Faking it

It does have a name.  It is called “Post-Concussion Syndrome”, but to me it feels more like a condition I would call “Personality Fraud”.  On the inside, I have been feeling like I am not really here, while on the outside, I have been faking it in order to try to still be able to function in the world.  A new buzzword that I have been very interested in the last few years is “mindfulness”, but lately, all I can say is that I feel rather like the complete opposite, I feel “mindless”.  “In a fog” and “out of touch” are other ways of describing it.  My symptoms include dizziness, extreme fatigue, inability to concentrate and focus, anxiety and depression.  This injury has been unlike any other injury that I have had to deal with.

At the time of my Pericarditis health crisis in April 2015, my doctor told me that she saw it coming long ago.  It was “diabetes burnout” disguised as viral Pericarditis.  She said that I managed to last much longer than she expected.  I felt like death at the time, but my ego liked the comment.  It was the epitome of what bike racers strive for, to be “hard men”.   A part of me was proud of it.  Now looking back, it surely wasn’t a compliment because the longer I had been ignoring the warning signs and simply putting my head down and continuing to push harder like if managing Adele’s Type 1 was a bike race, the deeper I was digging myself into the dark hole that I eventually found myself in.  Looking at it that way, it surely isn’t commendable, but rather very, very stupid.  Then again, if I had a do-over, I think things would have to unfold the same way again.  It just seems to be the only way that I learn.  And to be honest, I was just dealing with the stress of being Adele’s Type 1 caregiver the only way that I knew how.  I was doing the best that I could at the time. 

I am not a doctor, but I have a theory that this physical collapse last year was setting me up for the struggles that I have been facing the last few months.  I believe that chronic stress and burnout cause biochemical changes in the brain not unlike mental illness which rendered me more susceptible to injury.  Not only did it affect my ability to focus but also made the concussion symptoms worse since my brain was already struggling with burn-out and exhaustion.  Again, I am not a doctor, but I just know in my gut that this is true in my case.  Looking back, I could feel it happening last year when recovering from Pericarditis.  I could feel that my brain was different.  Understanding this doesn’t really change anything except that it alleviates the suffering a tiny bit.  I have no regret giving up what I lost while trying to be the best pseudo-pancreas possible for Adele for the past 14 years.  The only regret that I have is that I did feel “off” on the day that I crashed and smashed my helmet in July.   I regret not listening to my intuition and either stopping or backing off.  Again, nothing is gained going there, except trying to learn what I need to from the experience.

I have been going through constant ups and downs since my brain injury close to 4 months ago now.  I have had good days when I feel close to normal but most of the time I feel like my body is going through the motions, but nobody’s home.  What seemed like a minor concussion initially seems to be quite adamant at staying longer than expected.  I thought that I was doing well in August and started riding more, but to be honest, Cyclebetes really set me back.  The stress in organizing the event along with too much riding too soon worsened my symptoms.  A few days after our annual ride in support of JDRF, I finally got in to the SportMed concussion clinic at the Université de Moncton and the doctor told me that I was indeed doing too much too soon which was lengthening my recovery.  I was really a mess, but in total denial.  I committed to healing and promised that I would only think about the bike after becoming healthy again.  This has proven to be easier said than done.  It is very difficult for me to forgo all exercise after being so active for so long.  Physio has helped a lot with regaining my balance and some focus, but the fatigue and inability to push myself whatsoever will still take some time.  On the good days, I feel like I can do more only to feel the symptoms return with a vengeance the next day and linger for days afterwards.  It has certainly been an exercise in patience.  I have started Bowen therapy and am finding that it is helping a lot.

I messed myself up really good.  Sometimes I get angry for letting it get to this point.  Other times I just look at it as the path that the universe has set for me.  Like I didn’t have a say in the way things have unfolded, that it simply had to be this way.  It is my soul’s curriculum.  And my job is to learn the lessons that I need to learn.  True knowledge and wisdom are gained through suffering.

