Trusting the System
Confidence didn’t arrive all at once. It accumulated.
If you’re just joining the ride, I recommend starting from the beginning. Each post builds the trail that led me here.
Over the following weeks, rides began to accumulate.
On August 9 — nearly three months post-op — I drove to Roanoke, Virginia, to ride with close friends who had recently relocated there. The four-hour drive required breaks every couple of hours, but it was manageable.
The ride itself was intentionally easy. My friends controlled the pace and even shuttled me to the trailhead so I could avoid unnecessary road miles. They understood where I was physically and made sure the day stayed within those limits.
The biggest surprise came when I rode on my regular Brooks saddle for the first time since surgery. It felt fine — better than expected. My bag didn’t shift or demand attention. For the first time, it faded into the background.
Not long after that ride, our family received another piece of life-changing news: our daughter had been accepted to Stanford University.
We decided to drive her car to California together.
Given my recent experience with longer drives, I approached the trip cautiously. With my doctor’s guidance, we planned a seven-day trip with frequent stops, daily walks, and short hikes along the way.
The trip was meaningful — but not without consequence.
Shortly after arriving in Palo Alto, I found myself in the emergency room with severe back pain. I had developed a kidney stone, likely related to altered hydration and electrolyte absorption after surgery.
The pain rivaled some of my worst UC flares.
Thankfully, treatment was swift and the stone passed quickly. Later I learned that proctocolectomy with end ileostomy can increase the risk of kidney stones if hydration isn’t carefully managed. That lesson stuck.
(I documented the cross-country drive to Palo Alto, CA in my riding journal, BestRidesDC.com)
Despite the rocky ending, the drive itself was cathartic.
It forced me to change my bag in unfamiliar places — twice. Until then, every change had happened in the comfort of my own home.
Each one worked.
Each one quietly built confidence.
Five months after surgery, my activity continued to expand: gravel rides, mountain bike outings, and eventually a two-day, 125-mile bikepacking trip to Lockhouse 49 along the C&O Canal.
That ride proved pivotal.
It restored my confidence to ride long distances and reinforced trust in my system. A minor bag mishap — user error — resolved without issue.
(I wrote about that overnight trip to Lockhouse 49 in more detail in my journal.)
Later, on a separate ride at my local trail, I encountered a leak just before a planned ride. The restroom was closed. I found a secluded spot, changed my bag outdoors, and hoped for the best.
It worked.
The ride that followed became one of the most satisfying yet.
Back home, I changed the bag again properly, making sure everything was clean and secure. That imperfect, improvised success felt like another step forward. A victory!
Things were beginning to settle into routine.
A sense of normalcy was emerging. I was learning how food and timing affected my nights and my bag changes. My activity levels continued to rise, and I had settled into a three-day appliance schedule.
Supplies were dialed in.
Processes were quicker.
Earlier in this journal I wrote about adapting to life with UC.
Now I was adapting to life after it.
This version of adaptation was far less painful, less restrictive, and far more rewarding. I was doing things I wouldn’t have attempted before.
Confidence didn’t return all at once.
It accumulated — through repetition, setbacks, small wins, and quiet proof that my body could still do the things I loved.
This post reflects personal experience. A medical disclaimer is available on the About page.