I’m starting a new series of articles (not that I expect they will be read) about the things I observe while on my bike. I’ve been thinking about this for some time and have decided it’s finally time. I’ll post what I see and experience from time to time, hoping that it gives folks a different viewpoint as well as bring some questions of sustainability and human kindness. As I see it, regardless of whether you like bikes or do not, regardless of whether you find value in alternative transportation or prefer driving, a lot can be learned by slowing down and being thoughtful about one’s surroundings as riding a bike is often said to make people do. So, with that…

My commute is 12.5 miles each way and almost exclusively on side roads. I ride 4 days a week, shoving off well before dawn, and then again in the late afternoon. I am doubtful that I am the only one having this experience, riding through neighborhoods and along 2-lane roads. Anyway…

I don’t believe smoking weed is medicine; I’m sorry, I just can’t get behind it. I also know lots of other people feel differently. I’m not saying there is zero medical value in the plant itself, I’m just saying that marijuana is the only substance I know of that is called “medicine” and which is also smoked. Perhaps I’m missing something, but having sat in numerous conferences, read the actual research, and seen it day-to-day in my work, I feel confident I’m not.

When the MJ lobby worked to influence legislation around the states, I remember clearly the argument that “people who use marijuana never go out and drive unsafely, because they just want to stay home and chill.” I can tell you, without a doubt, that is not true.

If that were true, I wouldn’t smell weed coming from cars on nearly every commute I make on my bike, day after day. Regardless of the season, at least once each morning and evening (often more frequently in the morning), I smell the reek of weed coming from a car that has just passed me by; nice car or beater, it doesn’t matter. Of course, I also smell it coming from porches and side alleys and other places as well, but I am doubtless that people are smoking weed and driving. I feel a little less strongly about the wake and bake dog walkers, but I think it likely that even they have to get behind the wheel at some point in the morning.

Of course, I also know that in Utah, smoking the substance is not an “approved route of administration,” and that people who are smoking while driving are not following their prescribers’ advice or the law, but it seems like none of that matters now that cannabis has gained much wider acceptance. I think the reality is, most folks are driving around with their windows up in the winter and up in the summer and are more-or-less cut off from the scent of dryer sheets coming from a home or the smell of sweet perfume that lingers after its wearer has since departed the driveway; they may be missing what I think is a real problem.

What’s to be done? Likely nothing, considering there is no slowing of legislative momentum, even though the science about the deleterious effects of regular use of high-potency marijuana is starting to roll in. Smoking weed or not, it feels to me like more and more people are driving around under the influence of SOMETHING, and it’s just where we are as a country today. I want people to benefit from the science and the research that has given us the quality of life we enjoy today, and yet, I don’t believe that smoking flower marijuana is that. Just last night, I spoke to a professional whose well-educated 30-year-old son is stuck in the basement smoking weed and playing video games after having lost a prestigious job due to his increasing use. The father is heartbroken and stuck because his son wholeheartedly believes his marijuana smoking use is medicating his ills. It’s a shame to have heard this story and also to know he is definitely driving high.

Six years ago or so, I was asked by an employee if I was “open to being set up” with someone. At the time, I was not. The question continued to come over the next few months and eventually, whether from a desire to no longer have to answer or because I had changed my mind, I said yes. Info was exchanged and even still, I delayed calling. Finally, after five or six weeks, I reached out to Ani.

The thing is, I had some rules. No texting (just calls). No talking about exes or kids (I just wanted to get to know “her,” not her “stuff”). We chatted and learned about one another. She learned I’m obsessed with bikes and I learned she is a mermaid. I teased her incessantly and she told me I was too serious (true!). After some time following these rules, we decided to meet at a park.

Having yet another rule about first dates (no dinner, no alcohol, no big spending), we met on a warm spring evening and slacklined between two trees. At the time, I carried one in my truck and it seemed fun enough. When arriving, she tore into the parking lot in her Subaru, showing up in running shorts and an oversized shirt; I was in my “business casual” attire. We laughed a joked and after she told me about some former relationship issues she was angry about, I questioned in my best therapist tone, “how long are you going to choose to be angry about that?” to which she did not reply.

After some snacks at the local grocery store, she departed to pick up her son and I figured that given my brazen question, it would be the last I’d see of her. It wasn’t.

Two years later, we asked the gals who introduced us why they thought we would be a good match. Though they had lived across from one another’s condos for a while, been social, etc., they didn’t really know one another that well (though they did know me much better), I was curious about their motivations. The answer that came back was quite surprising to me: “Because you both wear big watches,” one of the two said.

As simple and silly as that sounds, the observation was really spot on. Our “big watches” signified a number of shared athletic interests as well as a love for being underwater. Today, we are happily married and continue to enjoy “big watch” activities. Though the watches have changed, they’re still a funny focal point for me in our relationship; one I see unlikely to change for a long, long time.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Ani. You’re the best best friend, adventure buddy, step-mom, and life-partner a fella could want.

Signal is a popular encrypted messaging app that is often thought to be HIPAA compliant. However, there are some important considerations that healthcare organizations need to be aware of before using Signal to communicate protected health information (PHI).

HIPAA Compliance Requirements

The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) was signed into law in 1996 by President Bill Clinton; it sets standards for the privacy and security of health information. For a messaging app to be HIPAA compliant, it must meet certain technical and administrative requirements.

Technical Requirements

The technical requirements for HIPAA compliance include:

• Using encryption to protect PHI from unauthorized access, use, or disclosure.
• Implementing strong access controls to limit who can access PHI.
• Maintaining a secure backup system for PHI.

Administrative Requirements

The administrative requirements for HIPAA compliance include:

• Having a written privacy policy and security procedures in place.
• Training employees on how to protect PHI.
• Conducting regular risk assessments to identify and address security vulnerabilities.

