Grey's Anatomy Plays A Lot Better As Fiction

Interesting week in the ol' Nitti house. As you may or may not know, I've been dealing with some frustrating headaches ever since the 24 Hours of Sunlight race on February 23rd. We're talking about a different brand of headache here, not the familiar and innocuous guess-I-had-too-much-fun-last-night kind of headache. No, this was an angry, vengeful pain, with no easily identifiable trigger like excessive exercise, an overload of work, or seven shots of Jaeger to point towards.

Things got so bad at the finish line of the America's Uphill Race on March 15th that a trip to the ER was necessary, as the last few minutes of the event had brought about a genuine concern that my head might actually explode, a la the opening scene of the Running Man.

This led to a month-long odyssey of radiation-laden tests, which left me with no answers, the new-found ability to see through walls, and sadly, as impotent as a Nevada boxing commissioner.

On April 17th, my neurologist surmised that I had developed altitude-induced migraines, which while sounding harmless enough, would put a rather large crimp in my spring ski-mountaineering season. So I went out the following day to test the neurologist's hypothesis by climbing to 13,300 feet, the summit of Hayden Peak, and sharing some turns with my idol, Lou Dawson. No headaches = good day. Pictures here and below.

As the days went on, I wrote off the headaches as pre-April 15th tension, and I was more convinced of this than ever as Lauren and I walked into my final appointment with the neurologist last Saturday.

And that's when my life turned into an very special episode of House. As I embarked on my long-winded pro-tension testimony, my neurologist kindly interrupted to inform me that my MRA had come back positive, and they had discovered a 5mm aneurysm near the front of my brain.

Honestly, I don't remember much more than that. I would love to tell you I pulled it together, made immediate peace with the diagnosis, and threw out an inspirational "How do we beat this thing, Doc?" but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

I cracked. My wife, God bless her, did not. Lauren pulled out her pen and paper, and quickly started firing off all of the questions I should have been asking but simply couldn't muster the strength to.

When we left the office, there was much crying, followed by the obligatory phone calls to family and friends. For the remainder of the ride home, all I can remember thinking was, "There is NO WAY this is real." They say denial is not just a river in Africa, and I'd have to agree.

Again, I'd love to tell you that after an hour-long ride home riddled with self-pity I gallantly forged ahead with a bravery only seen in after school specials, but again, I'd be lying.

I was pissed. Angry at everyone: the doctor, myself, God, you name it. This shouldn't be happening to ME, not when I had so many plans and so many dreams and the energy, enthusiasm, and determination to see them all through to fruition.

And why now? It had taken me 31 years to figure it out: find the right girl+ take the right job + move to the right town = unadulterated bliss. And dammit, I had it. And I was not someone that didn't SEE what they had, didn't fully appreciate the good fortune afforded to them in life. I saw it, loved it, and celebrated it. I can clearly remember standing at the base of Aspen Mountain on a cold December night, fireworks illuminating the mountain sky, with my arms wrapped around my wife. I leaned in to her and whispered, "I am absolutely certain that life will not always be this way. We will have struggles, and we will face adversity and, inevitably, tragedy. But at this moment, right here, right now, life is absolutely perfect. I never want to forget this feeling." I think I even blogged about one of those moments here.

So why? Why take all of that and strip it away in 20 words from an apathetic doctor? What had I done wrong? And thus began the existential crisis I suspect anyone with a surprisingly awful diagnosis, particularly one as weak-minded as I, undergoes. Was God trying to tell me something?

Passion has always been both my greatest strength and most glaring weakness. Say what you will about me and any perceived selfishness, any construed ambivalence to much of the world, but the things I love I LOVE. Anyone who has ever shared a bike ride with me has thought, "I'm enjoying this, but not nearly as much as THAT GUY." Same goes for skiing. Or lifeguarding on the ocean. Maybe my mother puts it best when she says to me: " You've just always really loved to live."

So what's the downside? When I find something I love, I tend to immerse myself in it; dive into the culture, learn every possible nuance, and so on... Cycling, running, skiing, climbing...they become obsessions; no longer something you do, they become who you are.

Then something like this comes along and begs the question: Did I need this? Did I need to re-prioritize my life? Was I being too selfish? Could I have been a better husband, a better son, a better friend? Those are hard thoughts to ponder at a time like this, I can promise you that.

More than anything, however, I was terrified. Not scared, not frightened, not concerned -- freaking terrified. Faced with my mortality for the first time, I let my mind slip into some dark, dark places. What if this aneurysm bursts? The pure numbers are awful: 40% of people with a ruptured aneurysm don't live to see the morning paper. How do you make peace with that?

Even worse, what would happen to Lauren? As anyone who knows me well already understands, I honestly believe that the single reason I was put on this earth was to find Lauren, marry her, and take care of her for the rest of her life. It just has to be that way. There is nobody that can love her the way I do, the way she NEEDS to be loved, I am certain of that.

