Official

Moving up in the world. Big Thanks to BH Bicycles, Uvex, and Raw Revolution for making this season seamless!

www.andrewmckeegan.com

Act 2, Scene 1

Its truly amazing how scary, awful, exciting, and agonizing a healthy dose of change can be. We all get so caught up in our world, social scenes, and careers that life becomes a straight shot interstate to what? To where? The smallest catalyst can send your entire world tumbling down on your head. Then as in any chain reaction, everything starts to simmer and precipitate until that spark has finally reached the end of the line and sneaks into the powder keg... Ill forgo the resulting antics. After the soot, ash, and debris have settled who knows what you'll see. Wiping the grit from your eyes, freeing your lungs of the burning particulate, ears ringing. You can breathe again. The first steps will hurt as muscles spasm and shards pierce under foot, but outside the blast radius, there is light. The road you were traveling was a phantom of a past life, new roads surround you begging to be traveled. One could end up heading back the way they came, heading an entirely new direction, or stumbling upon an unknown detour linking up with their original trail. Regardless, there is walking to be done, experiences to be had, and a life to live before its snuffed out by the cruelty of time. Who knows you may even end up back at that blemish, still blackened and torched by past turmoil, yet exhibiting signs of healing. Fresh sprouts breaking from the ash. You can sit under a tree in that spot, take in the sun and say: "damn, that was some crazy shit."

The Flo

Its true. Ive been ok'ed to begin training again. Slow at first obviously, but being able to ride with friends at the cusp of spring is intensely refreshing. Mixed signals from the doc for this recent round of tests. My legs/leg/tube felt pretty solid and I managed to push myself to 400 watts before a general lack of fitness left me swollen with lactate and gagging. Ill just cut to the chase: the results were both my legs dropped in pressure. Left was still at 50% flow, right dropped to 70%...weird. The doc heard a bruit below my graft (pronounced bru-ee, its French, lame) which is a sign of obstruction in the artery, but a really clear Duplex scan (fancy for a arterial ultrasound) didnt show any obstructions and blood velocity through the artery was exceptional. So...that's 1 point for me for feeling good, and 1 point for the duplex being solid. Also, 1 point for the bruit and 1 point for the numbers dropping. ITS A TIE! So marching orders are to start training, see how it goes, call the doc in 6 weeks. Been starting off slow with the likes of Nick Waite (riding his MTB as a handicap) I cant help but picture the before and afters of my surgery as such:
And after:

glorious :-p

A Ride

Right turn, enter the flow, the main artery to escape. Wobbles, unstable, strokes choppy…yet familiar. Three miles in and shoulders relax, back flattens, comfortable. Sinking into the saddle like a cozy chair, actions become innate. Fingers twitch with the contours of an ancient valley, second nature, while the mind wanders. Legs, rising and falling in a perfect circle, as they have done countless times before. Sunset spreads a Midas hue over the hills, warming the faces of the giants. Second Mountain, Reddish Knob, Massanutten; solemn centurions, forever vigilant, bid me silent reception. The wind of an early spring burns the face, bites the skin; a welcome sensation, too long absent. Country roads, cut and sunken into the landscape like a great sleeping serpent. The flow of its coils yields to olden trees and rocks, too sacred to remove. A startle. Starlings take flight into a purpling sky. Apollo graces their feathers, reflecting the light, an airborne oil spill. They pitch and roll with the wind, with the hawks, like so many misplaced sardines. Gone. Into the trees and thickening grass. Left turn, shade, cold. Legs ticking, easy, cautious. I remember. The beauty, the purity, the simplicity. The urge to go, to run, tempered; in the starting gate, foaming. Patience. Tomorrow. A life reborn with the sunrise.

Tina you fat lard come get some dinner!

Holy balls this week has been crazy. Ill spare the gritty details but I had my return visit to the UVA vascular center to test my new leg straw. Seeing as how I had return of symptoms after my first ride on October 1st, I was not surprised with the given result: my left leg is worse...flow down to 50%, when tested before surgery it was 70%. What. The. Fuck. I had another angiogram scheduled the following morning to find the problem and see if it was fixable. That angiogram had to be canceled due to a skin rash I managed to procure from the gym or sleeping in a cesspool. Stressful.

No riding going on after that test, dont want my toes to fall off (which they felt like doing after I ride...after turning zombie white of course.) Now that all that is cleared up my angiogram is on Monday. Fingers crossed for promising results. In the mean time lots of swimming and running have been on the books. Occasionally a hike: scoped out Big Hollow/Heartbreak with Selena, a popular mt. bike trail frequented by the local thrillseekers of the burg. Cold day, some robust blisters from my sweet new hiking boots, all in all a solid time. Pre-Hike fuel consisted of glorious Kurt Kakes: almond flour, oat, flax, nutella, and honey love patties. Amazing. Selena is thrilled to be enjoying them.

Stapling my luck to my face and hoping for a easy fix, fast recovery, and a return to riding sooner than later.

Recovery?

With bike racing and bike riding and general exercise/training on hold for 6 weeks(doctors orders) there was a multitude of time to partake in other extravagant hi-jinx. With the assistance of Nick Waite & Co. some of these shenanigans may have turned a tad debaucherous. From September 4th through October 1st the following may have ensued...

Snip Snip

That was quite the cliffhanger!

The last thing I remember before going under the knife was crying to my girlfriend and mother (literally) about how scared I was. Pussy right?

Surgery is the most surreal experience of my life. At one point I am drugged into a dreamless coma. Eventually I wake up and someone has cut into my body and done shit to it which I cant fathom. I don't know what day it is, how much time has gone by, what happened, etc.
Pain. The pain wasn't bad...with enough Fentanyl coursing through your veins, nothing hurts nor matters.
Hunger. My body was pissed and I hadn't eaten in almost a day. The catch? Being the only person in the vascular ward without coronary disease or diabetes did not exempt me from partaking in their heart healthy meals. Salt-less, tasteless, grease-less, flavor-less nutrient units. Hardly food. I had my steady drip of visitors smuggle in wraps and smoothies from the cafeteria. I felt like an oracle; humble servants would make the pilgrimage with offerings of flowers and food. Occasionally a bull was sacrificed at my feet and blood smeared around my scars while the guts were set afire and read over my face!
While I "enjoyed" my time moving my bed up and down and numbing my cerebral with reruns of Jersey Shore, eventually I would have to move. A walker was conveniently constructed before me and I was eager to move around.
Pain. I could not even sit up to get up. My body felt weak and my incisions felt to be ripping at the seams. Wincing and bitching I was forced upright by a pose of RNs and told to stand. Pain. Standing upright was a pipe dream. I hobbled forward one shuffle at a time, my posture making Quasimodo look like a ballet dancer. Counting tiles until I reached the door, then about face and back to the bed. Exhausted.
This continued for days until I was wheeled into my mothers minivan and sent home. No change. Night sweats, pain, 15 min ordeals to reach the bathroom to piss. Jersey Shore. Kim Kardashian. History. drug induced bliss. No poop
It was 6 or 7 days before I pooped post-op. I wanted to poop sooner but was told not to push for fear or bursting a stitch. Epically constipated I sucked down Smooth Move tea and fiber for days. There was gurgling and rumbling, but no one at the gate. Then one day it happened. In a multi second whoosh which required zero effort my bowls were expulsed. It must have been at least 5 pounds of fecal matter. Felt amazing.
Soon after there was a snap in the recovery. I was only running simple pain killers and slowly standing upright. Once I could walk well enough without pain I returned to Harrisonburg (2 weeks post-op) to get back to life.