I always feel the utmost sadness when I hear of children diagnosed with Type 1 as babies because I know what the parents will be going through.  Looking back, I still don’t know how we managed.  As a parent, you do what you need to do, but the stress of caring for a Type 1 baby / child is one of the most stressful things that a parent can go through.  The required effort is constant and inhuman.  

To my friends who see me and ask how things are going, that’s the longish answer that I never bother to explain instead of the simple “I’m doing pretty good, getting better”.  I apologize if I can’t seem to commit to anything lately.  It’s just how things have been, up and down.  I only know as I go.  Working full-time, I am quite tired at the end of the day so I can’t really do much during the evenings except rest.  Looking at the big picture, I can see progress being made.  It just hasn’t been linear like most people assume.  And as much as I look “normal” on the outside, this is what’s been going on inside. 

I’m happy that we’re now entering the “dark” season.  I don’t feel like I’m missing out as much.  This is when wild animals prepare to hibernate for the winter.  I’m going to follow their cue and keep on relaxing, recovering and healing also…  The bikes will still be waiting for me next spring.  Now if I can just stay away from social media with all of the cyclocross photos !

Thank You

The older I get, the more that I realize and believe that it isn’t about me.  I believe that it isn’t about checking things off a bucket list.  I believe that it isn’t about accumulating external accolades.  I believe that it actually never was about me and it is not about you either.  So who or what is it all about?  I have come to believe that it is about the collective.  I believe that it is about everyone as a whole.  I believe that we are all one and that we are all part of this collective.  I believe that it is about working together to help the collective to thrive and survive.  I believe that it is about helping and making a difference however we can.  I believe that it is about finding what we’re good at and how we can contribute to making things better.  I believe that our job or purpose here on earth is to figure that out what that is for ourselves.  If everyone did their share, the planet would be such a better place.   It doesn’t have to be much because it all adds up.  Even a positive thought will spread and create good karma…

I feel very grateful and blessed that one of the things that I can offer to the collective is to use my passion for cycling to help raise funds for research and awareness for Type 1 Diabetes.  I believe that this is what the universe expects of me.  And the universe has provided me with amazing friends that make awesome things possible…  What else could a guy ask for?

We had set a lofty goal of raising $30,000 for JDRF this year.  I hate goal setting.  Sure, they give us something to aim for, but they also create a stressful expectation given the potential failure if we fall short.  I prefer to set an intention.  But we had to set a goal.  To be honest, I wasn’t sure we were going to reach it this year.  Fundraising is getting more and more difficult.  Or maybe it was my health issues the past few years or my brain preparing to deal with the failure to meet our set goal even if deep down the true intention was to create SOME Type 1 Diabetes awareness and to raise SOME funds for JDRF that wouldn’t exist without our efforts.

In the end, I was blown away by everyone’s generosity and effort !!!  We surpassed our goal by writing a cheque for $30,500 to JDRF which brings the total raised by the Mike’s Bike Shop cycling club since 2007 to over $180,000 !!!  I am speechless…

Too many people believe that this ride is about me since it was born from my dream, but really it isn’t about me at all.  It’s about all the volunteers who step up and put in so much effort, many of which have no personal connection to Type 1 Diabetes other than being my friends.  

Thank you to our main sponsor, Mike’s Bike Shop who is the backbone of this ride.  Thank you Rick Snyder for your continued support even after all these years.  Your kindness and generosity continue to amaze me and are beyond words.  I am constantly blown away with everything that you continue to do in support of JDRF.  Thank you for all of your hard work and very generous financial support.  I am forever indebted for all that you do.  Thank you.

Thank you to Luc Belliveau and Pablo Vergara who have put in so many hours in meetings, finding sponsors, setting up the website, running around getting food and setting everything up.  You are both key players of our Cyclebetes organizing committee.  Without you, the ride could simply not exist.  I am very proud to call you true friends.  I owe you big time.  Thank you.

