Injuries and Setbacks

My plan was to began preparing for an October 1st marathon starting the first week of July. However, a few setbacks derailed those plans.

The first issue stemmed from a timed mile event in late June. I completed a timed mile (about 1600 meters) in 4 minutes and 44 seconds, which I was happy with because my goal was to break 5 minutes. However, I found myself limping after the finish. A tweak in my groin became a lingering pain that steadily worsened over the next week, and I naively attempted to run through it, which only exacerbated the pain. I went to an orthopedic and was informed that I strained my groin.

A few weeks of rest and physical therapy followed, and suddenly it was August. I resumed running. I told my marathon coach that it seemed practical to have a “Plan B.” Less than two months didn’t seem like long enough to prepare for a marathon, so I switched my goal event to a later date. I signed up for another marathon on October 28th, and switched my October 1st event to a half marathon, with the intention to use the event as a training exercise.

Then, a week after resuming running, COVID hit me for the first time. Three plus years after the onset of the pandemic, COVID was the last thing on my mind. I had returned from a vacation in Utah and was suddenly running a fever. I was inside when the fever hit me, resting under a cool A/C. An hour later I had the chills. Then I had a sinus headache, and a sore throat. Then my bones ached.

The next day, I tested positive for COVID.

That was all last weekend. Now I’m hoping that the worst of COVID is behind me and I can resume running. This running cycle has been a stark contrast from the last one. The last one went off without a hitch, whereas this one seems to abide by the saying, “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

There is plenty of time left to develop fitness, however, so I don’t think I’m anywhere near the point of giving up.

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.

Too Much, Too Soon

5 am. A steady rain pattered the concrete around me as I embarked on a morning run. A haze crawled through the downtown area and only the street lamps provided halos of illumination.

I was supposed to perform a 12 minute all-out effort after a 15-30 minute warmup. The day before I felt decent, but had a slight ache in my left knee and felt what could be a nascent shin splint in my right leg.

After a mile of warm-up I realized the pain was only worsening. The shin splint stabbed inside my leg. My left knee was visibly swollen and barely bending. I attempted a few 80 yard accelerations, but was unable to gain full-speed on any of them.

As I attempted one final burst of speed in my 12 minute run, I felt an additional twinge of pain in my collarbone (the one that broke). I knew that I was toast for the day. The body had enough.

In short, I reaped the consequences of attempting too much, too soon. I walked about a mile back to my apartment in the rain, completely unable to run.

How did this happen? Well, I was essentially bedridden for a month, and had attempted runs of one hour or more for 5 days a week immediately upon being cleared by an Orthopedic to run again. Obviously, this was not feasible at all.

It was a difficult experience for me; before the collarbone break I ran almost daily for 8 months with almost no issues. Suddenly it felt like my body was crumbling.

In a sense my body was crumbling. A collarbone break affects a wide range of upper body movements; I’m still severely limited in what I can do with my upper body. The lower body, unable to perform strength exercises, lost a lot of whatever adaptation to running I had accumulated.

By attempting too much running too soon, I invited a host of issues into my lower body. I have no choice but to take a step back.

I’d say that this is a lesson learned, but in truth I’m not sure. Time well tell. It has historically been my nature to overdo things. The blog title is “Maximal Matt,” not “Precautionary Matt.”

Sometimes I wonder if the end of me will come from an attempt to overdo an activity. Maybe it will be a 90-year-old attempt at an ultramarathon or a 100-year-old attempt to bike across the United States. This would be one of the more virtuous ways to go out in my opinion. The way I’ve always seen it is that you don’t truly know your limit until you’ve crossed it.

I crossed my limit the last two weeks; it hurts because as much as I want to attain the distances I feel that I’m capable of running, I know that this phase of running will have to be a slow build from a much smaller starting point.

When gloomy, I look for inspiration in runners who know how to always find joy in the experience. Camille Herron, the 100-mile world record holder for women, always seems to be smiling, even 80 miles into a treacherous trail run. Joy is possible, even in the suffering of it all.

Maybe I can’t run one hundred miles tomorrow, but I can still potentially enjoy the one that I can manage.

An Object in Motion…

An object in motion stays in motion. The opposite is also true.

An inert object struggles mightily to move. The longer the object remains still, the more difficult it becomes to get the object moving again. A rusty old train will cough and wheeze smoke before its slow and lurching movement forward.

