The Race

Chris started one minute ahead of me, I had my rabbit.  Eli wished me luck, Christine counted me down and then she said, “Go!”  I was off.

I hadn’t really warmed up, and I hadn’t really planned to push too hard, but Chris was just ahead of me. I shifted into a taller gear- faster was my goal. I came around the corner and I could see him- I estimated I could catch him at the top of the short climb. “Ohhhh, he’s gonna to be pissed,” I said to myself through a grin that was affixed to my oxygen starved face. I hit the mid part of the climb and just pinned it. I knew I was going anaerobic and pegging my heart, but that was ok, I only needed to hang on for about 15 more seconds and then I’d have about a minute of downhill and rolling terrain to recover.

I made the pass. I smiled. I made some offhand comment as I went by, so did he.

Something didn’t feel right.

I focused on breathing. After about 30 seconds my breathing was fine. In fact I could talk. But something wasn’t right. I looked at my heart rate monitor. 208bpm. That can’t be right. I haven’t see that number in about 20 years. Check again. 197bpm. Something isn’t right. I stop and straddle my bike for a minute.

Chris catches up, “you ok?” he asks.

“Yeah I’m fine,” I say. He rolls on looking at me kind of funny.

“I’m ok,” I tell myself. I get back on the bike and peddle very slowly. 192bpm. “Ok it’s coming down but not the way it should. What the hell is going on?” I say in my head.

My chest feels wrong. My heart is going like a humming bird, but I’m breathing fine and my legs are fine. I try not to worry. I slowly ride along. Get off and walk up a small hill. My heart rate jumps back to nearly 200bpm.

I stop and sit and focus on breathing. I also focus on the fact I’m fine and I need to just realize I’m way out of shape and that I need to get back on the bike and keep going. A voice in the back of my head tells me that denial could kill me. Another voice says “YOUR FINE!”

I get back on the bike and slowly make my way around the course. Chris has had some sort of bike issue so I end up catching up to him. I think he actually waited, but he won’t confirm it. He knows something is wrong, but guy code- so he doesn’t say anything or act concerned. But he doesn’t seem to be able to ride away from me despite my snail pace.

187bpm. “Ok it’s going down,” I tell myself. I take my pulse manually- it doesn’t feel right. My chest doesn’t feel right.

I get to the finish (ahead of Chris), and lay in the grass. Eli comes over to talk to me and I must seem out of it. “Are you ok?” is what I finally hear. “I’m fine- just having an issue with my heart.” He looks concerned, but doesn’t push it.

I run an EKG on my iWatch that my girlfriend had given me after I had fallen down a flight of stairs and couldn’t call for help, as my phone had gone flying.

You are showing signs of Atrial Fibrillation. Is what the screen says. I run it again. You are showing signs of Atrial Fibrillation. It says again.

I don’t say anything.

I slowly make my way to my car. Where are my keys? I had left them down in the field. I roll back down to get them. “Dude- you need to go to the hospital,” says one voice. “Dude- you’ll be fine, you just pinned it while not in shape- this will just go away,” says the louder voice.

I get my keys form under Eli’s chair and as I roll away I say, “see you next week!” I then feel like I’m about to start crying. “You’re not going to see him next week- you’re going to die up in the tunnel trying to get back to the car you stubborn asshole,” says the quieter voice- except this time it wasn’t as quiet.

I get to the car, I tell Chris I’m nervous and that I can’t go grab a beer but would he follow me down to Conway in case I drive off the road. He thinks I’m kidding, sort of, but he does.

I call Binaca. I tell her it’s no big deal, but that if I’m not home in 70 minutes to come looking. I’m sitting in the car at 128bpm, it’s come way down- I’m fine. Except for the fact that nothing feels right and my active resting rate is normally 62bpm.

I make it home. Chris has called me twice, his wife, a nurse, is yelling at him that he didn’t take me to the ER. He sounds scared. Shit he broke the code- he is now scaring me.  I get off the phone and tell him I’m home and that I’ll let him know what I’m doing. My girlfriend greets me with a look of concern. When it comes to health she doesn’t mess around and she has a freakish ability to know when and what is wrong health wise. She wants to take me to the hospital. I’m stubborn. I need to take a shower first. My oldest daughter who is in her junior year of nursing school takes my BP and tells me I need to go. I need to take a shower.

The warm water feels good. It feels safe. I let the water hit my chest and it helps mask the strange pounding I’m feeling inside my chest. I get out and say I need to go lay down. My daughter, “great and then you’ll be dead. You look grey- go to the ER.”

With that all the voices in my head, all the guy code, all the defensiveness, go away. I need to do this. I need to do it for them. I need to do it for me. I’m not ready to die.

Binaca drives. We get there and as soon as I say “heart” they rush me in. Two male nurses who curse like sailors and strapping me up to machines. They see something on the screen and suddenly they seem more intentional in the work they are doing but also in making jokes. They shave my chest and back, more attachments. Something into my arm, lots of beeping. Lots of jokes. I look at Binaca trying to tell myself it’s fine and looking for her to reinforce that I’m fine. But I’m not. Now my best hope is that I will be.

The doc comes in. He explains that I’m not having a heart attack. “Perfect- I knew I was fine,” a voice in my head says.  “But you are at risk of a stroke because you are still in Afib,” he says.

My head is spinning, as now someone with a lot of letters before and after their name is telling me that I am actually in a bit of trouble. I know that in this moment everything has just changed.

Then need to “convert me” not in any ideological sense (other than converting me to a person who takes better care of themselves) but to convert the electrical system in my heart. So they knock me out and hit me with the defibrillator. I come too, sore from the major shock, but my heart is back in rhythm. Near term issue solved. 

The doc tells me a bunch of stuff. I don’t recall much of it. Binaca is taking notes in her head and asking all the follow-up questions I should be asking. But I’m fine now so I don’t need to worry about all of this.

“……and you need to see a cardiologist this week,” he says.

I guess I’m not out of the woods.

The next day I’m stupidly sore from the zap. Every muscle in my body aches a bit, but my heart feels good! But…….I now notice every beat. This muscle that is so critical to life, but also to the lifestyle I like to live has sort of let me down. Or maybe I let my heart down- and didn’t treat it right? Either way the relationship has changed- and I don’t know what to do about it.

The cardiologist runs some tests and we talk a lot. The bullet points are:

-stay active and don’t restrict activity

-gotta loose weight- 40 lbs is the goal

-need to curb alcohol consumption

-need to pay attention to diet

-need to manage stress

The only one I liked was the first one. But he made it clear that if I didn’t address the other points the first one would end up changing. I knew everything had changed, this just confirmed it.

I had known for a number of years that I needed to make changes. I’d treated my health like an unfunded mandate- knowing it needs to happen but put no resources towards doing it. That changed, it became very funded- mainly with time and focus.

I went from pretending to still be a cyclist to actually riding 5-6 days a week. I cut back on my beloved craft beers and red wine. I attempted to demonstrate portion control at meals. I started going to bed earlier. In the six weeks since the incident I’ve dropped over 10 lbs. I achieve all my “activity rings” on my apple watch for all of September; I’ve done a fair amount. I can’t say I’ve made much headway on the stress side- as work is still work. But I’m mindful of it.

None of it is perfect, but it is heading in the right direction.

A coworker told me he thought I was nuts to still be riding, “that’s what caused all of this!” he said.

“No,” I told him, “not riding is what caused all of this. That bike race saved my life.”

Get out and ride.