Thank you Jeff Currie for the maps, your help with event insurance and leading morning and afternoon rides.  Thank you Martin Pelletier for signing all the routes and leading morning and afternoon rides.  Thank you Charles Cormier for removing all signs and leading an afternoon ride.  Thank you Christian Charette for helping with setup on Friday evening, leading the morning ride and managing an afternoon feed station.  Thank you Melissa Bordage for helping with registration on Friday evening, leading the morning ride and managing an afternoon feed station.  Thank you Andre Landry for leading rides and for the ice and BBQ pick-up and delivery.  Thank you Philippe Theriault for the photocopies and flags and signs from the Atlantic Cycling Centre.  Thank you Don Ricker for working your camera magic in capturing the true essence of the whole event in pictures.  Your talent behind the lens is crazy and one of the things that riders appreciate the most about Cyclebetes.   Thank you.

Thank you Bill Goobie and Rachel Parkins for driving the last mechanical support vehicle all day.  Your job is quite stressful and makes for a very long day.  Thanks for doing such a good job in keeping our riders safe.  Thank you Janice Lirette-Evers for taking care of registration Friday evening and Saturday morning.  Merci beaucoup pour ton support et d’avoir accepté de revenir nous aider cette année Janice.  Thank you Gerry Allain for driving the first support vehicle and Elmer Wade for navigating.  Gerry, you have officially become a PRO Cyclebetes support vehicle driver after so many years of experience.  Thank you for the help and continued support.  Thank you Christian Jasper for managing the morning feed station and support vehicle driver in the afternoon.  Thank you Erica Griffith for your help with registration and for managing a feed station in the afternoon.  We are very lucky to have such trustworthy volunteers year after year.  Thank you Gilles Gallant for generously offering to help by representing JDRF, accepting our cheque and managing an afternoon feed station.  Thank you Steve Kikkert for directing traffic in the morning and leading an afternoon ride.  Thank you Serge Noel for directing traffic in the afternoon.  Thank you Johannah Bubar for all of your help including keeping food on the tables for all volunteers and riders.  Thank you Jacob Button for giving up your entire day to volunteer and help.  Thank you Dan Hachey for setting us up with Molson.  Thank you Caroline Belliveau, Jenn Boyd, Cindy Guitard and Rhonda Currie for taking care of all of the food and beverages.  Thank you Bruce and Audrey Thorne for driving support in the afternoon.  Thank you Ben Thorne for speaking to the riders before leaving for the afternoon ride.  Your message was very heartfelt and reminded everyone of why we were there.   Thank you.

Thank you to all our sponsors:  Mike’s Bike Shop, Sobey’s Dieppe, MacDonald Buick GMC, Giant Bikes / Guy Pellerin of Pellerin Sports,  Papa John’s Pizza, Clif Bars, City of Dieppe, Molson brewery, Cape Bald Packers, Terry Tomlin of Tomlin Sports Marketing / Oakley, Maritime Propane Services, Starbucks, Kevin Noiles of Lambert, GoodLife fitness, Pat Bolduc of Shimano / Pearl Izumi, IGA Dieppe, Joanne Phillips for the reefer truck, Philippe Theriault of Cadillac Fairview, Adrien Lesvesque at Falstaff Media, Atlantic Cat for the BBQ, Long and McQuade for the PA system, Chris Mitton, Jim Currie.  Thank you to all that donated, participated and fundraised.

And last but certainly not least, thank you to my wife Michele and Adele who drove a support vehicle and who continue to put up with me and support me year after year. I love you.

If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize and want to thank you as well. I feel very blessed and grateful to be surrounded by so many incredibly generous friends. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And I hope to see you again next year at the 10^th anniversary Mike’s Bike Shop Cyclebetes ride !

All online fundraising pages will still work until December 31st, 2016 so you can still donate here...  2016 Mike's Bike Shop Cyclebetes

Concussed

Pretty sure I was about 4 years old when I learned to ride a 2-wheel bike.  Back when bike helmets didn’t exist.  I remember when I was 17 years old and we built a ramp to jump over a car.  We worried about how to get enough speed before hitting the ramp to be able to make the gap.  But it never occurred to us that it would be a good idea to wear a helmet.