Signal’s Compliance Status

Signal meets many of the technical requirements for HIPAA compliance, such as its use of end-to-end encryption, though as a peer-based system, it does not store PHI in a central and secure way over time. Further, it does not meet all of the administrative requirements, such as having a BAA in place with all of its users.

Is Signal HIPAA Compliant for Healthcare?

Whether or not Signal is HIPAA compliant for healthcare depends on how it is used. If Signal is only used to send messages that do not contain PHI, then it is likely compliant. However, if Signal is used to send PHI, then additional steps must be taken to protect the information.

Penalties for Violating HIPAA

• Unauthorized access to protected health information (PHI). This could result in a civil penalty of $100 to $50,000 per violation, or up to $1.5 million per year for any person or organization.
• Improper disclosure of PHI. This could result in a civil penalty of $100 to $50,000 per violation, or up to $1.5 million per year for any person or organization.
• Failure to implement and maintain appropriate security measures to protect PHI. This could result in a civil penalty of $100 to $50,000 per violation, or up to $1.5 million per year for any person or organization.
• Willful neglect to safeguard PHI. This could result in a criminal penalty of up to $250,000 and imprisonment for up to 10 years.

How Organizations Can Use Signal In HIPAA Compliant Ways for Healthcare

There are a few things that healthcare organizations can do to make Signal HIPAA compliant for their use:

• Only use Signal for messages that do not contain PHI.
• Encrypt any PHI that is sent through Signal using a third-party tool.
• Keep a record of all Signal messages that contain PHI.
• Train employees on how to use Signal securely.

By following these guidelines, healthcare organizations can use Signal in a way that is compliant with HIPAA and avoid any possible penalties.

How To Report HIPAA Violations

The United States Office of Civil Rights handles all HIPAA violation complaints. Complaints may be filed on their website.

Followup up on my second post, What Is An Ally: Part 2, I conclude my thoughts on allyship, based on conversations I had at the Association of Social Work Boards 2022 Annual Delegate Assembly.

Alies Adopt an Anti-Racism Standard

Sometimes, it’s easy for people to identify with one group of people, yet still have biases towards others. In Utah, we have “safe diversity,” that is to say, a culture of accepting people who look different, but hold the same cultural values and mores, so really aren’t different. Such a mindset still allows for racism to occur, even under the guise of acceptance (and sometimes “tolerance”).

Because of this, it is important that allies adopt an anti-racism standard. That is to say, that racism in all forms is identified and opposed whenever it occurs. Racism is far more than white-on-black oppression; though that is certainly the most common form spoken about in America today. Racism, reverse racism, over and covert racism, systematic racism, black-on-black, brown-on-brown, and other forms of racism fit the bill here. It is not enough to decry and oppose one form of racism while saying and doing nothing of others. Racism of all types must not be accepted.

Allies Hold the Line

Finally, Allies “tap in” and hold the line. For far too long, the cause of anti-racism has been moved forward by people of color and those who have been marginalized while the majority sits on the sidelines and watches. In speaking to others at the Assembly event, it was clear that though they will keep pushing forward, those folks are tired and deeply desire respite.

As mentioned in Part 2, allies use their privilege to help and in holding the line, allies can further use their means, access, and resources to bring reinforcements to the front lines.

People fro the majority group often have financial, political, and social capital that oppressed groups lack. I learned this first-hand during the event when it was pointed out to me that each time I spoke to the larger group or audience, people were not side-chatting, they were not on their phones or computers, and they were not dozing off; they were listening. The facilitator who pointed this out to me stated that when others spoke, be they white women, women of color, or men of color, they did not receive the same attention I did. Being white and male not only affords me some social attentional benefit, but also afforded me the opportunity to become confident in public speech as the signals I received early on were that people listened to me. Never had this been so clear to me as it was during this event. Now, knowing this, I have accepted the charge to not only use this trait to help, but also to use it to hold the line when things others need relief.

Fighting the Fight

I need to be clear: I am a work in progress. Like most people, I am deeply-flawed and still have room to grow as a person. Though I am aware of my privilege and use it in the best way I can, the unfortunate byproducts of my upbringing still creep in from time-to-time. I have noticed that this is especially true during times of stress. Despite this challenge, I continue to work on improving myself every day and have chosen to take a stand against racism and address it each and every time I encounter it. This has been at times challenging when my own biases creep back in an I have to confront them first before I step in to help. Thankfully, through my training as a Social Worker and experiences in non-profit leadership, I am well-equipped to identify those biases and work through them quietly on my own.

It is my hope that something you may have read in these last few posts may have inspired you to do that same work and accept the charge of promoting social justice and fighting against racism in all of its forms, whenever yo encounter it.

Thanks for reading!

Followup up on my first post, What Is An Ally: Part 1, I continue sharing my thoughts on allyship, based on conversations I had at the Association of Social Work Boards 2022 Annual Delegate Assembly.

Allyship Isn’t Optional

Allies, when identified and know they are thought of as such, step in no matter what. Being an ally may not be a matter of convenience and often, may be even difficult. In fact, it is during these difficult times that stepping up and stepping in is most important and not optional. One simply cannot choose to support historically-marginalized people in some instances and not in others. This would go against the trait of congruence, as identified in Part 1. It is, in fact, this lack of choice that sets an ally apart from a supporter.

Allies Don’t Divide

Allies often have powerful voices. Others listen when they speak and they may have the ability to draw and keep attention when others struggle to do so. This trait carries a responsibility in that an ally knows their actions are being watched and can be misinterpreted. It is imperative that an ally’s actions stand to unite, rather than divide.

Allies Use Their Privilege To Help

Allies recognize that much of what they have was given to them by the work of others. They recognize that nobody “asked” to be born into their natal circumstances and as such, choose to give to others based on their privilege. Privilege often affords one to develop skills and talents that may lie dormant in those who were not given the opportunity to grow for lack of privilege. Allies recognize that privilege is not a gift meant for the enjoyed by those who have it, but one to be used in the service of others.