Before I knew it, I had stopped asking how God could do this to me, and started asking how He could do this to her. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to start a family, grow old together, and continue this fairly tale we've been living since that night in December 2002 when I saw her at a Christmas party, exchanged five words worth of pleasantries, and returned to Denver telling anyone that would listen that while she didn't know it yet, I had met the girl I was going to marry.

I spent the better part of a day thinking about death and not much else. Then my brother Dave called, and as he's apt to do, put things in perspective for me. He reminded me that even with a diagnosed aneurysm, the odds of it rupturing are roughly 1% per year. What were the odds of me not coming home every time I went out and skied in avalanche terrain? Five percent? Ten percent? Why would I treat a 10% risk of death as an afterthought just because I was in control, yet let a 1% risk take over my life merely because I was not? It was a great point, and frankly, I haven't thought much about the negative possibilities since.

It has taken some time -- much more than I am proud to admit -- but I think I am starting to get it. As usual, I was looking at things all wrong. If there's one person on the planet who should not be asking "why me?" it's me. Cliche as it may be, why not me? Who has had it easier than I? I come from an amazing family; the type that sadly, simply doesn't exist anymore. I know nothing of adversity, or hardship, or tragedy. Life has come entirely too easy. As if it weren't enough to get the girl despite long, long odds, she loved and trusted me enough to take a chance on a different life, and move to a town that we knew would bring ME happiness, but must have filled her with doubt and insecurity. As if it weren't enough to get a job doing what I love with a great group of people, learning and growing every day, they respected me enough to take a chance and let me move 2,000 miles away to chase a dream they probably couldn't fully grasp.

So when approached from this angle, why shouldn't it be me? I've got the perfect wife, the perfect job, live in the perfect town. Who should get the aneurysm? The guy with the broken marriage and the miserable job? Struggle should be meted out evenly in this world, and I imagine it's long been my turn to shoulder some of the load.

On Saturday morning, I wouldn't have traded my life for anyone's on the planet. Why should an aneurysm change that?

K-9 Uphill

On Sunday, I took a much-needed break from the relentless tax work I've been dealing with to join the rest of my family for the K-9 Uphill Race at Buttermilk mountain. Buttermilk closed last weekend, which left the mountain free for 200 and some odd owners and their dogs to hike, frolic, and poop where they may (the dogs, not the owners).

Here's Lauren, getting Maci ready to roll. Maci has probably summited Buttermilk over 20 times this winter, so she didn't have much in the way of nerves to deal with prior to the race start. She knew the course well, was adequately hydrated, and her resting heart rate of late has shown that she was fit, strong and tapered for race day.

Some joker thought it would be funny to sneak a horse into the race. Wait....what? A dog? Really?

Mommy and puppy at the starting line. Maci relieved to have avoided being selected for random pre-race drug testing.

As the gun goes off, Lauren and Maci sprint to the front of the pack. I, on my skis, languish 50 yards behind. The look of disgust on my wife's face as she peered back to check on me was one I won't soon forget.

Lauren getting pulled uphill by Maci, who is, uh, "checking out the competition."

In the deeper snow, Daddy takes over and leads his puppy through the steeper section of the climb.

After I gave Maci back to Lauren, a rather large and unleashed Burmese mountain dog decided to walk over, draw a deep breath, and promptly go to sleep on my ski tips. It took us a couple of minutes of cajoling to get Otis moving again.

At the top. Unfortunately, Lauren's old war injury starting acting up late in the climb, and we were barely edged off the podium by 200 or so of the 22o competitors. Maci was so embarassed by Lauren's effort she couldn't even bring herself to look at her.

At the finish line, Maci finally got to make the acquaintence of the freakishly large Great Dane. Here she is, cowering like a Frenchman.

Once at the top, Maci and I ditched Lauren like yesterday's newspaper in order to ski down. Here's an idea of just how much snow remains on April 13th of Aspen's greatest ski season on record.
Back at home, we rewarded Maci for her efforts by letting her pick a treat of her choice from the pet store. Click on the picture if you can't read the letters.

24 Hours of Sunlight: Update 3

Alright...camera is busted. Don't know why but I'm not happy. I am happy about potentially being half way done my obligation for the day however. Four laps down, four to go. With the exception of the first lap, where I got way too excited, I've been pretty steady and feel like I have four more just like it left in me. But who knows.

The team is surpassing all expectations, currently in line for a podium finish in the Mens Senior Category and a top-1o overall finish. But again, ANYTHING can go wrong seeing as though we're only seven hours into this thing.

My next two shifts will be at roughly 11PM and 12:40AM. Ouch.

24 Hours of Sunlight: Update #2

That's me in the middle. The one with the qualtity hind quarters.