I’m finding this to be relevant for myself as I rehab my collarbone. Exercise for me has always been reliant on momentum. Because I always exercised, I always found “maintaining motion” to be relatively easy.

After a few weeks of being sidelined while waiting for my collarbone to heal, I’m finding the thought of movement to seem increasingly tiring. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sleep in?

The body and mind hate changing what they’re accustomed to. I can now see how dangerously easy it would be to forfeit exercise altogether. There’s always an excuse, after all. Work, family, appointments, and life stresses are legitimate reasons to not exercise daily.

I feel a sense of urgency to resume exercise. One can revert the habit of daily exercise surprisingly fast. The human mind will always prefer the easier option. I had never told my mind that an easier option exists, but now it knows that comfort exists in the land of avoidance.

The most difficult part of rehabbing a bone break is waiting to be healed. There is little I hate more than waiting. Days spent waiting for something in the future feel like wasted days. I know I’m close to healing though. Basic chores that were excruciatingly difficult to perform during the first weeks are now becoming easy again.

Hopefully, when I visit the orthopedic on Friday, I’ll be given the “ok” to rid my sling. I’ve been tempted to rid it regardless of the doctor’s orders, but I’ll continue to wait.

I think of the movie Snowpiercer, and the train that continuously races across the world for all of eternity, never to stop, forever on sleek tracks that roar forward. If it stops, its inhabitants die. In some ways I want to be that train.

Swimming Dreams

I had a number of dreams this week in which I had returned to swimming competition at The University of Texas. The plot seems to be the same in each dream: though I’m 37, I somehow find a loophole in the NCAA rules that allows me to compete for a fifth year.

As exciting as that sounds, each of the dreams ends as a nightmare. Either I’ve lost something that I once had—speed, power, or technique—or I’ve returned to a sport that has become unrecognizable. The locker room is full of new faces who want nothing to do with me. The coach has a greater agenda: the young athletes. I have no reason to return.

In the most reason dream, I was trapped in a time loop that forced me to repeat a blown race over and over. It was some sort of purgatory. “I must be dreaming,” I kept telling people within this dream. “No,” they’d insist. “This is reality. There’s no waking up.”

“But I just botched this race,” I’d respond. “Why am I repeating the past?”

And they’d laugh and give me the same cold grin that the bartender ghost in The Shining gives Jack Torrance. “What are you talking about, Matt? This is your first time here.”

I wake and think that the dreams might be a mirror in which I glimpse my fear of aging: of debilitating slowly while the world mercilessly moves on without me.

I have no plans to return to the pool any time soon, but I find myself thinking that memory is an odd thing. NCAA competition was a lifetime ago and memories of the sport return in kaleidoscopic fashion, a mishmash of events and images. How did I dive into the pool for warmup all those years ago? What was I thinking immediately before the race? How did I warm down?

I feel that the everlasting fight with the metaphorical dragon that is time must go on. I can see the bone break in my collarbone when I look in the mirror and can’t help but think, “will it ever be the same?” The truth is that regardless of our bone health, we will never be the same as we were yesterday.

Rather than longingly look backwards, we might as well roll with the punches and prepare for the next adventure.

The Waiting Game

Two weeks after my collarbone break, I find my health status and daily routine mostly the same.

I visited an orthopedic on Friday with hope of better-than-expected news: hope that the bone was healing faster than forecasted, that I would be running in a few days, and that the sling was no longer needed.

That was not the case. The break had not yet reattached and if anything it had displaced a little further. I was relieved that this is typical during the first two weeks, and the displacement was still not significant enough to require surgery. No surgery required yet, at least, but I have to keep resting. I still require the sling, at least for a few more weeks. I am “nowhere near running.”

So, I find myself playing a waiting game. Removed from most physical activity, I’m spending more time reading and writing. I’m trying to focus on the silver lining of the situation: I’m sleeping better, relaxing, and healing. I’m trying to do what I can do well without too much worry over what I can’t do. I’ve been down this road before. Last year ended in the exact same fashion for me.

Though I had initial thoughts that my cycling days might be over, I found myself spending the weekend watching videos of bikepacking trips through mountains and forests. The videos left me envious, motivated, and inspired. Of course I’ll be back on the bike. Falling is a natural part of the process. I’ve had some great adventures and don’t want those to end. There’s something I get by being out in the wild that I cannot find anywhere else. As most bikepackers will tell you, there’s often a search for some deeper meaning at the start of the journey. Whether or not it’s found is pretty irrelevant. Something is found regardless.