Part 3

In part 3, I will finish sharing what I learned during the Assembly event. Even week after, I remain edified by what I learned and feel gratitude towards those who were brave enough to have the difficult conversations that helped me learn so much about a very real facet of life as a person of privilege.

I am not someone who can answer this question because I am part of the majority in America. I am a white male, of Christian heritage, of heteronormative identity, and of neurotypical orientation, – the definition of the majority in America – who has benefitted greatly because of those traits. It does not matter that I have had my struggles or that I can empathize with those who have been subjected to racism – overt, covert, systemic, institutional, or otherwise – I cannot understand that experience and if I cannot understand that experience, I cannot define the traits needed in someone who can help aid in the fight against the people and systems which create that experience.

I am not someone who can answer this question because I have to ask it. I do so earnestly as I have known for some time that I am privileged. I did nothing to earn it; it is circumstantial. Unlike many white people I have spoken with about the topic of privilege, I do not feel guilty about it, but rather, I feel a sense of obligation to do something with it. As such, what follows the takeaways given to me through discussions I had over the three days I attended the Association of Social Work Boards 2022 Annual Delegate Assembly.

Allies Are Identified

I learned in seeking an answer to the question that, like a nickname, one does not give oneself the moniker “ally.” No, it is a title given. One does not decide to call oneself an Ally, but one’s actions are what call allyship to the attention of others. Often, I have witnessed others brandishing the word on a t-shirt or some other piece of apparel; I found this discomforting. It is not because allyship is quiet – it is anything but – however, the act of advertising it seems to bring the proclamation into question. If one were to wear a shirt that said “hard worker,” it seems an inevitable retort would be “show me.”

Allies Act

The giving and open people of whom I asked this question shared with me that one key cue of allies is easy to spot, simply because it is action. Allies act. Allies act in opposition to what may feel comfortable in a moment. Allies act in stopping racism when they encounter it, be it verbally, physically, politically, etc. They do not talk about acting without backing it up. Allies do not consider the audience when they act, wondering who is watching or will bear witness to their good works. No. Rather, an ally “does the thing” without question. “Don’t tell me, show me” was a consistent theme throughout my conversations.

Allies are Congruent

Much has been written about the duplicitous nature of humans. Two-faced, Jeckyl and Hyde..whatever we call it, it is often incongruent. This is not the same as duality (the different “sides” we each have), rather, it is about consistent action and presentation. An ally “shows up” as the same person regardless of the environment and the circumstances do not dictate their behavior. This is not the same as “having manners,” rather it is about maintaining allyship regardless of place and setting and it doesn’t waver.

Part 2

I can’t capture all the answers I received to this question in a single post. Clearly, whole books could be written (and have been) about the topic. However, the answers to this question – from these women – deserve to be shared and will be in a series of posts and thought exercises in the coming weeks. Needless to say, I feel indebted to those who heard my question as I intended it and honored me with their answers.

An Object of Desire

I recall being 7 years old when the Rubik’s Cube hit peak popularity in the United States; it was 1983 and like what seemed to be every other kid, I wanted one badly. I never got one. That Christmas, instead of the multi-colored cube I so desperately desired, I ended up with a Slinky. Sure, it was cool, but it was a one-trick pony and by that time, old news. Upon returning to school, of course, the cool kids brought the best of their Christmas hauls to show off, but I couldn’t bring myself to take my gift as I didn’t think it was much to brag about. Those of us who didn’t receive a cube from Santa “oooooo’d” and “aaaaaah’d” at the kids who did, but, quickly it seemed, many of the kids lost interest in their toys as they were unable to solve them. If my memory serves me well, there was one kid who was able to figure out the solution and as jealous as I and others were in our hearts, we called him a nerd and insinuated that the only reason he had time to solve it was because he didn’t have any friends. Kids can be so cruel.

The Rubik’s Cube was one of the objects of my childhood that would capture my attention and never quite let go. I remember vividly how badly I wanted these various objects and even as an adult, this feeling occasionally envelops me still. Though it is brought on by much more expensive things and is often momentary and fleeting, the flood of memory that accompanies that feeling evokes a strong response in me. “Life would be so much better if I could only have….”

Years passed and though the desire for a cube faded, it never truly went away. As I aged, I would pick up a cube at the house of a friend or wherever else I would find one, play with it for a while, maybe solve a color, but ultimately step away in frustration. I always knew there was a “code” to the cube, a series of moves that one could memorize to solve the puzzle, but I didn’t know anyone who could solve one and those who claimed to have once done so could no longer remember how they did. And so, my fascination with the puzzle cube would continue.

A Revival

As the saying “everything that is old, becomes new again” would imply, much later on I would once again be captured by the desire to learn the solution to the cube. In 2020, amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, many people, myself included, created “COVID Goals” or had “COVID Projects.” Having spent over half a year in a semi-lockdown state and while recovering from a series of unfortunate events, I determined that it was finally time to learn to solve a Rubik’s Cube. The idea was prompted by my son’s own desire to solve Rubik’s Cube and I figured we could learn how to do so together.

It was strange how his telling me he wanted a cube caused me to remember how it felt to be unfulfilled as a child. It was strange remembering what I couldn’t have then and finally overcoming that feeling as I realized that finally fulfilling my childhood desire only required me to head to my local Target. There I found an original Rubik’s Cube and wondered why $7 – Seven Dollars! – was such a barrier to me as a child. Perhaps those reasons are the subject of another blog post, but needless to say, later that day I was unpacking my long-sought object of desire.

More Than Just Algorithms

YouTube really is an interesting aspect of life in the 21st century. Want to know how to fix a broken toilet? YouTube. Want to learn a language? YouTube. I mean, just about anything a person would want to know can be found demonstrated, taught, or discussed on YouTube. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not an ardent fan of the platform, but it suffices to say that the mysteries of the Rubik’s Cube were made less mysterious because of it.