I got my first road bike in the late eighties but purchased my first helmet in the 90s only because I needed one to do my first mountain bike race.  As I got older, I evenually always rode with my helmet.  It has become as automatic as buckling my seatbelt as soon as I sit in a car.  I feel naked without it.  Lately, I have become quite paranoid about road riding given the drivers using their cell phones.  Because of this, I seemed to favor mountain biking since I trusted my skills much more than the drivers with which I shared the road when out on my road bike.

On July 5^th, at the last race of the 8 week Hub City Challenge mountain bike series at Rotary Park, my mountain bike skills that I had such confidence in failed me.  Going down a rooty downhill that I had ridden literally hundreds of times, I lost focus for a fraction of a second and went down.   No other riders around me.  The trails were dry.  I knew in the air that the crash was going to hurt, then remember thinking “Wow my head hit the ground really HARD!”  I rolled out of it like they teach in the Sprockids program, but was seeing all sorts of stars after trashing my helmet.  I remember everything and never lost consciousness, but immediately knew that I had suffered a concussion.  I picked myself and the bike up and walked back to the start finish area and sat down.  I felt better after a bit.  After talking to a few people, I rode back home, told my wife, cleaned up and went to bed.  I thought about going to the ER, but Google was telling me that I only needed to go if I lost consciousness and/or felt nauseous.  I just felt very spaced-out / stoned.  I figured it was like when I’d get slammed into the boards as a teenager playing hockey and that it’d be better the next day.   It’s all part of bike racing right?

Unlike when I was a teenager playing hockey, I’m not 15 years old anymore.  I didn’t feel better the next day.  After symptoms were getting worse on the 5^th day, I decided to seek medical advice / treatment.  They told me that yes, I had suffered a concussion, that an MRI wasn’t really necessary since it had not just happened and that I just needed to take it easy and rest.  Lying alone the next day in a dark hotel room in Halifax on our first day of summer vacation while my family was out enjoying supper, I didn’t feel very proud of what I had done to myself during a supposedly fun local mountain bike race.  I felt guilty for ruining our vacation and being a burden to the rest of the family.  This guilt and regret was on top of physically feeling worse than I have ever felt before.  I was suffering and completely miserable.  When your brain is injured, it pretty much affects every single thing that you do except for maybe sleeping.  I felt so vulnerable and out-of-control.  I also felt depressed, anxious, broken and afraid.  What if I don’t fully recover?  I desperately just wanted to feel normal again…

It’s been over 5 weeks since the crash and I’m much better, but still not 100%.  My balance is still off and I tire much more easily, but I now see light at the end of the tunnel.  I feel optimistic and expect a full recovery.  But where do I go from here?  Do I just treat this as an “accident”, a random occurence and continue living like it never happened?   Was this just bad luck or is there something to be learned?

Since last year, I have been trying to look at my time here on earth as being enrolled in a school.  I’ll call it “life-school”.  Everyone is enrolled in different courses based on what we need to learn during our time here.  When we fail a course, we must take it again (and again and again if necessary) until we pass and learn what it is meant to teach us.  We often fail our courses either because we aren't paying attention or when we're too busy looking at what others are doing with their lives, but this doesn’t work because others are most likely not enrolled in the same courses as us.  

So based on my life-school theory, what am I supposed to learn from this in order to move onto the next life-course?  The answer to this question must come from within…  In the last 1.5 years, I have had health issues that have affected my heart and my brain, arguably the 2 MOST important organs in the human body.  That’s pretty scary shit right there.  Both issues have also prevented me from racing bikes.  

If I am honest with myself, I know deep-down that my competitive racing days are over.  Not that I ever reached a true “elite” level in the sport, but I have invested a LOT of time and energy in trying to go faster and improve my race results.  This year, I started the season with the intention to only race “for fun”, but once I began to gain more fitness and was able to push myself more, my psyche went back into full race mode and I became a danger to myself.  The Pericarditis, which to be honest was really just a symptom of Diabetes burnout, has affected my ability to focus which is necessary in bike racing.  When speed surpasses your ability to focus, your timing is off and when you’re pushing your limits, being off by even just a fraction of a second is the different between nailing a fast section and becoming a helmet tester. 

