Part 2: Back At It Again!

Hey everybody!  I hope y'all enjoyed my first blog back after a long time away.  I'll be restarting my blog with a three part series about the past few years of my life.  These past three years taught me more than the previous nineteen ever did.  The first part I wrote was focused on my year racing with Hagens-Berman U23.  It was an up and down year that saw me step away from the "dream" of professional racing that I had grown up chasing.

At the conclusion of the season I opted out of attempting to secure a contract for the next year and instead chose to attend the University of Minnesota and race with Donkey Label Racing in Minnesota.  As many of you may already know, 2015 saw me step away from cycling entirely and shift my focus entirely to academics.  This blog will be focused entirely on my first year in college as well as prompted my decision to step away from the sport that I had spent a majority of my life surrounded by.

Back into the time machine we go.  After leaving the season on a high note at the Cascade Classic I was slotted to move into my dorm room at the University of Minnesota.  My intended major at this time was kinesiology.  Moving in wasn't much of a hassle.  After all, I was coming from the controlled chaos that is bike racing, sleeping in a new bed was nothing new to me.  I acquainted myself with my roommate and other hall neighbors throughout the first two days of  "welcome week".  I was lucky enough to have a unique high school story of leaving a brick-and-mortar school in favor of online school to "chase the dream" of bike racing.

The first few days of welcome week went on without a hitch.  However, on the third day, after all of the afternoon festivities there wass a Golden Gopher football game that is free for all freshmen to attend.  I had linked up with a fellow freshmen who I had been friends with at Hudson High.  We went to the game and afterwards we headed back to his dorm to hangout with some other guys.

A bit of a disclaimer about this next story.  I know some of you might think that I was not into the drinking scene when I was in high school, and you'd be right.  However, just like every other kid my age, I had drank before coming to college and I went to the college full well knowing that I would probably drink in excess a few time.  I quickly learned that I could handle alcohol much like a Cat 5 can handle racing in a Pro/1 crit.  The account of my night of the Gopher game will quickly illustrate this to you.  When arrived back at the dorms, my friend's roommate informed us that he was able to get some cheap rum from a friend of his.  Us, being the mature, well-educated guys that we were starting pouring it into red solo cups and drinking it straight.

This drinking of the rum continued on for a bit longer before we decided to fill a water bottle with the rum and head out to walk around.  I have no idea why we decided to leave the dorm.  I would tell you all about our adventure across campus, but I don't even recall leaving the residence hall.  I have zero details from this point on until waking up the next morning.  Waking up the next morning is where this story turns from run-of-the-mill night out, into something more.

Fast-forward to 4am the following morning.  I wake up in the hospital in nothing but a hospital gown, still plastered.  I glance at my hands and notice that they're covered in blood.  I touch my face and feel an odd texture right over my eye brow.  A nurse walked by and I slurred out "Where am I??" in her general dirction.  She informed me that I was at HCMC, a hospital a few miles from campus.  She chuckled and said "Honey, you really can't handle your alcohol".  Apparently, on my adventure on campus, I had fallen and cut my face.  We then headed back into the dorms where I proceeded to throw-up oodles before the community assistants called 911 and I was ushered to HCMC in an ambulance.  At the hospital they hooked me up to an IV and stitched up my brow.  Let me tell you, if you want to have an extravagant bill after a night out, this is not the way to do it.

I left the hospital a few minutes later and contemplated what to do next.  First, I texted my sister that I had messed up.  Why I contacted her first I will never know.  Next I called Jim.  Let's just say that was not a fun call.  He told me to get in a cab and head back to my dorm.  I of course decided to walk home instead, in the wrong direction at first, as my own "walk of shame".  My clothes and face were still covered in blood, so I'm sure I looked a sight.

Upon arriving at my dorm I washed up and told my roommate about the story of my night.  I felt awful about what had gone on the night before.  I had been incredibly immature and reckless and it was just and awful feeling to have.  I talked to Jim and Carla about what had went on and they were not stoked, and rightfully so.  My night out was not without consequences from the school either.  I was put on probation in the dorms, had to attend a session with a doctor regarding my drinking, write a short paper about what I had learned and how to prevent something similar from happening again, and finally I had to meet with a provost.  Keep in mind this all happened before the semester even started!