Over the course of a few days, my son and I reviewed YouTube videos and he began to write an instruction set on how to solve the cube. Right-Up, Top-Right, Right-Down, Top-Left. This and other algorithms were reviewed, memorized, and eventually burned into our muscle memory. I learned the cube is to be solved from the bottom up, layer by layer. Mastering layer 1 was easy, layer 2 less so, and layer 3 took some time as mistakes in earlier layers mean there are fewer chances to learn the layer three algorithms. But, after some time and after some frustration and many close solves, I finally solved it for the first time; as an adult – a 43-year-old man – I finally did it. It wasn’t because I was “a nerd” or didn’t have any friends; rather, it was because we were persistent. My son beat me to it (rightfully so), but I did it. As I write this, I know it sounds silly, but it was a significant moment for me. It only took 36 years.

Like anything, there is an efficient and a less-efficient way of executing these algorithms and with solve, we got faster and better. What became interesting to me is that solving the cube is more than just about remembering the patterns; much more. The cube can teach lessons in frustration tolerance (no matter how good one gets, mistakes will be made), in being present and task-focused (losing focus means forgetting where one is in the process), and in learning that one mistake doesn’t mean starting over (one can back up, assess, and pick up from the most familiar starting point and some mistakes can be unwound). I then began to learn that the patterns I used to solve the curve are mere starting points and that other algorithms for more complex (and faster) solves exist. Turns out, this “toy” is anything but.

A Childhood Desire Turned Meditation

Over time, I put the cube down and picked it back up again. I re-learned the algorithms and established new muscle memory as I watched others and figured out ways to hold the cube, flick it, and move it more efficiently. With time, solving the cube became more than a pastime and more of a mediation. I would pick it up in moments of difficulty when I needed to ground myself. At times, I kept it by my bedside and others, at my desk. Often, it was near the couch where I would solve it again and again as I pondered. Recently, I picked up a second one so I could have one at work and at home. I have traveled with one and actually, as I write this, my best cube is stowed in a seat pocket of a Boeing 737 as I am en route to Phoenix, Arizona. Sure, I pick up and solve the cube for many reasons, but the most common reason I pick it up is to be present with something, and being present is a state being I seek more and more as I age. This object of desire from my childhood has become a part of how I am learning to enjoy adulthood. Perhaps he did, but I have a hard time imagining that the creator of the cube envisioned this. I guess it’s also possible that he knew all along something I have only recently learned.

One Thing Is For Sure

“Dad, I think I want to join the Mountain Bike Team at East.” Those words, uttered by my then just-turned-16-year-old son, were some of the happiest of my life. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Are you sure you’re sure? Because if you say ‘yes’ again, you’re all in.” “Yes.” The influence of a few friends coupled with zero pressure from me (despite having ridden in some capacity with him since he was three) brought this to be. “One thing is for sure though,” I told him, “I’m not going to coach.”

Getting Closer

I can’t imagine having spent time with my parents in the way that I’ve been able to spend with my son over the last 6 months. This isn’t to say I didn’t want to or it would have been negative, but it wasn’t the kind of relationship we had. Spending this time with my son was not only something I couldn’t imagine having experienced personally, but something that was incredibly beneficial to us. Each week for 4 hours on Monday and Thursday nights, we had time to chat, have fun, heckle one another, bond and have great father/son discussions. Not “how was your day, son” discussions, but real, meaningful talks about serious life subjects: growing up, dating, developing and expressing preferences, parental relations, his educational future, etc. None of this required any effort; it just happened. Most of the time, on our drives home, we were really able to dig in and I was able to learn a lot about him; things I may not have previously known. These were subtle details about his friendships and the ways he sees the world. Without this time together, it is unlikely I’d have learned what I did about him. Of course, I was able to offer him bits of myself as well and more than once, he said something along the lines of “I think you know a thing or two…” What kid says that? Needless to say, we are closer now than we were before. The miles on my truck, the gas, and the cracks in my windshield were all worth it.

Getting Better

Despite the confidence I gained in my relationship with my son, I can’t say the same thing happened on the bike. This isn’t to say I feel bad about myself – I don’t – rather, this is to say I began to see what real talent on a bike looks like at a young age. During our first race in Price, Utah, an old coot I was standing next to while spectating said “seems like a whole lot of ruckus about riding a bike.” Never mind my personal thoughts about his stance on this, what his statement brought up for me was how hard racing really is. By itself, riding a bike is already a feat, but riding it at maximum effort for an hour or more? That takes skill. Add to that skill, the ability to do this at an incredible pace and it is yet more impressive still. I’ve been riding seriously for 16 seasons now and have learned a lot during those years. As I age, in many ways, I become a better rider; more judicious, confident, and faster than I’ve ever been (I’ll hold on to that as long as I can, thank you). Watching young people who have many of those skills at nearly 30 years my junior, is really humbling. I joke that on endurance rides it’s “Zone 2 for them, but not me,” but their youthful advantage alone can’t along explain the improvements I’ve seen them make through their perseverance. I can push many of them and keep up with some of them (even bought a new bike to help me do so), but wow…some of the kids are skilled. How awesome it is that they can build such a amazing fitness foundation at this age. I’ve said countless times this season that I wished something like this existed while I was in school. Despite my own lamentation, I’m certainly glad that High School cycling exists today.

Watching Kids Grow

I’ve heard it said that at the first of the season, some kids had never really ridden a bike. As I worked primarily with the High School kids, I never got to see this first-hand, but I know there were a few kids who at the start of the season were definitely “new riders.” The kids I worked with were of varying skill and fitness and each week, they grew. Some kids were on high-end race bikes, some kids were on “team bikes.” No matter what brought them, the team made sure they had a bike to ride and we rode hard with them. My son experienced his first podium and of course, all of the riders got faster and more skilled, but the real growth was within them. Often, we would talk about goals or their preferences and desires. We differed politically, religiously, and in other ways, and none of that mattered. Through our time together, hearts and bones were broken, goals missed and achieved, and new relationships forged. I guess it’s hard to go backward on a bike.