My family needs me healthy.  I have responsibilities including care for a chronically ill teenager.  As Adele’s main Type 1 Diabetes caregiver, I really need a fully functional brain in order to be able to help her manage her blood sugar levels as best as possible.  I certainly don’t want to risk another head injury.  So for these reasons I have chosen health over my bike-racing passion.  I am officially retiring from all bicycle racing at the moment.

Why am I making this announcement here on this blog?  The first reason is to explain to my friends in the cycling community why I will not be attending their events.  I love to support those who support our beautiful sport, but right now I cannot support your competitive events with my participation.   Sorry.  The second reason is that I really don’t trust myself.  Like the alcoholic who thinks he can have just the one drink or the ex-smoker who thinks he can just smoke the one cigarette, I need something in writing (a contract !!) to remind me of my decision and why.  Like the broken helmet sitting on the shelf in my basement that will stay there as a reminder, I cannot forget that I am breakable.

I still intend to continue riding for fun and would still like to support and participate in non-competitive cycling events like grand fondos and charity rides.  Heading into the fall season, I know that Cyclocross racing is the discipline that I will miss the most.  It is also likely one of the least dangerous given that speeds are lower and courses are mostly on grass, but I am still not willing to risk it…  Not this year for sure…  Damn short attention span and addictive personality…

A scary experiment

 

As a young boy, I remember lying in my bed overcome by fear that our house would catch fire while I slept.  I was fine during the firefighter’s presentation at school and throughout the rest of the day, but so very terrified lying there alone in dark silence trying to fall asleep that night.   I also remember witnessing an all-terrain vehicle accident when I was like 12 years old.  The victim was conscious and seemed “somewhat ok” (he actually was in the end except for lots of scrapes and bruises), but the sight of his bloodied face, obvious disorientation and the fact that my main passion at that point in my life was riding my dirt bike hit close to home and really made me realize what could potentially happen in a split second as a result of practicing my favorite pastime.  Fear, even if it technically only exists in our head, gives us the impression of being a separate entity that has a life of its own.  When I was young, my fears were always worse and very intense when I was left alone in silence with my thoughts at night.  It’s like I could manage to not really “feel” the fear when my mind was busy doing other things during the day, but as I was trying to calm my mind and fall asleep, these fears that were hiding in the deep dark corners of my subconscious mind would come out and literally scare the hell out of me.

A Type 1 diagnosis is very scary.  It is terrifying and the information given in such a short period of time following the diagnosis is very overwhelming.  In many ways the shock feels like being pushed off a raft without a life jacket during a rapid river excursion.  Even if you know that you technically were explained what to do beforehand, the strong current makes it very difficult to keep your head above the water.  The initial shock soon turns to panic then eventually fear as you begin to understand what is actually happening.  But this fear needs to be set aside for the time being because you now have many life-saving tasks that need to be taken care of 24-7. Eventually you gain confidence until you eventually feel more and more like you’re able to keep your head above water.  Your life becomes a constant numbers game and you never really get to re-visit the fear that you have hidden in the background.

Then there is this thing called “long term complications” that surely comes up when Type 1 gaming.  At the hospital shortly after diagnosis they tell you to not worry about these since they take years of sub-par control to develop.  It is probably a good idea that they do it this way since you already feel like you’re on the brink of drowning in all of the other information.  And as a Type 1 patient (or parent), you listen to this advice and shove this information in the very back of your mind alongside of the fear because you can’t really deal with it at this time.  But as you’re doing this, you feel this fear creeping up again as you stir things in your head and realize how life-changing the diagnosis is.  In the beginning, it’s just about survival.  It’s about learning the day-to-day stuff required to stay alive.  It’s about keeping your head above water.  So that fear is buried for now in order to literally stay alive.

