Dehydrating up Woodland Park Hill

Yeah, I was an athlete, back in the day.  Before kids, and an adult life came into focus, I competed for the University of Oregon.  Several records and accomplishments ensued but after my 1984 Olympic Trials 400 meter hurdle race, I officially retired.  5-K road races kept the athlete in me alive until my kids were born and then I was content to just be 'mom.'  My inner athlete took a nap as I began to raise my kids but then I suffered a traumatic brain injury that robbed me of the motor skills of my entire right hemisphere.

My athletic background, I'm sure, is part of the reason I recovered as well as I did but I never regained enough physical ability to actually run.  The athlete in me survived though as I now coach middle school kids.  And I ride a recumbent bike as well as jump and jiggle with a group of seniors three days a week to keep moving. But this last fall, I signed up for my first road race since before my accident.  With the OK to ride my bike while the others ran, I was set.

It was a mid morning start and I left the house early, on my bike, and got an iced coffee drink to enjoy on the way to the start.  I had not had anything else the entire morning.  Previously, I had ridden 70 miles in a not-race so the 5-K did not seem like a big deal.  Silly me.  Excited about the race aspect and envisioning myself riding along side real athletes, I made my way to the start.

Because I was the only contestant pedalling, I started at the rear and carefully steered my way past the walkers and slow goers.  We wound our way through Woodland Park and it was more difficult than I had anticipated; maneuvering my trike safely through the mass of runners.  I didn't break free of the mob until I reached the bottom of the hill.

Then, I thought, "Now I can really get after it!"  So I started up the hill, limbs a turnin' those wheels round and round.  I grew up near the top of the hill so thought I knew its scope but I was wrong. My head began to ache but I continued to push for the summit where I knew it flattened out.  The more I pushed, the worse my head felt until it began to throb. There would no more hills, I was certain, so my focus was getting up that hill.  The closer I got to the top the harder my head hammered; it was as if what remained of my brain was going to explode cleanly out the top.

Finally, the road evened out, and the hill was behind me but the pounding in my noggin continued. I had a water bottle in my carrier but to retrieve it I had to stop my bike and my competitive side took over. Before the race, I told myself I'd take it slow and enjoy, but because I wanted to catch those runners I had thought about riding with, I pushed on.

By the time I passed the Conrad Mansion, I realized I had to stop.  I was going to have to scoop up brain parts and the skull shrapnel because my head was literally ready to blow.  I slowed to a stop on the side of the sixth avenue between third and fourth street.  My head remained intact but the assault within continued.  Half a block down, a race official I recognized shouted to ask if I was OK.  Of course I said I was, as I fumbled for my cell phone.  I carry it in a pocket that hangs around my neck and it was then I realized it was for moments just like this.  Standing up to finagle myself off my trike was an impossibility because I knew I was on the edge of consciousness.

Finally, the battle in my brain eased slightly and I was able to ask my husband to come to the east side of town to get me. As I waited I was even able to pedal very slowly out of the race route.  When Dan arrived he had to help me off my bike and into his SUV, then he loaded up my bike.  My head still rang with pain but I was able to down a bottle of Powerade on my way home.  Again, with his help I reached my couch to lay down.  It wasn't long before I was up and hobbling to the bathroom where I vomited all the liquid I had consumed.  It took several hours for me to feel well again.

At what point, I realized I was dehydrated, I don't know, but when I did I couldn't help but think, "Oh, this is why I tell my KMS kids to stay hydrated."  Never, had I felt as physically spent as I did that day but I learned a valuable lesson.  HYDRATE