Tag Archives: Andy Schleck

30.6: “As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen”


Dear Little Ring,

My sweet, sweet baby who is no longer a baby.

You are the boy who I swear went from two to two and a half in the blink of an eye.

The boy who used to let me cuddle him for hours, but who now can’t stay still for more than a second and more often than not squirms when I try to sneak in a hug or kiss. Sigh.

The boy who’s been talking for some time now, but only now has truly become a proper parrot as evidenced by your beloved copycat phrases: grody and boogers; oh my gosh; and, oh man, I try not to explode laughing when I hear it, HOLY CRACK!

The boy who is so full of thrill and adventure. “Where am I going?” is the first question you ask in the morning, and one of the last you ask before your eyes take their final flutter of the evening. On your bike, it’s down ramps, stairs, dirt piles, up slides and giant rocks that you most like to be. And at the playground, your eyes are so focussed on the big kids, so eager to do as they do. Your arm pointing, “I want to do that!” Whether it be ride the big swing, climb the ropes “to the top!” or hang from the monkey bars.


The boy who likely is one of the only two and a half year olds in North America talking about Jacque Anquetil and Eddy Merckx every day, (who sadly are currently in the hospital) along with their cycling buds Thomas Voeckler, Andy Schleck, Bradley Wiggins, Jan Ullrich, Francesco Moser, and “Cippollini!!!”

The boy who doesn’t know his mama is different, but knows her differences. You know that honey and dried apricots are part of my medicine. You know that the machine attached to me at all times, tempting as it is for you to press the buttons, is part of my medicine. You point to my blood testing tattoos, “What’s that?” you ask. And because I don’t know how to explain it in a way that you, a two and a half year old, will understand, I tell you straight up it’s my callouses. And again, with your reply, you blow me away with the incredible sponge of your knowledge, the eyes of your wisdom. You know it’s not a fun thing, you know it’s not a nice thing, you know it’s not a pleasant thing. “It hurts,” you say, as though you too have felt the lifetime of multiple daily finger stabs.

You may not feel it, but you see it, I know you see it.

“You eat your owie?”

Ah, yes, leave it to you my dear child to point out that grody little habit of mine I’ve had for oh, going on 28 years now, that no other will.

Every day you make me laugh, you lighten my world, you warm my heart. Every day you ask “You want to play with me?” And every day, today, tomorrow, an infinity number of days from now, I say yes. I will always say yes.

Forever. Love.

“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.” ~ Winnie the Pooh

Trainer trials and tribulations

Good golly I can’t believe I used to do this for up to an hour, even an hour and a half, at a time!

Little Ring: “Tall person with boobies, why are you riding your contraption inside???

After more than 9 months off the bike, Big Ring pulled Zing out of storage, dusted off the cobwebs, polished her up a bit, and pumped up her tires in preparation for our long-awaited reunion.

I’d love to say it was a good one, but as has always been the case, when Zing’s shackled to the bike trainer, it’s more a chore than anything. The bike trainer is nothing like those spring/summer/warm fall days spent in the elements, pedalling hard up the Camosunburg (which isn’t so burg anymore since its repaving this summer), feeling the warm wind whip at my face as I zoom down to Spanish Banks, taking in the scenic views of the city all around me. When I’m outside, the last thing I’m thinking about is getting off my dear bike, but when I’m on the trainer, it’s the first thing on my mind. My brain is crazy ADD on the trainer, I’m watching the clock, feeling the heat build in me, the sweat drip off me, counting down the seconds as they slowly tick-tock, tick-tock before me.

Somehow, before pregnancy, I had managed to figure out a way of going for an hour or more, normally by pedalling through an episode of True Blood, or by watching an inspiring tale of the cyclists I do so love (read: drool over) like Chasing Legends or The Leadville 100, but for some reason, this time around, I thought Amazing Race could get me through my first ride back.

I should have known.

First off, Amazing Race has commercials, which even with the fast forward of the PVR break the concentration. Second, Amazing Race doesn’t have the crazy, holy-crap-did-that-really-just-happen scenes that True Blood has, which take my mind off the pedals, or the cockiness of Mark Cavendish that keeps me amused, or the super strong, yet super creepy legs of George Hincapie, or the drool-worthy looks of Andy Schleck (and the drive and force of these men on their bikes too) that keep me going strong. Nope. While Amazing Race does have picturesque scenery, it unfortunately, more often than not, focuses on the annoying antics of the contestants, which seem a helluva lot more annoying on the trainer.