There is another silver lining: I am more immersed in my own thought. I’m more attuned to what I want and where I see myself going. I’ll have more vigor when I am finally moving around like my old self. I’ve gained some intentionalism.

As I wait for the bone to heal, I also remind myself that we tend to have short-term memories when it comes to pain. What can seem unbearable in the moment is quickly a distant memory. We can try to recapture the agony, but it’s as though our minds usher the feeling out of our neurons completely.

Eventually this collarbone injury will be a memory too. I’ll be back on a bicycle with recollection that breaking it hurt, but the extent of how badly it hurt will be lost. And maybe that’s for the best. We’d never take another risk again if our minds kept acute memories of every bump and bruise.

Genetic Disposition

I have a proclivity for dangerous activities. It’s probably somewhat genetic. My brother had a serious brain injury via a high-speed longboarding crash. My dad has broken the same bone that I just broke several times via waterskiing and high-speed falls.

I remember learning to snow ski when I was young. After my first lesson, I was supposed to attempt the beginner-level slopes.

“What’s the most dangerous hill here?” I kept asking. “I want to try that,” I insisted. And despite protests, I kept insisting. “Give me a slope that’s steep.”

So I dragged my dad to the top of an advanced slope. Give me one for the pros. Now this will get some speed, I thought. Then I proceeded to crash and roll down the entire course, top to bottom. And I enjoyed it. I finished covered in snow and bruises.

Even at amusement parks I cannot ignore the greatest thrills. I insist on the rollercoaster with the most flips in spite of my own severe motion sickness.

Each of my bikepacking trips ends with me asking, “Now how can we top that?”

A broken collarbone comes with the territory. If anything, maybe I’m lucky to have as few breaks as I do.

I had a difficult moment this morning in which I wanted to take a quick walk outside, but could not physically put my jacket on due to the collarbone break and sling that supports it. I stared, defeated, out my apartment window as a light snow flurry fell and powdered the streets with white.

I was in the same situation last year. I tell myself now that I have to be more vigilant, and I will be. I don’t want to spend every winter in rehabilitation from a crash. I’ll be more wary, I’ll gain more skill, and I’ll hope that this is the last bone break or muscle tear.

Ahead lies more cycling and bikepacking. Colorado is on the horizon. So is Utah. They are magnetic for me because of their sheer unpredictability. Trails that wind both vertically and horizontally, that cut through both mountains and wilderness.

At the end of the day, there is no fun without risk.

A proclivity for danger isn’t always a bad thing… in fact, it only sucks during rehab.

Inertia

Each significant injury I incur is a harsh reminder that the world not only moves unrelentingly fast, but that it is willing to leave behind those who can’t keep up. Deadlines have no care for broken bones. Project managers are too caught up in the maelstrom of bonuses and performance reviews to consider empathy.

Every one of my daily chores is taking longer to complete, but I find some solace in moving slow. I needed to slow down and catch my breath. If it takes five minutes to throw a shirt on, so be it. If it takes an extra ten minutes to prepare a coffee, there is no loss on my inner wellbeing. It is only external forces that weigh.

Today, according to the forecast, is likely the final warm day of the year. I hope to spend some of it outside.

I’m thinking about my initial inclination to change my cycling habits, and my thoughts of selling my bike. As much as my logical mind believes that to be a good idea, my emotional mind fights back. I think of Robert Marchand, the Frenchman who rode a bicycle beyond age 100. I just need to be vigilant and gain a little skill.

I also think about Christopher Nolan’s Batman films, particularly The Dark Knight Rises.

In an epic fight, Bane crushes Batman’s body and soul. Batman’s back breaks and he is left imprisoned, with little hope of ever escaping. It’s Batman’s memory of his past that gets him out of it. “Why do we fall?” He is asked as a child when he almost fatally falls into a bat cave. The answer is obvious. And over time, he heals his back and climbs out of a prison that is considered impossible to escape.

It was a bicycle crash, and a nasty one. But I don’t think that it will prevent me from getting back on the bike.

Full Circle

The Stephen King argument that life, like the universe, moves in a circular and repetitive motion seems to be holding true for me right now.

I boasted that unlike 2022, in which I spent the final part of the year struggling to walk around my apartment neighborhood, I would finish 2023 with the ability to run farther and faster than I ever had.