Thursdays, the New Fridays

In May of this year, I began working a modified work week. Rather than five 8-hour shifts, I moved to four 9-hour shifts. This shift was monumental for me, but not as monumental in the number of times I reveled in the sunset, thinking about the goodness of everything I was experiencing as I tore downhill with my ride group in tow, anticipating the three days of rest I had ahead of me, and asking myself if there’s any better way to end a week. The answer, for me at least for now, is that there is not. It’s true that this likely biased my experience of Thursday nights and this new arrangement certainly speaks to my good fortune, but good fortune or not, that thought was repeated week after week, and it allowed me to be fully present with the team and to give them all I had to give.

Finding Meaning

Just like there were differences between the kids and I, the same would be said about the parents and coaches as we come from all kinds of backgrounds. Some people are of means, some less so. Different family structures, family orientations, and professions make for what may seem from the outside to be an unusual group. Twice a week though, none of that mattered; why we were together in the first place did.

One of the things I worry about as an adult is the failure of institutions. The last decade – and the last several years specifically – have seen many changes across American society. Church attendance is down, marriage rates are falling, fewer people are having kids, and clubs of all kinds are seeing dwindling membership. My own lack of religious affiliation and political stance aside, these things bother me deeply. The pressures of life today are often concentrated within intimate relationships and partners and spouses feel more pressure to be all things to their partners than ever before. Gladly, my marriage is not subject to these stressors. Why? Well, being part of the East High School Mountain Bike Team is part of that. As coaches, during our time together each week, our differences don’t matter. We gather for a reason that is beyond ourselves and our differences to find the things we have in common; the love of bikes and most importantly, giving meaning to the kids who show up, week after week. As for the kids, some who are victim to these institutional failures found a place of safety and belonging. Simply put, coaching is simply one of the most meaningful things I’ve done in my entire life, second only to my family and on-par with my work as a Social Worker. it’s the best parts of my family and my work, crammed together and found somewhere I didn’t expect to find it.

Wrenching

As it happens, my 16 seasons of riding have been accompanied by a curiosity about bikes and my need to understand exactly how they work. Early on my in cycling career, as a poor social worker, I had to learn to fix my own bikes as I couldn’t afford the labor at a shop. Of course, in hindsight, those savings on labor were likely offset by the number of parts I broke while learning, but all that learning has continued to serve me well long into my cycling career.

When race season started this year, I was happy to put all this knowledge to work. Race days, as I learned immediately, are very long days and usually end with me being hoarse and extremely dirty. Being one of the more mechanically-oriented people on the team also meant that there was grease and grime on top of that dirt. Though the load lessened with each passing race, a steady stream of bikes often flowed my way each race day. Though it was a lot of work, the fixed hub cones, tuned derailleurs, lubed drivetrains, and properly-pressured tires and suspension bits meant that our team had fewer mechanicals than I could have imagined. All season long, not a single racer DNF’d because of a mechanical. I’m extremely proud of what I did to help our riders’ bikes rolling. I even have a “student apprentice” lined up for for 2023.

Eating my words

I can’t identify what exactly cause me to change my mind, but I do know that if I was going to ask my son to be “all in,” then I too had to be. My initial sentiment is certainly not lost on my son as he heckles me often about it as a reminder of what I might have missed. Two nights ago, we celebrated our time together with an end-of-season banquet. I can say I wasn’t prepared for some of what I felt that night, but I remembered that “lasts” are often as important as “firsts.” The last team get-together of the season left me somberly missing the warmer days of summer as I began looking forward to doing it all again next year. “Coach Jad” is a term I’ve begun to embrace and without a doubt, Coach Jad will be chasing kids on bikes next year as they become better and faster as I ride, learn, grow and find new meaning in life as the coach I never wanted to be.

Not Dead, but Could Have Been

I wanted to get up and walk it off, but something told me I wouldn’t be able to do that as I tried to pull my leg back underneath myself. Lying in the dirt, the reality of what was happening was setting in and I was in the worst pain of my life. As these things go, the pain worsened as my adrenaline wore off and not even rounds of Morphine, Fentanyl, or Dilaudid could ease it. Thankfully, round 2 of Ketamine finally did. Being in the “k-hole,” I couldn’t understand what was going on around me, and for a time, even though everyone was speaking to me in a foreign language; at least I wasn’t hurting so badly. That was the case until I had to position myself for the x-rays and nearly passed out from the pain. I learned at that moment that such a thing is possible.

The short version of the rest of the story is that I had completely fractured my right femur at the head of the bone; surgery was set to take place a day later. Muscles were cut, my femur placed in traction, and a 40-centimeter titanium rod was shoved through the bone after which a smaller rod was driven into my ball joint. It was all screwed together with some other space-age titanium hardware. Later that night, I would blackout when the nurse forced me out of bed. Falling backward in slow motion, I asked myself if I had lived a good life and was happy with the answer. I then looked at my daughter as everything went black. 

One week later, after being accidentally overdosed on pain meds, continuing to bleed internally, having two blood infusions and an allergic reaction to one of those transfusions, as well a couple of other minor scares, I was on my way home. I wasn’t sure what was to come, but I was determined to “get back” some version of normal life as well as my fitness. Three months into my attempt to “get back,” I was hit by a car while I was off to the side of the road helping my wife adjust her rear brake. That accident agitated my broken femur and resulted in a tear to the labrum in my right shoulder. Needless to say, the end of 2020 was a difficult year, though I feel odd admitting that until then, I was thriving amidst a pandemic. 

The pandemic had found me in the best form of my life. Well into my forties, I had been working hard to improve my form. My power was great, my weight was exactly where I wanted it to be, and I was happy with where my fitness was and then one day, it was bleeding away inside me. It has been 16 months since my injury and though I continue to work to get back to that same form, it has eluded me.