My first go, I managed 35 minutes and I thought I was gonna die after just 10. The second go, I figured I’d give How I Met Your Mother a try, but that too was a no-go. I then looked to New Girl (the funniest non-cable show around), but again, it failed miserably in keeping my cycling focus. So, this evening my friends, I am happy to report, I smartened the heck up, and stuck True Blood into the drive. 45 MINUTES BABY!!!


  • 6:30 p.m. BG before: 5.4
  • Temp. basal: -50 per cent
  • Time: 45 minutes
  • 7:30 p.m. BG after: 3.8
  • Low treatment: half apple, no bolus

Now, I’ve just got to once again figure out my basal settings for the trainer.

Ask and you shall receive…

I had an absolutely fantastic day yesterday. I didn’t run a super fast race, didn’t get a lingering hug from Andy Schleck, didn’t become a chemistry genius, or get a solid night sleep – all of which would have been pretty darn spectacular – but I did get something that was absolutely out of this world.

Yesterday’s tale starts with a text I got from Big Ring on Friday informing me that instead of going for a ride, he had opted for a city day, and in that city day a scrumdiliumptious cherry chocolate ice cream bar from Chocolate Arts was included. Instantly I was jealous.

Let me tell you, these bars are friggin amazing! They’re handcrafted from locally made, and super pure, Avalon dairy cream and free range eggs, topped on a perfectly sweet brownie base, and dipped in decadent chocolate. Their flavours, almost all of which are seasonal, also use locally produced, organic fruits and herbs. In the last two years I’ve enjoyed lemon basil, raspberry, rhubarb (my favourite!) and cherry.

Not surprising, I sent a rapid-fire text back to Big Ring informing him of our plans for a city day on Monday, which would include a bratwurst on a bun with sauerkraut from Granville Island (that’s been my crazy preggers craving) and a stop off at Chocolate Arts for a bar. Obviously!

But on Sunday afternoon, it dawned on us that the chocolate artisans may be taking a holiday too. I Googled their hours and sure enough it said it was closed. Nooooo! But because I’m a desperate pregnant chick (with seemingly no shame) in need of her ice cream, I emailed the company asking if they really were closed. I mean really, it’s only BC day. A few hours later, I had a response in my inbox: Yep, they were closed 😦

But Greg, who owns the shop with his wife, is so totally amazing. When he realized I was preggers, in need of my ice cream (a craving he could relate to with his own wife) he told me to come on down, they’d open the shop up, no problem. Oh! My! Gawd! Seriously, how often does that happen?

I guess there are benefits to this medicine ball attached to my belly after all 😉

Cooking up a baby hiker

As many of you know, Big Ring is convinced we’re having a cyclist, not just a thumb-sucking alien baby, but a world-class cyclist, like a baby Mark Cavendish, or Andy Schleck, or Jeannie Longo kind of cyclist. But me, I’m pretty sure we got a hiker on our hands.

Here me out on this.

I had to stop running early in the pregnancy, because the activity, no matter how tempered or short it was drastically dropped my blood sugars to near comatose state. I took up the walking, much to my chagrin, but still, no matter how boring that snail’s pace activity was, my blood sugars almost always bottomed out with that one as well. (Maybe the kid was so bored, it had to add some low BG excitement into the mix.) So I pulled out Mr. Foldy, figuring not only would I be sprucing up my athletic pursuits, but surely he couldn’t do much damage to my BG. Oh how wrong I was. One huff-and-puff up a hill, and I was having to guzzle back OJ and sugar cubes.

Hiking, though, it seems, thumb-sucking alien baby and I have no problems with that activity! It doesn’t matter how laid back, how steep, or how long a hike, my blood sugars have stayed intact every single time … during the hike that is 😉

After my first hike (since pregnancy) a couple weeks ago, I’ve been hiking up a storm. I’ve done small hikes:

Around my parent’s acreage… which I might add, seemed to be a lot bigger when I was a little kid!

I’ve done a repeat up Westwood with my favourite hiking chicks:

And just today, on my first day of holidays, Big Ring and I trekked around Buntzen Lake:

Here I thought I had bears to be scared of, you see that fallen tree behind me, the one with the eyes, legs and antennae, it was actually the largest tree bug I’ve EVER seen!

It’s funny, last night when I suggested to Big Ring we hike Buntzen Lake, apparently he thought it would be a half hour stroll – not 9 km! He didn’t say anything, and I had no idea he had no clue, especially given that he had dressed in his hiking clothes. But about 30 minutes into the trek, he started making these shocked comments: ‘You actually ran around here;’ ‘Wow, this is a good workout;’ ‘So, uhm, when does it end?’