Then I broke my collarbone in a cycling crash. I now find myself in the same position I was in a year ago. Walking hurts. Standing up hurts. I cannot tie my own shoes. Walking around my apartment complex is a struggle, with every step triggering pain in my collarbone. I realize now that I may spend the remainder of 2023 rehabilitating.

I can, at least, type one-handed.

The aftermath of this crash feels different than the last one. I know my collarbone will heal, as will the hit that I took to my head and hip. Spiritually, though, I feel a little something lost. I look at my bicycle and thoughts of selling it come to mind. The idea is both heartbreaking and relieving. I doubt I will sell it, but it sucks that the mind can maneuver that direction.

Time heals all wounds, they say. It isn’t true though. Ask a motorcyclist with a broken back. The pain exacerbates with time until eventually it is insufferable and crippling. Some wounds are spider venom in the blood: once they enter, they only spread and disintegrate.

I believe this wound will heal, but I do not know what my risk tolerance will be going forward. I know that I’m anxious to run again already. You can only fall so hard on a run.

Maybe I need to revert my thoughts back to the present. Of course the future holds some dread.

For now, it’s sunny and cool in Saint Louis. One day at a time.

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.

Chasing the Personal Best

I had a pretty nasty bike crash last week. I was zipping through downtown and encountered a construction zone near the Convention Center Plaza. I made a left turn for a detour, thinking the detour road would be mostly smooth pavement, only to have my front tire hit a jagged crevice in the tarmac. My bike went over sideways and I crashed on my right side.

Lesson learned: never assume the road ahead will provide a smooth ride.

I slid over the pavement and felt the road peel away the skin on my right leg. My elbow and hip collided against the street with a thud. I knew immediately it wasn’t a light crash. I wished that I had been watching the road more carefully.

I looked around and realized that I was alone on that street. It was the cusp of dawn and the sun’s climb toward the horizon had rendered the streets in shades of lavender and indigo. I levered myself up and attempted to limp back home while carrying my bike. My apartment was only three blocks away. The bike derailleur broke, as did the hanger and chain. The handlebar tape tore up. The bike and I broke together.

I limped home and showered off the blood, then bandaged myself up. I had no anger or regret: the crash already happened and there’s no rewind button on time.

As the hours ticked by, my right elbow went numb and I realized that it was sprained. The sprain was not as severe as the foot injury I suffered a year ago, but I also knew that it would take several weeks to heal. By nightfall, there was almost no mobility in the elbow.

I joked that because the higher powers couldn’t injure my feet while I ran, they decided to hand me the occasional bike crash. We all need setbacks, after all.

Because of the elbow injury, I was unable to bike the rest of the week. So, I ran while maintaining my right arm in a position that was awkward yet comfortable. Each day, a little mobility returned to the arm.

This week was supposed to be my “season ending” running week. I had scheduled a 1600 meter timed run and a 10k run. I wanted to see what progress I had made over the last year, since healing my ankle injury from 2021. It was not ideal to be nursing a bunch of scrapes and bruises, as well as a sprained elbow, this week.

I believe that the body and mind treat all stresses the same: as a gravitational push downward on performance. Whether these stresses are from injury, emotions, or heavy exercise, stresses are essentially quicksand. Stresses are what age us.

My 1600 meter run was Wednesday night and when I showed up at the track to warm up, I felt surprisingly light. I still felt elbow pain but also accepted it as a part of life. Shit happens. Things break and sprain. Sometimes you fully heal, sometimes you mostly heal, and unfortunately, sometimes you just don’t heal at all.

I decided to look for someone in the race that seemed fast and just try to hang with them. I noted a young college-aged male in my group and overheard him saying that he was aiming for some fast times. So, I decided to try and run behind him for as long as I could.

I crossed the first 1600 meters (about a mile) and saw that I ran it in 5 minutes and 20 seconds. That was faster than the fastest 1600 meter run of my life, and I still had another half of the run to go! By my own standards I was flying. I felt fresh and limber. The college guy was just one stride ahead of me. I was keeping up. Everyone else was far behind us.

It wasn’t until the final lap of the 3200 meter run that the college guy pulled ahead by a few seconds. However, I finished the run in 10 minutes and 50 seconds. It was by far the fastest run of my life. A “personal best.”