Time: 12:48.

We're two laps in. I went out WAAAAY too fast and clicked off a 37:35, and Nick came through clutch with a strong 41:46. Right now we're sitting in 11th place overall, but more importantly, we're coming through with good times, and if we keep that up, the rest just takes care of itself. The climb is pretty mellow, easier than some of the local climbs we train on. The descent, on the other hand, is a bit hairy. Fast and steep in parts, with 300+ racers on it, it will be an ice rink by about 9 PM.

Todd is out there now. In the meantime, I need to get my boots dry, skins dry, body dry, and refuel. Next lap coming up in an hour or so.

24 Hours of Sunlight: Post 1

Time: 9:10 MST

Just arrived at our B&B, and it is PLUSH. Fireplace, two bedrooms, heart-shaped hot tub*, the works. But most importantly.....WIFI. So I will do my absolute best to live-blog from the race when I'm not out climbing or descending. Here are a few pics of our posh pad.

That's Nick. He's a key part of the squad, and he's been sick as a dog all week, so he's got a tough task ahead of him. We're still waiting on our other two guys. We've got 1 hour until the race meeting, then I'll be starting my climb at 11:00 sharp, so I'll get back to everyone soon after!

Wish us luck!

* May not be true

Silverton Trip Report

So I wrangled up seven other guys from Aspen to make the five hour trek to Southwest Colorado in order to ski the lift-accessed backcountry terrain of Silverton Mountain. Skiing Silverton is as close as most of us will ever get to skiing the big lines of Alaska, and it's always worth the trip.

We shot down on Saturday after work and pulled into town soon after six. When I tell you that this photo captures all of downtown Silverton, I'm not kidding. The town is literally five blocks long. Five blocks of stunning beauty, but five blocks nevertheless. That is NOT the ski resort in the background.

The architecture on Main Street has remained untouched for about a century or so. The main bar in town still has bullet holes in the walls.

Sunday morning, it was up at seven and at the "resort" by eight. This is the base village. Seriously. It's a yurt where you sign in, prove you have avalanche gear, and sign numerous release forms absolving the resort from blame should you go out and get yourself killed.

There is one lift at Silverton, and really all that does is save you a two hour hike. There really is no skiing under the lift. Instead, the lift grants you access to a ridge, which grants you access to acre after acre of unbelievable hike-to skiing. There really is no other place like it in the U.S. This time of year, all skiing at Silverton is guided, so you basically go where the guide recommends. On this day, our goal was this large couloir in the middle of this photo, aptly named the "Grande."

In order to gain access to the Grande, we had to hike to the high point along the ridge, to an elevation of roughly 13,000 feet. Here is just one of the dozens of breath-taking photos I shot from the top on a typical bluebird Colorado morning.

From the top of the ridge, we had to ski down about 1,000 feet, then traverse over to the bottom of the Grande, before beginning the long and arduous boot up the couloir. This was the line we dropped into to access the traverse. Snow was nice but variable. If you loook in the middle-left of the photo, you'll see the precipice of a cliff band. The other side of that cliff drops over 100 feet straight down. Don't want to catch an edge up here!

Once beyond the cliff, we traversed over to the start of the 2,000 foot climb up the Grande, strapped our skis to our packs, and started the long, slow boot up the shin-deep snow. About 500 yards from the top, I turned around to shoot this pic of the guys behind me. Sorry about the quality, but my camera was in my chest pocket and the lens got some condensation build up.

From the top of the Grande, at roughly 12,700 feet, the view down the line we would be skiing. Relatively steep at 42-45 degrees, but not as steep as some of the bigger lines we skied locally here in Aspen last spring and will be skiing again soon in a couple of months.

Finished up around 2:30. Looking back at the Grande. Green line is our ascent route, red line the descent. Snow was a mix of powder and breakable crust, not the greatest skiing in the world.
At the end of the day, though, a trip to Silverton is usually more about the experience than the snow qualify, and this one was no different. Good buddies, great skiing, amazing views. I'm already looking forward to next year!

Hello??? Is Anybody Out There?

Slacking on the updates. It's been an epic winter, and with the snow finally relenting for the past few days, I thought I'd get everyone up to speed.

I've spent far too much time in ski boots this year, and my poor feet have bore the brunt of all this playing. They're more or less destroyed. Doctor's advice: they'll heal over the summer. Thanks doc!

Last weekend, me and seven other Aspen locals took the five hour trek to Silverton Mountain for some quasi-Alaska big mountain skiing. I'll post a trip report in a separate blog entry.

Lauren has been doing quite a bit of skiing as well, and is really starting to improve. She did her first black diamond yesterday, though it may have emotionally scarred her for life. We'll see how she rebounds.

Maci is having a blast in all this snow, and celebrated her 1st birthday on February 11th by sharing a big steak with her daddy. Good times.