Two hours and 10 minutes, that’s when 😀

We went about an hour after lunch, which meant I halfed my lunch-time bolus to account for the exercise. I started the hike with an 8.7 BG, which is higher than I like them to be, but I knew they would come down. I didn’t give myself a temporary reduced basal, because that seems to be giving me more trouble than it’s worth during this pregnancy. And so, a little over an hour into the hike, my BG was at 4.4. I ate a chocolate chip Z bar without giving myself a bolus, and continued on. I was getting worried near the end of the hike that they were starting to bottom out as my legs were feeling rather jelloish, but I think that had more to do with three hikes in three days, because when we got back to the car, I was sitting at a comfortable 5.0.

Too bad they didn’t stay that way. An hour after the hike they were clinging to an unsettling 2.3 😦 But hey, they didn’t go low on the hike, which is great! Now I’ve just got to figure out post-exercise BG stability, and we’ll be golden. Oh happy day!

A happy hiker makes for a happy pregnant chick!

Nightmare of sweaty proportions

I know I’m not supposed to do it, and I’ve been real good for quite some time – quite some time! – but sometimes it’s just unavoidable. The doctor had to be summoned. Google Doctor that is.

And let me just say copious amounts of calming tea with Bob the Bauble (distant relative of Johnny 5) were needed in dealing with the diagnosis(s)

The following information I’m about to spew, I have hemmed and hawed over whether or not to share it. It’s pretty personal, and a little bit embarrassing… actually, scratch that, it’s a lot embarrassing. But when I started this blog almost two years ago, one of the reasons was to connect with a like-minded community, whether that be fellow runners, cyclists, type 1s, etc. So, here goes…

[Note: If any of you make fun of me, I will not be opposed to kicking you in the knees. Hard. Just saying…]

I suffer night sweats, like really bad night sweats, soak the bed sheets, the duvet, pillows, clothes, hair, skin, everything night sweats. It’s frigging disgusting. My pajamas are so wet, I can wring drips of liquid out of them. Can you imagine waking up to that? It’s like I pee the bed, except with sweat! I’m at the point where torture therapy may soon be applied, you know, like getting one of those electric shock pee pads that are designed for people who wet the bed – that’s how bad it is!

I haven’t always had night sweats. They only started happening a year and a half ago when I was training for my first marathon. I thought it had to do with my metabolism working in over drive. And because they didn’t happen all the time, really only sporadically, I didn’t invest much thought in them. But then, about a month ago, they came back full force – like every night, and recently two times through the night.

I thought maybe I was overheating. I tend to go to bed real cold and cocoon myself in my blankets, and I thought maybe I was getting too hot under there. Google Doctor, however, informed me that wasn’t possible. I then thought maybe it was dear diabetes rearing her ugly head, that maybe the sweats were the result of serious lows. So, I decreased my overnight insulin and hoped for the best. It worked… for 2 nights.

The past two weeks, I have had one night free of sweats – ONE NIGHT!!!

I am now at the point where I fear falling asleep because I do not want to be woken to that icky clammy skin feeling, and damp sheets all around me. Just imagine it. I am honestly on the verge of tears when it happens. My bedding is getting worn out from repeatedly having to wash it, and my pajamas too.

I’ve tested my blood sugars every time I wake up in a sweat and they’re almost always fine. At first I thought, maybe they were going low, and rebounding by the time I wake up, but then that doesn’t explain the other night. There is no way my blood sugars could have dropped from 9.2 at 11 p.m. so drastically to cause sweats and then be back up to 9.1 by 1:30 a.m. – that’s not how it works. I started testing my sugars twice through the night, and again they are almost always fine.

So, in a plea of desperation, I sought solace in the good ol’ Google Doctor. But, as is usually the case, it had the opposite effect. According to Dr. Google, I have tuberculosis, or cancer, or aids, or early onset menopause. Overheating is not an option for soak-your-bed-sheets night sweats, the doc says.

The sleeve of my new shirt expresses how I’m feeling perfectly:

Any guesses what this brand was named after?

10:30 a.m. BG before: 9.1

Temp. basal: -50 per cent
Time: 45 minutes
11:30 a.m. BG after: 4.1

Yesterday’s trainer was my last episode of True Blood until the 4th season is released, which leaves me in a dilemma as not too many shows can keep me pedaling like True Blood can. Looking for new viewing, while pedaling options… any suggestions?