I was 13. Last year, friends and family helped me topple my fundraising goal and inspired me to ride over 300 miles during the 24 hours. It was a fantastic and draining milestone. For the fifth installment of Jodi's Booty, I've decided to do something different.

The scope of cancer goes well beyond just me and my Grandma. So I am asking my friends and family to tell me their stories. I want to know how Cancer has affected your life. I want to know the names of those you have lost and of those who have survived and of those currently fighting. From now until the start of the event, I will post your stories to this blog and to my fundraising page. On the day of the event, I plan to attach all the names I have gathered to my jersey and I will ride with every single one of them on my mind.

So, if you'd like, please share your stories in the comments section of this Blog or if you are my Facebook friend, leave in on my wall. Don't know what the 24 Hours of Booty is? Check out my Blog from last years event: http://jodiwinterton.blogspot.com/2009/07/24-hours-of-booty-part-1-gypsy-road.html

Care to donate? Visit my 24HOB fundraising page.

Thanks to all of you willing to share:

Squirrel Master (forum member)
I lost my 28 year old cousin Dec 4 2008 from lung cancer, never smoked or worked around any asbestos or any other bad stuff. I think about him every day, and miss him more than anything.

E. Tinker (forum member)
A couple of years ago my wife was diagnosed with melanoma and had to have a milignancy removed...luckily she is very cognizant of her body and noticed the early warning signs before things got to a more serious stage (she caught it at the in situ stage, meaning it hadn't developed further than the first few layers of skin). We now have to be very diligent aboout things like her exposure to sun and checking for any other odd skin growths.Considering that melanoma is the most serious form of skin cancer we do live with a certain fear of recurrence...but we've also educated ourselves and familiarized ourselves with the early warning signs so that we can be be proactive and not get caught off guard.

ridenfish39 (forum member)
It (I hate using that word) took,My father at 49 (renal cell cancer) This was 10 years ago and it still affects me greatlyMy fathers mother (pancreatic, I never met her)My mother's sister at 50 (brain cancer) My uncle at 38 (he smoked, lung cancer)My fathers sister shortly after he died (skin cancer)and other people I knew as friends.

BipBip2fast4you (forum member)
My best friend Serge died at 20. I met him when we were 5. We spent so much time together on the way to school, in class, after school, he was always helping me 'cos I forgot my books or so all the time, playing together so often. He makes me discover the 1st pc I've ever seen and much more. Just before dying he was always there for me. I wanted someone who could record a video of me sliding in the snow with my car. He was there in the cold while I, stupid idiot, was having fun. He died a few weeks after that and I can't take the fact out of my mind that may be it was my fault if he got cold and dies so early. I'll never know but I decided that I 'll live my hole life for both of us."Today is the 1st day of the rest of your life, enjoy it." My wife's mum and dad at 58 and 72.2 of my uncles.and so many...A special thought for my cousine Nathalie fighting it at the moment, on her way to win her battle.

Jodi Brenner
My Dad died of Pancreatic and Liver cancer 5 months after he was diagnosed. It has been almost 14 years and it hurts now just as much as it did back then! His brother passed away almost 4 years ago from the same thing... My Dad's name is Joseph Lee Brenner.

Alison Gehringer
My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 years ago. She had a double masectomy almost immediately. Right now she's cancer free but it haunts her. Her mother and sister died from cancer. So did her brother. Now her other sister has it. Seriously??

Benita Tahbaz Stokes
I lost my mother on April 18, 2009, three months before I gave birth to my daughter. She was diagnosed in late January and started treatment in February. She was determined to live long enough to see my baby but the cancer was to tough on her. She had emergency surgery in March and just couldn't come back from the surgery. She died in the hospital a month later. I hate cancer and don't want to ever go through that again with anyone. I was lucky that she did get to be with my son for almost three years of his life and she made a lasting impression on him. He talks about her all the time. I just wish my daughter could have also met her. My mothers name is Karin O. Christensen - Thanks! It felt good to write this down. Havent talked much about it.

Sonja Van Holderbeke
My dad died of lung cancer, he was first diagnosed with throat cancer, so they removed his tongue and voice box (it might not be the right word, sorry but i'm Belgium...) he was fine for 15 years till the cancer came back in the form of lung cancer, he died after a very long battle on strong painkillers. His name is Roger Van Holderbeke.

Neil Taylor
I have never suffered personally, but working in Oncology and watching what the families go through deeply affected my attitude towards smoking, smokers. I never pass up an opportunity to chastise a friend or family member for engaging in it. Cigarettes kill 500,000 people a year. Every couple of years we should write our congressmen and senators and ask them to put an end to the Federal Subsidizing of Tobacco farms.