I shook the college guy’s hand (he went for a fist bump and I awkwardly went for a handshake, being the old fart that I am). I was thankful because it is competition that brings out the best in us. I never would have broken 11 minutes had he not set a good pace for me.

I’m nearing age 37 and appreciate now, more than ever, any sort of personal best time in an athletic event.

The elbow is healing. Maybe when I was 21 I’d feel anger and resentment about my crash. That is the advantage of the late 30’s. Whereas earlier in life there might be a certain paranoia over outcome and control, I’ve finally gotten to a point where I can say, “to hell with it, let’s just roll with the punches.”

My 10k is tomorrow and I think it’ll be fun. I did a 10k in college and my time was 56 minutes. I know I’ll be significantly faster than that. I’ll hit a personal best time, smile, and celebrate with some coffee.

And that’s life. You hit some crashes, you do your best to recover, and you gear up for the next race.

Let’s hope there’s a next race tomorrow.

Workout Recovery and Thoughts on Fun

Amidst a 20 mile Friday morning bike ride, five miles from my destination I crossed paths with a little elementary school boy. He was walking on the neighboring sidewalk. The air was cool and crisp, the wind was bracing, and I was pedaling too furiously too appreciate the full bloom of spring. I’ve crossed paths with the boy before; he usually waves hello.

“Cool bike!” he yelled out to me that morning. “Yeah,” I said. The line was my homage to the movie Dredd. The film’s protagonist and ultimate badass has a moment when his panicked assistant warns him: “Sir, I think he’s going for your gun,” referring to a villain plotting to overtake Dredd. Dredd calmly replies, “Yeah.”

I’ve found my mileage from both cycling and running increasing. The mileage has been enough to tax the body more than usual. I rode most of Friday’s 40 total cycling miles with a high intensity and elevated heartrate. My legs felt like mush Friday night.

I’m nearing age 37. I can assume that I recover pretty fast for my age. I recover fast enough that I can comfortably bike around 200 miles in a week, run more than 30 miles each a week, and still feel pretty fresh (I had two of the best runs of my life on Saturday and Sunday). Then again, when approaching mileage this high, one has to take measures to maximize recovery. Sleep and diet play a more integral role in how I feel the next day.

I’ve stopped my “intermittent fasting.” After that 20-mile Friday morning ride, for example, I needed protein. Intermittent fasting is great for weight loss. While engaged in high endurance activities, however, I find it difficult to manage a time-restricted feeding window.

A final unrelated note: I find myself sitting here on a Monday afternoon and thinking about “fun.” I have fun riding a bicycle regardless of my speed or my effort. I enjoy it enough to find every daily excuse I can for a bike ride. That said, there is an element of danger to it that’s both disconcerting and adrenaline-inducing. I was hit by a car last year. That hit stripped away my naive sense of invincibility. I carry a sense of dread, however small, each time I bike commute on a road. I am a finite being and brutally exposed as mortal on the road. Cyclists die on the road every year. A lot of managing the hobby is therefore also a matter of mitigating risk. This is a tough balance. Going outside at all requires risk, and life’s too short to spend indoors.

I have fun running because it’s a physical activity that, despite my age, I’m constantly improving. Improvement makes anything fun. I’m also 37 and I’d be delusional to think that I’ll constantly improve my running speed forever. Following the inevitable peak, what will I do to remove the monotony of running long distances? I’d need new routes, new trails, and new challenges. I’d need to run in new places, under new elements, and in new terrain. And therefore a sense of fun is aided by, again, an increased sense danger. Running along a mountain is more fun than running on a treadmill (I don’t run on treadmills anyways).

There is a razor’s edge one walks when balancing fun and longevity. I don’t know if we ever walk it perfectly balanced.

All Candles Burn to the Ground Eventually

“All candles burn to the ground eventually.”

This was oddly my first thought upon waking this morning. Shortly after, as my dreams dissolved into a bittersweet nothing, I completed my final physical therapy session. My jumps and hops felt pretty good, as did a brief jog. I hadn’t jumped in five months. I was just happy to be jumping.

I have an at-home therapy plan to work out the last of the joint stiffness/ache/lack of mobility. But for all intents and purposes the ankle is healed. I’m ready for full activity.

Sometimes we all need a little help. I wanted to heal my foot on my own and stubbornly tried. Realizing after months of futility that it wouldn’t happen, I sought a doctor, and later a physical therapist. Healing took a lot out of me. It took time, money, and resources. I am lucky. I realize that.