The problem with burying fear like this is that even if at first it seems well hidden, it’s still always there,  lurking, growing, seemingly unnoticeable until one day after routine blood and urine tests, your Diabetes care team tells you that one of the results isn’t quite normal.  For us, that day came about 1 month ago now when Adele’s urine test results showed the presence of an abnormally high level of protein.  The Diabetes nurse quickly assured us that there is a possibility of a false positive for this result if the patient was recently ill, had exercised rigorously the day before or in the case of females, menstruation.  But for me, upon hearing the results of the test, the fear of long term diabetes related kidney damage that I had buried deep, deep down in the dark corners of my mind, fear that had grown exponentially while hidden there, suddenly came up to the surface and literally left me paralyzed.  I felt incapacitated, powerless.  This built-up fear energy that had never been properly dealt with had gotten so big and powerful, that it was crushing my entire being rendering me completely useless.  I was a mess.  These feelings were ever-present, but just like when I was a young boy, ever so powerful when I was alone trying to fall asleep at night.  The demons had taken over and were now running the show.

A few weeks later, the subsequent test came back negative meaning that the initial test was indeed a false positive (we still need to confirm with a second test next month).  As much as I was initially relieved, I can’t help but think of how I reacted and of that ever-growing fear that I had buried deep inside of me.  It is yet another aspect or detail of this Type 1 game that is so often overlooked and where gamers too often suffer alone.  My intention is to not try to tuck this fear back into its old hiding spot.  I’m trying to face it, feel it and hopefully release it gradually since the risk of long-term Type 1 complications are and will still be there as long as there is no cure for the disease.  Easier said than done, but that is the intention.  Mourning such a loss certainly doesn’t happen overnight.  And only now am I able to begin to understand this as part of the process.  At the end of the day, Type 1 gaming is really but an experiment.  We hypothesize a desired outcome, but even if we follow all of the rules of the game, we still don’t get to choose how it unfolds in the end.  And that is the lesson that I need to learn...

The year of the reboot

I have been wanting to write a year-end blog post for a few months now, but the words just weren’t there.  In so many ways, I could say that 2015 sucked, that it was one of the toughest and that it was the year of the “breakdown”.  But after re-thinking this, I decided to call it the year of the “reboot”.

The human brain categorizes everything as either good or bad.  It has a difficult time categorizing in between.  It’s part of the human condition.  We’re just hard-wired that way I guess.  At the beginning of 2015, my mind would certainly have categorized how the year started as being bad.  Getting sick with Pericarditis in April and the very slow recovery was certainly difficult and unpleasant, but I can now see it as a good thing.  2015 was one of the hardest years for me, but also arguably the year where I grew and changed the most.  Strange how these paradoxes need to co-exist.  I say that 2015 changed me, but in reality, it was more a process of discovering my true self rather than transformation.  So I guess it was more of a “finding” of something that was already there.

2015 was a year where I rode my bike less, but the quality of each ride made up for the lack of quantity.  Riding became more of a meditation.  My state of mind made for more mindful pedal strokes, thus making the act much more meaningful.   There is nothing like losing something to make you appreciate it that much more when it is given back.

Last year’s events also made me realize that killing myself in managing Adele’s Diabetes wasn’t accomplishing anything, except for making me sick.  Nighttime is the scariest time for Type 1 parents.  Laying your head on the pillow becomes a prison sentence of worry and suffering when the body should be replenishing itself through rest.  Looking back, for me it was just a matter of time before health problems and sickness moved in.  The body cannot function long-term without adequate sleep.  Along with sleep deprivation, I was burning the candle at both ends during the day pushing myself in other aspects of my life acting as if I was invincible.  This is never sustainable.

Even after over 13 years of Type 1 gaming, I still cannot say that I have fully accepted it.  Maybe I had never stopped long enough to mourn the loss?  Maybe I was always too busy trying to fix something that I cannot really fix?  Maybe I couldn’t stop because I was constantly overwhelmed in the constant numbers madness and lost in the striving for perfection?  Maybe letting go is THE ONLY WAY?

Type 1 gaming is messy.  But I now believe that’s how it has to be in order for us to learn what it’s trying to teach us.  I have always had an obsession with controlling things in my life.  Even with a very, very strict diet, I still don’t think that a Type 1 gamer can control the disease 100%.  Maybe that is what Type 1 gaming needed to teach me?  Maybe I can’t be at peace with it all before I admit that at the end of the day that I am not the one in the Type 1 driver’s seat?  I now know that I could not surrender to this truth before hitting rock bottom.

