I asked the knee doctor, “Will I wreck my knees more if I do a bike ride like that?” “You couldn’t hurt them worse than they are already. I’ll give you cortisone shots to get through it.” Dang. A client told me about a three-wheeled recumbent bike with a big padded seat. I went to inquire about it from the bike shop owner. “Could a person like me ride a bike like that in a 210-mile, three-day bike ride in the state of Washington?”

“No way,” he answered quickly. I let out a sigh of relief. Then he added, “That would take too long, but I think you could do it with a two-wheeled one.” Panic set in but I told him what the ride was for and how I had to raise $3,000. Then I had an idea, “How would you feel about lending me a bike for the ride and training me? In exchange, I’ll advertise your store and have your bike displayed at my upcoming comedy show.” This was a lot to ask of a complete stranger and I was pretty confident he’d say no, but he said, “Yes, I think I can do that.”

It was April Fools’ Day 2007 and I thought he must have been joking. He taught me about balance in the strip mall parking lot, and in two weeks I set off to go a mile. The first block was easy but as I tried climbing a very small hill, over I went. I felt humiliated and my legs were throbbing from the falls. It took a lot of self-talk to try again. “Come on Brenda, lift your foot off the ground, you can do this, you’ll be okay.” I was paralyzed with fear. After 20 minutes, a little boy yelled from his front door, “Hey lady, watcha’ doin’?” “I’m riding my bike,” I yelled back. “No you’re not,” he answered. And then I laughed because he was right. When I finally quit taking myself so seriously, I was able to lift my foot off the ground, rode my bike the two blocks home and parked it there a couple of days before I got my nerve up to try again.

This was the beginning of a transformation. One of my friends who biked with me the first time I rode 14 miles started calling me an athlete. I remember praying to all my obese relatives in heaven to help me return from those 14 miles—and I made it. By July I was biking 100 miles a week and feeling fairly prepared. When I went to Seattle, everyone zoomed by me on the first hill and I rarely saw them again unless they were lagging behind and we were going downhill. Then gravity took over, and I sailed past them…for a moment. I rode my bike for eight hours a day and still couldn’t catch up. Reluctantly, I had to take the sweep van several times up the biggest hills to stay on track and arrive to camp before dark. I made it 150 miles over those three days and I had time to reflect. What seems obvious to most people was new to me and I had a realization, “Perhaps I need to lose weight; these skinny people are passing me up.”

Over time, I quit eating sugar, white flour and drinking alcohol. And, with the help of some good friends, I still focus on it one day at a time. I lost 150 pounds over the next two years and when I went on the next bike ride for GYGIG, it was a two-day, 150-mile ride and I did every mile.

It’s a challenge at times but, I’m always grateful for my life-saving ostomy. Today I am 10 years older and still do bike rides, walk 5Ks, play racquetball and swim—things I wondered if I’d ever do again. Life is good and physically easier these days and I am grateful for my fellow ostomates who inspired me and showed me that anything is possible. By the way, I bought the bike. He gave it to me for a huge discount. After all, “It was used,” he said.

Brenda is a loud and proud member of the ostomy community and a good friend of Hollister Incorporated. She is an international keynote speaker, author and comedian.

Her books include: If the Battle is Over, Why am I Still in Uniform?; I’d Like to Buy a Bowel Please!; Bedpan Banter; It’s in the Bag and Under the Covers; and Your Glasses Are on Top of Your Head. You can find out more about her at livingandlaughing.com.

Financial Disclosure: Brenda received compensation from Hollister Incorporated for her contribution to this eNewsletter.