I think about the potential alternative a lot. When I first felt my body hit the road and felt my ankle twist backwards and then quickly rip sideways, my first thought was that my walking days were over.

My foot doctor said the same: “When I first saw your foot, I thought it was done for, that we’d find bone fragments everywhere and ruptured tendons far out of place. I can’t believe the scans showed it stayed intact.” I’ve had a few low points in life, and the act of dragging myself and my bicycle off the road to a nearby sidewalk was certainly among the lowest. There’s a scar by my knee that gives me chills every time I glance at it.

So I lucked out. I’m back to normal, only five months later, and I don’t take that for granted.

I have mixed opinions on the act of praying. I think it’s somewhat selfish and delusional to think that one vessel is entitled to a personal relationship with a universal creator. Suffering is far too indiscriminate for that and the universe is far too vast to expect attention to a petty problem (or, sadly, even a significant problem). Selfish prayers have contributed to idiots praying for football game wins.

On the other hand there is something meditative about searching inside for what one is seeking, and connecting to a “higher self” (or higher calling) to realize one’s own need for change. That, I think, can contribute to evolution. I see use in that.

I don’t know if it’s a prayer so much as a glance up into the sky and a silent “thank you” echoing through my mind. Endings tend to be anticlimactic and often brutal, but damn that would’ve haunted me if my runnings days ended bloodied and sprawled on the side of a road by a tire store.

My candle will burn out eventually, but today is not that day.

Making Friends With Pain

I declared upon getting hit by a car that I would be running again by October. There has been progress in my ankle’s healing, but unfortunately any significant step forward has been followed by another step backward. I will not be running today, which means that I will not be running before October hits, and even November is looking less feasible.

I think of a quote I read recently, which can be paraphrased as “Make friends with pain and you will never be lonely” (a quote by one of the Leadville 100 Ultramarathon creators I believe). My time as a 36-year-old has been unique, as every step taken has involved pain. Pain and I have acquired something of a loyal relationship—pain just can’t leave me alone, the needy bastard—though I can’t say we mutually appreciate each other. The injury reminds me of an annoying yap dog that follows you everywhere and constantly shits on your favorite rug.

It is easy for me to think to myself, “How the mighty have fallen.” Three years ago I was climbing Eagle’s Nest hill in Vladivostok, Russia, and absorbing the breathtaking coastal panorama and the old naval bases spread over it. A year ago I was swimming with sharks in the Bahamas. Now I am staggering around my apartment building (albeit there have been good and bad hours) before an early morning virtual meeting. I have appreciation for the athletes with ACL tears who must inevitably wonder whether they will ever be the same again.

At the same time, I feel the need to make changes. I know that deep down I have the power to make them, but it will require me to leave my comfort zone, which I am now deeply entrenched in. I wonder, if I can re-learn to walk and run, can I also re-learn to think?

I look around my home and aside from my possessions that assist my hobbies of cycling and running, I see no meaning in any of them. I look outside at the brick walls of an abandoned downtown building and think that, to quote Pink Floyd, I am just another brick in the wall.

When I glance at my plush memory foam mattress, which was bought to provide the best possible sleep comfort, I now only see a heap of polyurethane, a carcinogenic substance used in all memory foam. We breathe in its toxin in our cushion-covered slumber each night. We literally kill ourselves with comfort. And I suddenly despise it.

In the rug beneath my sofa I see a heap of toxic dyes and synthetic materials with chemical adhesives. We put our feet on these plastic rugs... and whatever we touch, we inevitably absorb.

In my attempt to present grandeur to the world, I have poisoned myself.

To end on an optimistic note, it is not too late to change. The ankle injury can be leverage for a sort of rediscovery of myself.

But I have to put aside the need to impress others, as that is the core of my lie.

Setbacks

Yesterday I found myself feeling mentally and physically defeated. It was a somewhat crippling feeling.

I had attempted two bike rides and each was followed by a full day in immense pain. Yesterday, in particular, I struggled to walk. In my growing impatience I want to fight my way to health but must realize that it’s more of a waiting game.

While on the bike I was again hit with sheer terror each time a car passed me. My body cringed and my breathing often halted, as if waiting for the next collision.