Type 1 Diabetes is a constant reminder of our vulnerability and non-permanence.  In so many ways, Type 1 Diabetes and other chronic diseases are the ultimate metaphor for what life is really about.  With Type 1, this fragility is always right there, in our face 24/7.  It has been the ultimate teacher.  I just hadn’t been a very good student.

The reboot has been a slow one.  In so many ways I feel like I am starting over.  From physical fitness to learning to relax and sleep again in the midst of the storm, it all seems to be so new.  I am not the same person now that I was a year ago, but it’s not just being the only guy in a room full of women during one of my yoga classes.  My life is no longer so much about the speed and efficiency of racing through it.  It’s now more about what’s right here right now.  My anxious mind can’t lead the way anymore.  And that is the gift that came out of all of this.

So here’s to an awesome 2016! 

Cheers

Holding hope in the palm of your hand

How would it feel to hold something in your hand that had the potential to positively affect every single aspect of your life?  Something so potent that just holding it would bring you to tears since it would be able to change EVERY LITTLE DETAIL OF EVERYTHING in your life?  Is there anything that exists that could potentially have such power?  Some people may think of a jackpot winning lottery ticket, but I’m talking about something here even more life-changing that money cannot currently buy.  When Sir Frederick Banting discovered insulin in 1922, he surely felt what I am trying to explain while holding a vial of insulin.  Before his discovery, a Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis meant a certain death in a matter of weeks.  With insulin, the prognosis was extended to years.  Dr. Banting knew that insulin wasn’t a cure, but to see patients miraculously awaken from diabetic comas shortly after being administered insulin must have been one of the most amazing experiences that a human being can have.

I have been hearing about “encapsulation” research projects for the last few years and to be honest was never really too excited about them until now.  The project that gives me the most hope is currently being led by a company called Viacyte Inc.  This year, ViaCyte announced that their Encapsulation research was expanding tohuman clinical trials in Canada!  Human trials, that’s further than most other “life-changing” researches have ever gotten.  That got me very excited!  Transplants have been used as a Type 1 treatment for a few years now, but necessitating very strong immunosuppressant drugs which can potentially cause many other issues.  With the encapsulation project, the transplanted cells are “protected” from the immune system in a small pouch made of a selectively permeable membrane that enables insulin to be released while protecting the insulin producing beta cells from being destroyed by the immune system.  This “pouch” would be surgically implanted under the skin and do the work of a healthy pancreas for up to 24 months.  This would mean no more blood sugar checks, no more calculating carbs and no more insulin injections for up to 2 years.  Words cannot fully explain the positive effect such a treatment would have on those playing the Type 1 game…  Seriously, although it is not a true cure, this would be a HUGE life changing discovery.

 

Such research is not cheap.  I can’t even imagine how much money was spent to get to this point.  The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) has been partnering with Viacyte for this project.  Since 2007, the Mike’s Bike Shop cycling club have raised over $150,000 for JDRF, which is but a small portion of their budget but surely enough to make a big difference.  For this reason, I feel that I have personally contributed to getting this research project this close to the finish line.

On this last day of November, which is Diabetes awareness month, I would personally like to thank all those that have donated and worked so hard this year to help us raise $32,411 for JDRF in 2015 !!  THANK YOU  THANK YOU  THANK YOU !!  Your support and contribution are making a difference in the lives of those living with Type 1.

Thank You



Glancing down at the big cheque before the presentation photo I got choked up as soon as my eyes focused on the total amount that we had raised.  The goal was $25,000 and the amount written on the cheque was above that goal.  We had raised $29,000 for JDRF! This brings our total raised and donated to JDRF to close to $150,000 since 2007! 

When I think about this for a moment, I realize that it’s more than we paid for our house in 2002.  That is crazy!  Compared to other larger scale events like walks and family events, it’s not as much, but considering that we are a local cycling club in a small city and that the participation at all of our Cyclebetes rides has never surpassed 70 riders, including this year with 69 participants, that number becomes so much more impressive.  $150,000 donated to JDRF to support research that has literally changed lives with better treatments and certainly gotten us closer to realizing my dream for a cure in Adele’s lifetime.  Without Cyclebetes, Mike’s Bike Shop and the Mike’s Bike Shop cycling club, JDRF never have had that $150,000.  Thinking about that just blows me away. 

