Get Busy Living — by Kristin Weber
Kristin Weber started her cycling career in the early 2000’s with the Schwinn Homegrown Luna Chix Mountain Bike teams. A 2-time US National Cyclocross Champion and 3-time medalist at Masters Cyclocross World Championships, Kristin loves to evangelize all things ‘cross and gravel and is especially excited to get more women involved in the sport.
There is something about the cold, hibernal months that always pulls me into a state of reflection. December closed out the past year with a stamp on its events in a permanent and finite way, and last year was one of the hardest years of my life.
2019 was the year I lost Andy, my best guy friend, the father to three sons and lover to one beautiful woman. Andy died of a massive heart attack while racing in a duo mountain bike race with his 12-year old son in Steamboat, Colorado. If that doesn’t take your breath away, nothing will.
The ensuing months were a journey of grief that took me aback by their fervent and powerful hold. People lose their loved ones every day, but until it happens to you, you can’t quite know or understand what your version of the grief monster will be.
This past fall, I had planned a lifetime “Bucket List” trip to the Dolomites with another set of close friends, which we had been planning for 2 years. Cycling in Italy would be the consummate climber’s dream vacation, but I was met with waves of guilt as I struggled with the decision to go ride my bike for a week while Andy’s family suffered.
But Andy lived his life in a way that was all about the living; he was always “in” and always up for the next adventure. A true Coloradoan with a heart of gold and an ethos to bring everyone along for the ride, he guaranteed a belly laugh and he personified family man. When I spoke to Karen (Andy’s wife) about my conundrum, and she said, “Go! Get busy living; this is what Andy would want you to do and he would be pissed if you didn’t,” and so that settled it.
Early in our riding journey, I felt a bit untethered from the earth, floating up above the experience, but the pointlessness, the wandering mind, the heartlessness all slowly dissolved as I climbed and climbed and climbed. There was a metronomic beauty, something close to anchoring through the consistency of pedaling, and I started to feel again. The sweat down the centerline of my back, the crisp morning air on my face, the straining of my leg muscles. It slowly, one pedal stroke at a time, brought me back to a feeling of living.
Our week of riding was fairly ambitious, with many thousands of feet of elevation each day, and with the grueling Yolomites5000 event as the centerpiece, with 16,500 feet of climbing give or take a few. Nothing to shake a stick at for sure and only to be punctuated by rain and cold temperatures.
Turns out that day doing the Yolomites5000 was pretty metaphorical to grief: Shock, awe, pain, elation, suffering, hope, companionship, loneliness, darkness, and then the light. I didn’t complete the whole day, limping home after 14,500 feet of climbing and a bad gut, somewhat defeated and somewhat triumphant. And similar to grief, you think to yourself, how will I ever survive this…and then you do, one day at a time, one pedal stroke at a time, until you start to see the top, the light, the hope again. These events that take you down to your bare, raw, vulnerable self can also be the events that rebuild you, fuel you and fill you up.
Throughout the week we took In the famous climbs of the area, and I thought about Andy and how mind-blown he would have been as we climbed and descended the Garden, Campolongo, Giau, Falzarego, Valparola, Pordoi, Mur dl Giat, and Sella Passes. Day by day I pedaled, recovering from a hard day and continuing to chip away at the thing I love to do, to ride my bike.
The bike was and continues to be the thread for me in so many of my relationships. I felt Andy with me on this bucket list trip, sharing the road, riding as a wingman and taking in the scenes. I hope you enjoyed the trip as much as I did, Andy Balika; I miss you and look forward to seeing you out on the bike again soon.