I think because I appeared weak, what with my newfound cycling insecurity and the ankle brace, I invited more harassment while on the bicycle than usual. There is a bit of sadism in a lot of people. This is a difficult revelation that growing up provides. A car drove by with its window down and the driver shouted, “Get off the road!” A few moments later an old pickup truck with two men inside revved its engine. “You wanna race?” The driver asked tauntingly.

I focused on the road ahead, but psychologically I knew that I was beaten. People don’t try to diminish you like this when you’re strong, or at least not as often. I wondered what it would take to regain my bravado.

The next morning, to heighten my frustration, my ankle was shot with pain. I attempted a walk to the grocery store in order to buy some wine, but I failed to make it across the street. The ankle quickly gave way. At the street median, I realized that the pain was telling me to stop, that I wasn’t going to make it. I halted at that center concrete island as cars whizzed by in both directions.

“Hell,” I thought. “This is what it’s like to lose.” Simple thoughts, really. I think that physically I could have made it across, but doing so would have cost me more healing time. So I limped back home.

Every day is a new day. The ankle is better today, and I’m glad that I didn’t write this blog yesterday, as it would have been much more nihilistic. I will have to accept inertia for awhile.

I still believe that I’ll be back soon. But I’ll have to accept the waiting game.

It is a tough balance. Time heals all wounds. But we are only allotted so much time.

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.

When Things Fall Apart

It took one hit from a car while I was riding my bike. In addition to my torn up ankle, I lost some things that I valued. Material things, but things I valued nonetheless. Regardless, I somehow managed to emerge with fewer injuries than most would imagine possible.

My favorite sandals were torn to shreds. I realize that I implanted too many human emotions into those sandals, but they were with me for thousands upon thousands of miles (or kilometers). They were strapped to my feet through much of my previous two trips through the Blue Ridge Mountains, over most Saint Louis city streets, through the Shawnee National Forest, through local parks and into countless new neighborhoods and shops. In a flash they were shredded beyond repair. Perhaps because of their minimalist nature, they felt like an extension of me.

My bicycle got banged up, but I was just informed that the repairs are complete. Both wheels were destroyed, the handlebar tape was ripped from the bars due to the impact with the pavement, and there were some issues with the crankset and drivetrain that I didn’t fully understand. I am lucky that the bike was repairable!

My shirt was ripped up on the backside from the impact of my body hitting the pavement and sliding a bit. It was a shirt made of merino wool, nature’s greatest performance fabric. Merino naturally fights bacteria and regulates body temperature. The merino sheep are cooled by their wool when it’s hot and insulated when it’s cold. Merino is precious, but also delicate. Road abrasion will beat it every time.

My left shoulder was bruised to the point that I could barely lift my arm over shoulder level for three days. However, it has since healed. This was the first point of impact.

My left hip, the second point of impact, was similarly bruised. And similarly, it has healed over the course of the last two weeks.

There are several cuts on my right knee. One of them will scar. To be honest, I never felt pain there. I think it was because all of the pain that I was allowed from the hit went straight to my right ankle.

The right foot has severe sprains. Two weeks in and the bruises on this foot are still visible. There is a particularly nasty bruise on the sole that did not even manifest for several days. I am icing the foot constantly and trying to walk a little farther each day. The doctor estimated it will be about three months before it fully heals. I believe that it will be much less time. I heal quickly; I will be running before October. I am already walking with a much more natural gait, albeit also with the help of a brace.

Things fall apart and it can happen in a flash. It is a reminder of the danger in placing too much value on your stuff. Your stuff has one commonality with you: it won’t last forever.

I am lucky that this time, all of me will heal. Eventually there will just be one tiny scar on the knee to serve as memory of this hit. The body will heal.

There is a cheesy line from the Papa Roach song “Scars”. “The scars remind me that the past is real.” Simple but true, literally and figuratively.

When I flick up my tongue in my mouth, I can feel the scar along my gumline from which a tumor was once pulled out of my head. It is the only evidence that such a mass ever existed. I think there is beauty in scars, as there is beauty in calluses and birthmarks.

The cut on the knee is conveniently next to a scar that I attained when I was about ten. At ten, I loved speed (I still do). That was why I ran: to feel my top speed. So one day I ran down a sand dune in New Mexico at full speed, but tripped near the bottom and went tumbling into the nearby street.

The current cut happened about 25 years later and was a little less exhilarating.