I appreciate receiving congratulations on the event’s success, but honestly I am but a small part of it.  It would be nothing at all without the support of everyone involved.  I understand when people affected by Type 1 Diabetes step up and volunteer time and energy in the quest for a cure, but when someone who is not affected by the disease puts in the amount of hours that some of my friends have to make this ride a success I feel really blessed to be surrounded by so many good and kind people.  I really appreciate all that you do to for JDRF.  Thank you very much. 

The ride was the most successful yet in regards to funds raised, but I am also sure that it was the best all-around with all of the food, refreshments and after-ride party as well.  I really, really enjoyed the entire day.  We made a few minor mistakes from which we will correct for next year, but for the most part, the day’s events ran quite smoothly. 

Thank you to our main sponsor, Mike’s Bike Shop, without which the ride simply could not exist.  There is no other bike shop that I know of that even comes close to everything that you have done for our charity.  Your kindness is very much appreciated.   Thank you Rick Snyder.   

Thank you to the Mike’s Bike Shop club members for all of your help.  Thank you Luc Belliveau for all your work.  I still can’t believe how many sponsors you were able to find.  And thank you for all of your hard work getting most of the food served during the day.  You are a huge part of the event’s success.  Thank you Pablo for all your work also, the many emails, phone calls, the website…etc…  And thank you for willingness and courage to sport your new Mister T look for the cause.  Your work and enthusiasm really means a lot.  Thank you Bill Goobie for the maps and for spending the day driving around at 25 km/h ensuring rider safety.  Thank you Jeff Currie for all the input during our meetings, the printable maps and directions.  Thank you Michelle Chase for marking the course, helping out during registration as well as with lunch.  Thank you Christian Charette and Melissa Bordage for your help with the feed stations.  Thank you Martin Pelletier for marking the course even during your first week back to school.  And thank you Don Ricker for all the photos.  Your photographic talent is beyond words and photos that enable all participants to relive the day is simply priceless.  Thank you. 

Thank you Janice Lirette-Evers for your amazing work of handling the money as well as setting everything up for the door prizes.  You are an invaluable part of our Cyclebetes team.  Merci beaucoup.  Thank you Mariette Roussel for helping with registration.  Thank you to all support vehicle drivers Gerry Allain, Patrick Evers, Christian Jasper, Steve Kikkert, Bruce Thorne and Sheena Lutes-Spicer.  Thank you Elmer Wade.  And thank you Jennifer Boyd, Cindy Belliveau and Johannah Bubar for taking care of all of the food and beverages.  Thank you to all that came out to help set things up Friday evening. 

Thank you to all of our sponsors which are almost too numerous to list.  Thank you Mike’s Bike Shop, Sobey’s in Dieppe, MacDonald Buick GMC, Tomlin Sports Marketing, Guy Pellerin of Giant and Arcteryx, Starbucks Dieppe, Sysco, City of Dieppe, Molson brewery, Adrien Levesque and Falstaff Media, Cape Bald Packers, Ray Cormier.  I am sure that I have missed some since there were so many who gave…  Thank you. 

Thank you to all the riders who participated and to all who donated.  I am always impressed by the efforts made to fundraise as well as on the bike during the ride.  Thank you for inspiring.  The rider smiles after the ride always make my day.  Thank you Ben Thorne for giving me the privilege to ride with you as well as for speaking to the riders reminding them why they were riding.  And last but not least, thank you to my family for all of your support. Thank you for putting up with me during the very busy week before the ride. Thank you Michele and Adele.  I really appreciate it!

 I feel very, very blessed to be surrounded by so many incredibly generous people.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you. 

I still remember the day that I learned to ride a bike as a young child.  I instantly fell in love.  Who knew that over 40 years later I would still be riding a bike, but with a much larger purpose.  Thanks for supporting me in the pursuit of this purpose. Thank you.