Recently, I read about a well-known professional cyclist who also sustained a fractured femur and was back racing at the highest level within a matter of months. This was admittedly disheartening. Though last June, I competed as part of a team in a 24-hour mountain bike race and had a surprisingly good result, I have been carrying an extra 8 kilos and pushing far fewer watts. I guess I could be consistent and that counts for something in a 24-hour team race. Recently, I also began competing in cyclocross again. Perhaps, I shouldn’t say “competing,” but rather, paying money to ride my single-speed bike in circles while trying not to get lapped. Yes, I’m out there, but I have a long way to go before I don’t get lapped. In both of the races I’ve finished, generally during lap 2, I begin to question if I even should be racing ‘cross because it’s exactly the opposite of a 24-hour team race. Thoughts like “I could say I flatted” or “it’s just not my day” repeat again and again until lap 3 when the thoughts fade and I’m able to settle into whatever rhythm my body and mind will afford me. 

As a tenured mental health therapist, I have some understanding of the psychological challenges people face after an injury. I am not a sports psychologist or a coach, but I have helped people overcome struggles after an injury or accident. I am not a nurse or a doctor and I can’t tell you exactly all that’s happening with my body, but I can tell you that though I broke my leg, my knee has given me more difficulty than my femur. I can’t tell you other things about my body, but I have some idea what’s happening in my mind. Rule number one for mental health professionals is that we don’t diagnose ourselves or those close to us. I’m going to break that rule though and say that I suffered an acute stress reaction, later complicated by another, both of which then developed into a minor case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Thankfully, it’s been a few months since I’ve “flashed back” to hitting the bump in the dirt that cantilevered my femur, the feeling of the bone giving way, the impact of the car hitting me, or some other random moment, but the effects still linger. Though I’m far more functional today, I vacillate wildly between moments of extreme motivation and mental fatigue and between a strong drive to move forward and fear of being unable to. The physical limitations I experience today are minor, but they don’t feel that way in my head. Save for the scarring I’ve shown but few people, others are completely unable to see my external challenges as I’ve walked unassisted over almost a year now, and of course, they are also unable to see what’s happening internally, but it is those challenges which are most real to me.

Psychological and physical fitnesses wax and wane. We all have good and bad days, weeks, months, and years. Sometimes, getting and staying fit is easier because life allows for it and at other times it’s all we can do sneak in 45-minutes on the trainer or a quick 5k run. I’ve sustained several injuries before, but nothing like this. Unlike the physicality of my once-fractured scapula, I feel like my psyche was fractured by this last injury. I find myself riding not just cautiously, but overly so. I find myself thinking I’m descending too fast but later on watching a video or reviewing my ride recap and realizing I wasn’t going fast at all. Perhaps you’ve endured some injury and perhaps this feels familiar?

We all have setbacks, even the pros, but the rigors of recovery as a cycling enthusiast seem…different. Like most of us, I have a full-time job. Unlike the pro I mentioned above, I have been unable to spend hours a day focusing on my recovery nor do I have a recovery coach. Like the pros, I am fortunate enough to own a machine that allows me to safely ride indoors and unlike the pros, I don’t have the pressure to “get back” from my sponsors. But the thing is, even though I’m just another average person, I want to “get back.” I don’t know where “back” is or what it looks like, but I’ve desperately wanted to be there. I’ve been able to “get back” by just getting back on the bike at least 3 times before, but this go around, it feels different. That difference means being more intentional this time around and while I have little idea of what will ultimately work and what will be most helpful as I continue to recover, I’ll share with you all a few things that have been helping so far.

I Found a Healthcare Professional That Speaks My Language

Two months ago, I received a random email stating that I could get an appointment with Dr. Max Testa. I have a loose affiliation with a local athletic organization that has a relationship with Dr. Testa and though I’ve seen a lot of other docs and physical therapists, I figured talking to a doc who has worked with World Tour athletes could be helpful and was it ever! Ironically, I tried getting to get an appointment with Dr. Testa several years ago for an unrelated issue and was unable to get in, yet 36-hours after making an appointment call, I was sitting in the waiting area of the Intermountain LiveWell Clinic in Park City, unsure of what I was in for. Driving down the canyon a couple of hours later, I was glad I made the call. Thankfully, through all of this, I have had insurance and it was taken at the clinic. Much to my surprise, Dr. Testa spent a full hour with me, listening to my challenges and ultimately giving me some subtly different – yet very important – exercises that addressed my continued knee and lower-back issues. It was supremely helpful to be able to talk to someone who understood the terms “threshold” and “tempo,” who understood the mechanics of injuries and the chain of undesirable side-effects they create on the bike, and who had worked with dozens of riders whose livelihoods were dependent on his advice. Since my visit, my physical pain has greatly decreased which has had a positive impact on my desire to get on the trainer for a difficult session or spend some time pounding the pavement. Spending some time working with someone who could understand my observations about my body, rather than focusing on what they thought they knew about my injury, has been quite helpful. Feeling understood helped me feel confident in the interventions Dr. Testa offered and that his interventions have significantly improved my issues has cemented my desire to work with a professional that understands the unique physical demands of cycling. 

I’m Creating and Consuming Data

Recording rides is something many of us do, though, for some, it’s a polarizing issue. I happen to be one of those folks that have been recording at least my ride and heart rate data for over a decade and in the past few years, I have added power meters to the mix. I know in the fall of 2016, I was the fastest I’ve ever been on the bike, and then a year later was in great overall form as a runner and a swimmer. In 2020, just before my injury, I was on track to exceed my 2018 fitness and planned to race my first Xterra that fall. Of course, what the pandemic didn’t kill in that goal, my broken femur did.

