Footprints in the Snow

It has snowed twice in Saint Louis over the past ten days.

The first time, five inches were expected, but the clouds only delivered a light powdering over the streets coupled with some ice. I ordered some Yaktrax that were delivered the day before the storm and wore them for a morning run. The Yaktrax allowed good traction and I was never close to slipping.

As I darted back and forth along the Riverfront Greenway, I noted the tracks that my footprints left behind in the snow. These markers signify that someone ran through the inclement weather, though they’ll also melt and disappear in a day’s time.

Time will eventually erase my footprints, as it does all things.

I had abandoned most, if not all, of the athletic footprints I’ve left behind. As an elite level swimmer I won hundreds of medals and trophies, some of them at the NCAA, national, and international level. I also lost most of them, if not all of them. My reasoning for tossing them is that I never felt it’s healthy to cling to something in the past. I want to constantly be forging ahead, and I aim to direct my thoughts more on what’s next than on archived text.

I’m actually keeping some of my latest running medals though. Last weekend I ran a personal best 15k, and within the race I had a personal best 5k and 10k. Improvement is fun at any age; it’s also possible at any age, though not in any activity.

Now that I’m more than 15 years removed from swimming, I see how memories and times steadily fade. I found myself Googling some of my past accomplishments that I had forgotten. How did I forget that I was voted most valuable swimmer after my freshman year of college? I think I forgot about that within a year of finishing school. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but it’s interesting that it happened. I see now that having a visible signifier of some of these things may keep them in my memory longer, and without memory we have no identity.

I recall visiting my old college coach in 2015. My final record (for an 800 yard freestyle relay) had just been broken; it had stood on a wall of my old collegiate swimming pool for more than seven years. At the time it was an American and NCAA record. He had the record in his office, a long strip of cardboard that was previously affixed to the pool record board. He gave the cardboard strip to me. I’ve since lost it and wish I hadn’t.

The cynic in me may say that a medal is nothing but a chunk of material to be ultimately tossed by someone else when I’m permanently gone. Everything that remains after I’m gone, in fact, would be a heap of donations and disposal for those who are left behind. There is some truth to this.

However, the optimist says that a medal is a footprint left in the snow, and by maintaining it the snow may melt a bit slower. It’s true that the footprint will fade, but I might as well cherish it while it remains. One doesn’t need to obsess over something to cherish it. The trash heap can wait a few more decades.

Our footprints in the snow are nice reminders of great adventures.

Healing Bones

I had my followup visit to the Orthopedic this week. I’m in what I would consider the “later stages” of healing a broken collarbone.

I was told that the bone is about 80% healed. The x-rays still show some hairline fractures that need to close, but the actual break is callused and together. There is some pain, and still some range of motion to restore, but the trajectory is positive.

I’m continuing with another six weeks of physical therapy (two times per week, one hour per session). I’ll also continue with my at-home exercises. I anticipate feeling near 100% within a few weeks.

I’ve realized over the past two months one brutality of civilization: it doesn’t wait for a broken bone to heal. The work doesn’t stop, nor do the chores or daily obligations. The journey towards reclaiming your health can be a lonely one: no one fully understands your battle as you do.

I may participate in a group run, for example, but no one else would realize that a cold gust of wind can penetrate my bone and cause deep pain. Nor would they know that I spent the previous 8 weeks just trying to make my right arm operational.

It is the same with the little struggles I’ve had. It was more than a month before I could physically tie my own shoes, drive a car, and lift an object over my head. Putting on clothes was a struggle, as was showering. It’s amazing just how much you can lose when just one bone breaks.

That’s how it should be though. That’s life. We have things to shoulder and always will. If everyone and everything around me stopped because I was in pain, there would be no obstacle to overcome, and therefore no triumphant feeling when the journey out of pain is finally complete.

Sometimes the only option is to embrace the maelstrom.

