Two-Thirds Complete with Rough Chemo and the 3am lap of 24/9

Recovering from the fourth round of chemo and that nasty infection has left me utterly exhausted this week. A normal day for the last nine has looked something like this: get up and eat, lay down, take a shower, take a nap, go to the clinic for an antibiotic infusion/labs, come home to sleep, walk a few blocks with Katie (going further every day, at least), watch a little TV, then go to bed.

I couldn't remember ever being so tired and worn out in my life -- then I remembered 24/9...

For those of you who do not know, 24/9 is an abbreviation for "24 hours at Nine Mile," a 24 hour mountain bike relay race held annually in Wausau, Wisconsin.

Every year, I'd gather a group of 3-4 friends, and we'd excitedly prepare our bikes, pack our tents, and ready our camp stoves for the event. The race almost always takes place the last weekend in July. It begins at 10am on Saturday morning, ending at 10am Sunday morning. It's not so much a race for time as it is one for distance. At 10am on Sunday morning, the team with the most laps wins.

The trail was always 13-14 miles with a few great sections of gnarly singletrack, so it would take between an hour and an hour and a half to complete a lap. This meant that, on a four person team, we'd have about 3-4 hours to eat, clean ourselves, fix our bikes, and get some rest before heading out on another lap.

I'd always be anxious to get out on the first lap, the adreneline would be going, and I'd be ready -- the first lap was always the fastest.

The second lap always took place in the afternoon/early evening, and would feel business-like. Not all that much fun, but not too bad.

The first night lap was always my favorite. Riding through the trees in the pitch dark with only a headlight was such a rush that I would just fly. My legs would burn and my body ached, but I didn't care, night riding was just too much fun.

After the midnight lap, I'd be fried. I'd usually ride into camp and pass out in my tent, bike shoes still on, muddied by the trail and a few crashes, and go straight for the zzz's.

It always felt like no time at all had passed before someone would stick their head in the tent to let me know that it was time for my lap again. I'd crankily get out of the tent queezy, muscles and head aching, and despising the thought of heading out on another dark lap.

This was the 3am lap. Every year I headed out into the woods on bike, fueled by Jimmy Dean Heat 'n Serve sausage, Ramen Noodles, Cytomax, and cheap beer, and every year at 3am I'd swear I would never ride 24/9 again.

It was miserable. My lights always seemed to get knocked around or broken, and even when I'd see obstacles, my body was too tired to do much about it and my brain too slow to respond. I'd bounce off of trees, crash over rocks, and cuss myself out the whole way for agreeing to -- and even organizing -- another year of this hell.

Now in fairness we could have made it easier on ourselves. We could have skipped the beer. We could have brought along a support crew of a chef and mechanics instead of attractive girls who busied themselves with tanning -- but this just wouldn't have been quite as much fun -- wouldn't have been quite so epic.

As I look forward to two more rounds of chemo, there are times when it seems overwhelming or even impossible, but then I realize that we're at the 3am lap at 24/9. So, while I'm not in the best shape right now, I'm crankily coming out of the tent at 3am preparing for another lap through the woods. I'll bounce off some trees and probably crash a few times, but, like 24/9, I move forward knowing that eventually dawn will break and 10am will come around.

And unlike 24/9 -- I really do hope never to have to do chemo again.

Sam