While it is a little depressing to look at my data from those years and know that I’m well away from beating any personal record I set back then, it does give me a measure of where I stand. More importantly, it gives me a measure of my progress. Slow as it’s been, I am getting better. I’m getting better because I have some measure of what I can do versus what I think I can do. Further, because I’m tracking my food, I was able to figure out that my plant-based proteins often came with too much fat, which wasn’t helping in my effort to get back to a reasonable-to-me weight. Sure, that extra fat lets me ride forever, but the fact that I wasn’t losing much weight despite a significant uptick in planned workouts and training, was seriously demotivating. Had I not begun tracking my food closely, likely, I wouldn’t have identified this issue. Many of us fall into dietary patterns that work during one timeframe of life but aren’t so good for others. Once I made a few simple adjustments (read: stopped devouring nuts), I began to see my body reacting as it has in times past. I adopted a plant-based diet in 2017 and frankly, didn’t anticipate what this “downtime” meant for my waistline. Despite the numerous athletic benefits I’ve received from my dietary change, it did mean that I had to re-learn my dietary balance during periods of inactivity. Regardless of where you fall on the spectrum of Luddite to tech fanatic, knowing how changes in your routines impact your performance seems to be a necessary part of “getting back.”

I’m Broadening My Horizons

Pedal Damnit is the trademarked phrase of a small mountain bike manufacturer and also has been my mantra for the last 15 years. Much to the chagrin of some of my cycling friends, in 2015 I began running and in 2017 I took up swimming to train for a Sprint Triathlon and to add some spice to my leg-centric preferences. I also worked with two different weight trainers in years past and can say whole-heartedly that my overall fitness benefitted from regular resistance training and a varied cardio regimen. The benefits of weight and impact training are well-known to most of us these days, but even with that knowledge, I default to a bike ride as my preferred way of getting after it. 

As much as I do love getting out on the bike, I also know that the mantras of “pace damnit” and “paddle damnit” have served me incredibly well. With this in mind, I’m also re-discovering the mantra of “push damnit” as I begin coming back around to the benefits of resistance and impact training. Whether it’s picking up heavy things only to put them back down again or popping up off a mat during some plyometric gyration, I know that broadening my exercise horizons will also be a necessary part of “getting back.” 

I’m Being Focused and Flexible

My years of experience as a therapist have taught me two very important lessons: plans without a plan of action are just plans and plans of action rarely ever go according to plan. I’ll wait for you to read that again. I can sit around dreaming of the optimal bike, the new brakes I need for one of my steeds, or the latest 12-Speed mountain bike group and know that none of those upgrades matter if I don’t do the work and we all know, the rubber needs to meet the road at some point. The process of taking all those hopes, dreams, wishes, and challenges and formulating a plan of action is a necessary task that many athletes know and understand, and having a regimen is critical to success. Over the years, I would plan and often push through difficulties to finish the workout and hit the mark. Sometimes that was for the best and sometimes that effort backfired. 

As an aging athlete, I am becoming all-too-familiar with the challenges of slower recovery times and longer warmups. I’m aware of the increased muscular endurance I’ve earned and that it has come at expense of top-end power. These realities are often in conflict with my goals and only recently, have I begun to understand the importance of being flexible not only in my regimen but in my goals. Knowing when not to push through a difficult workout is just as important as knowing when to do so. Listening to my body, rather than my calendar, has become an important consideration in what I end up doing each day; accepting the challenges injury has created – coupled with aging – means that I am re-evaluating what I want to do next season and what I can expect to achieve. This isn’t a matter of lowering expectations but changing them. If my long-term goal of “supreme old man strength” is to ever come to fruition, it will happen because I plan, re-plan, and adjust my tasks and expectations even long after “getting back.” 

I’m Being Gentle With Myself

Years ago, I had a friend who told me that I was too hard on myself and that I needed to show myself some clemency. I don’t know what it was about how she said it, but it stuck. Like many people, I am my own worst enemy. My sense of not being enough, not doing enough, not working hard enough, and not (insert verb here) enough is often the best sense I have, but it does not serve me well. In recent times, I have discovered that the sense of not being enough is severely demotivating in its own way; not because I don’t see the point in trying, but because it keeps me focused on what once was versus what I now want. Intentionally doing nothing for a few minutes each day helps me reset my focus on the future, rather than ruminating about the past, and reminds me that what “was” no longer exists anywhere but in my memory. Those pressures to be or do enough were created by me alone and therefore, I am free to relieve that pressure. I am free to accept whatever “getting back” ultimately results, it’s not going to be what I think it means today. In short, I’m coming to accept that once again finding what was is not actually what I want. Having shifted that focus, I’m thinking less and less about “getting back” and far more about “getting there.”

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and it’s finally time that I write it down. I’ve said it in a number of different ways, but I’m here today to publicly say that for the first time in my life, I can truly say that today, I am NOT proud to be an American. I’ve been hinging on this sentiment for a very long time. Why is that you ask? Please, let me explain.

Historically, we all know that that the roots of the American Revolution run deep with scofflaws and don’t-tell-me-what-to-do-you’re-not-the-boss-of-me types. Understandably, folks on this side of the pond, took issue with being subject to laws in which they had no say. Moving quickly forward though history, the American West was explored and ultimately “settled” by white folks who believed it was their destiny to tame the land, eradicate anyone unlike themselves, and whom were woven thick with “rugged individualism,” which further deepened the “Don’t Tread on Me” mindset in large swaths of the American populous. Of course, on top of this, today we have runaway capitalism which continues to fuel the self-centered idea that every person is special, deserves a trophy just for showing up, and is going to someday be a billionaire…just because.