Eating Scones and Breaking Bones

I’ve read that it’s healthy to eat foods while they’re in season. This fall I interpreted that to mean that I should consume extra pumpkin flavored beverages and foods at Starbucks. Pumpkin spice lattes and pumpkin scones became regulars on Saturday morning through the months of October and November. Apparently this isn’t how you’re supposed to interpret “eat foods while they’re in season.” Oh well. I have no regrets.

On a more serious note, I had what may end up being the bike crash to end my bike crashes.

I was pedaling my road bicycle down the Riverfront Trail yesterday and turned into the Riverfront Park. Maybe because I’ve made this turn a hundred times in the last year, my eyes were focused forward for a moment, rather than on the path beneath the wheels. It turned out to be a critical moment to avert my gaze from the path.

Though the sun shone and the winds were calm that morning, a storm had hit the day before with severe winds. I didn’t take that into account. Some intense debris littered the road, included a large tree branch.

My front tire hit the tree branch and I flipped forward, sideways, and upside-down. I felt my head slam against the road first. I was wearing a helmet, but the force was enough to whip my head and nearly knock me out.

Then my shoulder hit and I immediately felt my collarbone break. I also heard something that you never want to hear come from your own body: “snap!”

Finally my hip landed with a loud thud. The pain was intense, and I knew that I was in very bad shape.

I was wearing a helmet, luckily, but I was still dazed. I was not sure what city I was living in or where I was going, and suddenly the trail seemed foreign to me. I was not sure what I did the past few days either. I just felt that I had to turn around and get home, wherever that was.

Due to the adrenaline and lack of logical thought, I hopped back on the bicycle and rode back. It was not for twenty minutes that I knew where I was or where I was riding, but somehow I still rode the correct direction.

It was an hour later, after X-Rays and a CT scan, that I learned that I somehow managed to ride the bike home with a broken collarbone and a mild concussion.

The adrenaline wore off the moment I stepped back in my apartment, and it was then that my right arm lost mobility. It was my right collarbone that broke. The pain surged quickly thereafter.

Later, at a nearby Total Access Urgent Care, I learned the full impact of the injuries quickly.

“Yep, that’s broken,” the X-ray technician said as he glanced at the first photo of my shoulder and collarbones. “It’ll be for the doctor to say, but the good news is, it looks like it’s the good kind of break.”

“There’s a good kind of break?” I said. I assumed all breaks were bad kinds.

“Yeah,” he said, “The kind that doesn’t need surgery.”

It turned out he was correct. The bone was broken but not displaced, meaning the bone would heal after two months in a sling and some physical therapy.

I regained my mental senses quickly and all of my memories returned. For that I’m also thankful.

I’ve had some nasty crashes over the past year. This was the worst one; it was enough, I think, to break me mentally. It raised a conundrum: how do I keep doing something I enjoy, when I seem to have a penchant for serious injuries while doing it? I’ve never been injured while running, after all.

Are my cycling days over? It’s difficult to say. I should be honest here though: they might be over. I have no interest in breaking the clavicle again. Certainly my cycling days are over for the remainder of the year. With bone breaks, the best thing you can do is nothing.

I guess it’s inevitable that these sorts of doubts flood my mind after such a crash. Maybe I’m just not meant to be a cyclist. Maybe I just have to commit to slow and leisurely rides from now on. What will I do?

I may feel young, but I know this bone will not heal as quickly as it would have twenty years ago.

Hopefully I am back on a bicycle eventually. To what capacity I’ll ride again, I’m not sure. Some cyclists bounce back quickly after bone breaks. They heal, and then they pedal with extra fervor. They love the activity. All pain is worth it. Suffering is hardly a reason to quit. Neither is a broken collarbone.

But I am not those cyclists. A part of me feels I’ve had enough bone breaks and ligament sprains to last a lifetime.

Every injury I’ve ever had has arrive via bicycle. You can only fall so hard when you’re on a run. You can only break so badly. On a bicycle, though, it doesn’t seem to be a matter of if your collarbone breaks in a crash, but how badly it breaks.