The next week, classes started.  It took me around two minutes to figure out that I was not prepared for college.  Never, in all of my time in high school had I studied.  I had never learned to study when I was in high school.  Online high school was so easy that I was able to graduate third in the class without ever reviewing the material.  While I was out "chasing the dream" for the past two years, fellow classmates were spending time hitting the books, taking AP courses, and preparing for college. That being said, given a second chance, would I have stayed in a traditional high school and forgo the two years that I spent roaming about the country?  Absolutely.  There is not a doubt in my mind that I would have been able to race at a high level without ever leaving Hudson High.  Were there benefits to the non-traditional high school life?  Of course, and I loved it, but I paid dearly for it during my first few semesters of college.

The first two weeks of school were absolute torture.  I had no idea what was going on in any of my classes, and on top of that I just didn't know what I wanted to do for a living.  I know the second point is a common trend among freshmen in college.  The biggest difference for me was the past ten plus years had been spent with the intent of becoming of professional bike racer.  Once my dream had fallen through I had no idea what I wanted to do.  I intended on majoring in kinesiology because I had heard many fellow ridersdo the same, not because I wanted to.  This feeling of being lost in terms of my future, my feeling of being overwhelmed in college, and the realization that I was never going to be achieve my goal of becoming a world-tour rider sent me into a very deep depression.  There was also a lot of guilt about my night out drinking, but I don't think that factored in as much.  During the first few weeks of school I lost a lot of weight, never slept, felt miserable, and I had never been less happy.  It finally reached a point in mid-September that I went to go see professionals about my struggles.

After reaching out for help things started looking up.  I was riding again, with the intent of racing for Donkey Label, I had a new girlfriend, and classes were going better.  The rest of my first semester went on without consequence and I was able to achieve high grades in all of my classes.  The next semester was an entirely different ball game.  After winter break I headed back to the dorms with my head held high and ready to tackle any challenge thrown at me.  That lasted for a handful of weeks.  Eventually, I started staying up late and skipping class in favor of sleeping in.  I stopped riding, I stopped studying, I stopped doing anything that was mildly difficult.  From late February until the end of the semester my day usually consisted of waking up around 3pm, laying there dreading thinking of how I would waste the day, doing nothing until midnight, and watching movies on my phone until 3 or 4 in the morning.  Basically, I would wake up every day wishing that I was asleep again.

I never told Jim, Carla, my girlfriend, not a soul.  Other than my roommate, not a single person knew that I had stopped riding my bike, stopped going to class, stopped doing everything except eating and sleeping.  Eventually the semester ended and I went back to Hudson.  The week between coming home and final grades being posts was by far the worst week of my life.  That week felt like the final week of a death row inmate, knowing that something bad was going to happen, but not knowing what it would be like.  Finally, grades were posted and I had to confess to my family that I had spent the past few month lying to all of them.  The solution I put forward was to step away from the bike, both racing and riding, for the foreseeable future.

During this second semester I grew to despise cycling and everything that went along with it.  I saw it as the reason that I came into college so far behind and not knowing what I wanted to do with my life.  Every single time I rode that spring it felt like cycling was a chore.  It reached a point where even the idea of going out for a ride would put me in an awful mood.  I raced a few times that spring and that did nothing but emphasize how much I had grown to hate the sport.  Did the decision of stepping away from the sport help ease a lot of the depression that I had been feeling?  Surprisingly it did.  I felt that a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders and I could just relax and "find myself".

The meeting with my parents concluded with not only the decision to step away from the bike, but a few consequences as well.  One of these consequences was getting a second job.  I already had a job at The Bicycle Chain, a wonderful shop in Roseville.  After a bit of searching I found a job at the Hudson Menard's working from 5-9am stocking shelves.  Most of my summer was spent waking up at 4am, working at Menard's until 9am, driving to the Bicycle Chain to work 10-4pm, and then driving home before heading to bed to start all over again the next morning.

Reflecting back on my second semester, there was no defining moment where I can say "That was when I decided to quit riding", or "That's why I stopped going to class".  This was a very strange time for me.  A time that taught me a lot about myself and showed me that it's never a good idea to keep secrets from loved ones, among other things.  I need to give a big thanks to Jim, Carla, Maren, and the countless members of the local cycling community that supported me in my decision to step away from cycling.

That's all for part 2.  I know this story was a bit of a downer, but this part of my story is one that very few know about.  A story that needed to be told.  If you ever run into me at a race, on the trail, or anywhere, feel free to ask me any questions you have either about this time of my life, or any other!  Until next time!!