In Utah, we get other flavors lingering from our unique heritage. Utah itself was founded with the full intention of being a slave state. Brigham Young’s stance on slavery is well-documented and this was occurring at a time when much of the country had collectively rejected the idea of slavery after the Civil War. The Book of Mormon itself begins with a story about a young man who kills an evil local leader to obtain sacred plates. This very story creates an “ends justify the means” narrative that runs deeply in many of Utah’s faithful LDS residents. This dissonance is most evidently seen in local politics and when paired with the prevailing American mindsets I mentioned above, creates a particularly toxic brew of belief-driven behavior. Local leaders are terrified to create public mandates; rather, they offer “suggestions” that Utahns “should” follow, mistakenly believing that local residents “sustain” their political leaders in the same way that the LDS-faithful sustain their ecclesiastical leaders and thus, will follow suit. This style of governance clearly belies a true lack of understanding of the American Psyche in that people who believe the rules don’t apply to them, need much more than suggestions to be compliant.

I’ve been helping run a non-profit substance use disorder treatment organization for the better part of the last decade. In doing so, I have seen some of the very best and some of the very worst human behavior. I have worked with people who are seriously mentally ill and today, when I look at world leadership, I see stark examples of the exact thinking and behavior that I once helped treat. Any student of human behavior is familiar with the idea of “cognitive distortions.” We call them “thinking errors,” “stinking thinking,” and other things. No matter what we call it, one thing is for sure: most cognitive distortions emphasize a disproportionate view of self in relation to the rest of the world. Helping people overcome crippling anxiety, substance use disorders, and other conditions usually means helping them realize that their thinking is what is in need of correction; this, and one other thing: they are not special and unique snowflakes. After all this time, I’ve learned that I’m not that important; I’m not a big deal. Often, my job is to help others realize this too. I regularly teach my clients and the staff I oversee that they are not that important and guess what? Neither are you. Oddly, in doing so, people get better and live happier lives.

“I’m not that important; I’m not that big of a deal…and guess what? Neither are you.”

You see, for far too long, Americans have believe that we as individuals actually mean something. Cultural messaging about the importance of self runs rampant in the US. Sentiments such as “You deserve this” and “the power of you” are a dime a dozen on the billboards that line US highways. Americans today focus on obtaining prosperity and bounty while failing to see the bounty and prosperity they already enjoy. Modern media doesn’t help either. Beautiful nobodies make a living pimping products while trying to prove their worth to the world through glamorous and unrealistic portrayals of their lives (at great financial and ecological cost, no less). As a people, we memorialize stories about the power of the individual who overcame first-world hardship and worship the Capitalist demagogues who have “pulled themselves up by their bootstraps” (which is truly the most ironic of all American ideals as one literally cannot pull themselves up by their bootstraps). In all of this messaging, there is an abject denial about the conditions that created such individual prosperity. NO ONE in America today got where they are because of their own hard work; not at all. Anyone who has made a name for themselves or a comfortable living in America has done so because of the systems of privilege that support even the underprivileged and the work that was done long before they were born. Sadly few people seem to be aware of this because if they were, much more interest would be paid to the welfare of all rather than that of the individual. It would seem today that many an American’s worth is based on how much privilege they have enjoyed, not the quality of their works.

I needn’t name the all of the numerous examples of the kinds of behavior I’m talking about, but I will mention a few. From refusing to “wear the mask” to unsafe driving to laws that allow fireworks celebrations in the middle of densely-populated cities of the drought-stricken American West, our individual cultural cognitive distortions are clear: I’m so special that I can’t be told what to do, even if it literally saves the lives of others; rules don’t apply to me; and bad things happen to other people, not me. It is thinking just like this that has brought us to where we are today: leading the world in deaths from COVID-19 while having almost NO current response, witnessing the revealing of long-hidden overt racism, and reeling from the effects of climate change (even if we don’t feel it). Continuing to espouse the fallacy of “rugged individualism” will not solve these problems and we are far behind the countries who are working to solve them; even behind some of our stated “enemies.”

In truth, I don’t want be around this collective of cognitive crucifiers of the “we” any longer. I do not wish to be part of a country in which selfishness is the rule and in which my rights as a person are less important than yours. Nope! Fuck that! I don’t want to be part of a country that places the well-being of a select few – who, again, DID NOT earn what they have without exploiting others and the systems that have supported them – above that of the many and a country in which the leaders of the land cannot be held accountable for the deceptions and tyranny they cause, all while a good portion of the masses follow blindly because somehow, in their heads, the ends justify the means even if they personally condemn the very behavior they refuse to speak and act against. That kind of dissonance is not sustainable and unless something changes quickly in our collective mindset, I fear this country may not be sustainable.

Sadly, today, I yearn to be part of a society that cares for one another; that looks out for other another; a society in which “we” matters more than “me.” Sadly, I don’t think such a trait can be realized in a place the size of the United States. Let me explain further.

Since my early twenties, I have chosen to work for small, local businesses and non-profits rather than large corporations and conglomerates. I prefer the sense of closeness and unity that is often found in the former settings. Remembering this preference this morning got me thinking that I may be living in the wrong place, because America today is truly the antithesis of the small, highly-functional, and caring society in which I dream of living. America today has beens shown to be everything we were taught it wasn’t: hateful, closed-off, xenophobic, and selfish. It has revealed itself to be a bastion of narcissism and dogmatic perversion of what was once a real dream of liberty and justice for all. Though I want to fight – and fight hard – to help us realize all of the dream that could be, I don’t know who will join me or where I’d even start. Utah will not change so long as the Zion Curtain remains in place and the Religiouslature calls the shots. So, it would seem my starting point may not be here.

Though I feel compelled to end my thoughts today on a positive note, I will not. I know few people will read this post, but it doesn’t matter. To those of you who do, I hope that you take a few moments today to think critically about the state of our nation and our republic as it is under greater threat today than ever before as we face an internal enemy: ourselves. If you truly believe in the dream of the United States, then you will act in electing public servants who will work towards the benefit of the whole while lessening power of those who would otherwise exploit our systems, rape our lands, and pillage our people. If you don’t, well…I would offer that you are, sadly, part of the problem and if you don’t think there’s a problem, then perhaps we could have a different conversation.