I guess time will tell what’s in store for me next. Though I feel down, I don’t feel “out.” I’ll focus on eating well, sleeping, and healing. There’s still life to enjoy.

I guess time will tell whether I hope on the bike again.

On Foot Rehab

Summary of foot issues following a car hit in August (long story short, a car hit me while I was cycling, knocking me off my bike and onto the tarmac; the ankle turned the wrong direction upon hitting the road, causing sprains on both sides of the foot and severe internal inflammation and bruising).

• Had the first and second physical therapy sessions for the right foot this week.

• The foot unfortunately had a setback last week after a one-minute running attempt (felt pain the next few days, telling me that running is a bad idea). This spurred me into signing up for therapy.

• Physical therapist confirmed running won’t happen in 2021 (bummer, but I figured).

• Muscles causing issues were identified in the session and a path to healing was set in action.

• Most severe damage noted in muscle tissue along the left part of the lower leg, which stretches into the foot and ends in the bottom-left part of foot. This is the primary source of pain when attempting a run or aggressive walk.

• Severe inflammation on upper part of the foot caused issues with healing and issues with connectivity with bones; this is why there isn’t much bend, especially in squat-type movements.

• Both ankles were sprained; ligaments in each need to strengthen and heal.

Plan: 3x physical therapy sessions per week. Foot rehabilitation exercises to be performed 2x per day.

In summary, the car crash messed up my foot pretty badly. However, I’m stoked to have a path to healing, and even more stoked that the foot can heal, timeline be damned.

Also thankful that I can still ride a bike without much worry.

Here’s to closing out 2021 on a positive note. It’s gonna feel great to exercise without pain again and I’m getting closer.

Fall Ride to Riverfront Trail with Mission Workshop Apparel/Bag

I took my gravel bike and some new Mission Workshop apparel on a fall ride along the Riverfront Trail (about 24 miles/38 km total). It was a cool 38 degrees F (3 degrees C) but I felt warm (without overheating). Mission Workshop products are on the pricey end, but made of high quality materials. They tend to last.

Mission Workshop

Back in the Saddle

I was able to ride a bicycle last weekend. It was the first time in three weeks.

I had to make some minor adjustments. Riding with an ankle brace is not a problem. The only issues rose from switching dominant feet (I am right-footed and my right foot is injured). I usually mount with my right foot and had to do so with the left foot. At stoplights I usually rest on my right forefoot. Similarly, I rested with the left forefoot. These seem like trivial differences but our muscle memory is strong, and we take for granted how many movements are instinctual. Even switching dominant feet can cause cycling to feel foreign.

However, it was nice to be able to ride a bike again.

The more concerning part was the newfound fear from riding. Episode 8, Season 2 of Ted Lasso really struck a chord with me and this newfound fear of mine (and it struck too close to home for comfort). One of the main characters, also a bike commuter, gets hit by a car and struck unconscious.

She tells Ted something along the lines of, “I am worried that I’ll never be able to ride without fear again. The bike was my happy place. I’m scared the world has taken that from me.”

While cycling yesterday, crossing each intersection caused my body to tense and my heart to pound. My arms cringed, my breathing stopped, and my neck tightened, all as if anticipating a car to once again strike me from behind by turning into me. Breathless, where I once fired all pistons and put the pedal to the metal, I suddenly lingered and looked behind me for a boogeymen that may or may not exist.

Our neuromuscular system remembers events, particularly injuries, with sharp precision. When we are kids we can fearlessly fall to the floor or run down a hill at full speed or belly flop from the high dive. Then the body gets hurt, and we stop doing it. Our adult selves look at the same jumps, dives, and runs with trepidation and fear.

That is my main fear right now, that I’ll never be able to ride as fearlessly as I used to; what if what was once my meditative time becomes yet another exercise in chronic overthinking. I am hoping that I can overcome those neuromuscular reactions over time.