The body may serve as a museum of the past, whereas material things just get tossed in a dumpster. Sandals replace sandals and bike wheels replace bike wheels. I guess there are knee and hip replacements out there, but such a transplant is rare.

As Clive Barker puts it, each person is a book of blood.

Today’s Injuries and Tomorrow’s Healing Process

I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle today. It was the second time in my life that a car hit me while I rode a bicycle. The first time was in college, about 16 years ago.

I had a long streak of days without an injury, and was beginning to think again that I was invincible. This is usually how the universe gets notice that you’re overdue for a little pain. The universe can only stand so much pride before it says, “Okay Virgo dude, enough with the cockiness!”

I had a nightmare the night before that had eerie parallels to my collision today, though I was driving a car in the nightmare instead of riding a bicycle. In the dream I had pulled to the side of an Interstate to answer a phone call. When I drove back into the Interstate lane, another car roared out of nowhere and hit me at an intensity that sent my car tumbling over the edge of the Interstate, which was about a hundred feet above ground.

As my car crashed into the grassland below, I realized that I had a “Rewind” button for time itself. It was sort of like the remote in the Adam Sandler film Click, but it could backtrack time when necessary (how wonderful if we could all have such a remote for the things we say and do!). I aimed to rewind my life in hopes that I could do so before my death. Maybe I could backtrack an hour and re-route my drive home.

However, I accidentally hit the “Pause” button on my time remote, not the “Rewind” button, and I did so too late. I hit “Pause” at the very instant the collision eradicated me from existence. So there I was, trapped in eternal darkness, a millisecond before my final demise, too weak to hit rewind. Time itself paused and trapped me in that instant. I was in a crouched position and completely immobile. I couldn’t move and all I could see was darkness. I was in a purgatory, stuck between life and death, between free fall and collision. It was not the first time I’ve had a night terror involving purgatory.

I woke up from the dream screaming. It was a legitimate night terror that had convinced me that I was in hell.

But there I was, awake. Wow was I glad to be alive. Fast forward a few hours.

I was riding my bicycle home from the UPS store a few minutes before noon. I stayed within the bicycle lane and wore a helmet. It seemed like it all happened at once. A car swerved in front of me, only yards ahead of me, and then maneuvered to turn right onto a side street. The car decelerated suddenly for the turn, too suddenly for me to use my brakes. The driver was likely texting and driving and had no idea I existed.

I crashed into the side of the car, hitting it with my left ribs. I ricocheted backwards and hit the road with my right ankle first, then the rest of my body. My ankle collided and twisted against the road at an unnatural angle, and I knew immediately that it would be a pretty significant injury. My bicycle then crashed on top of me.

An agonizing pain immediately swept through my ankle. I waited there, sprawled on the road, expecting the car to stop and return to where I was and perhaps call for help.

The car drove off.

I knew my ankle was in bad shape because I’ve had some significant injuries, including bone breaks, before.

I was about to give up on humanity, but I heard voices calling me, asking me if I was okay. A family (a father, wife, and daughter) rushed to my aid. I told them that I was fine, as I hadn’t hit my head, the most important of my body (Virgo, remember?). Thanks in large part to the adrenaline, I slowly managed to stand up and limp off the street.

The family asked to drive me to the medic. No, I said, I’m fine. I think I can walk home. Don’t mind the scrapes. They’re just flesh wounds.

We didn’t manage to get the license plate of the car that hit me. That was unfortunate. But people who didn’t know me tried to help me. I’ll remember that. It just takes one. We aren’t all rotten.

My shoes got destroyed from the collision. That was unfortunate too. My bike wheels got bent out of shape and will need replacement. That too is unfortunate. My shirt got torn to shreds from when my back scraped the road. Hey, like the other things I mentioned, that’s unfortunate. I liked the shirt, shoes, and bike wheels. But they are things. Things can be rebuilt.

I was mostly worried about the ankle. Walking is everything to me. Walking is life. Movement is life. I use the word “love” selectively, but I love being mobile, navigating, and thinking while on my feet.

With the adrenaline surging through me, I somehow managed to limp three blocks back to my apartment. I can walk, I thought. And thank God for that.

The ankle swelled up over the next few hours and I lost all mobility in the foot. It was not long before the adrenaline wore off and the pain flooded in. Any pressure on the foot caused agonizing pain. I decided a visit to Total Access Urgent Care was warranted.

I got some X-Rays. The muscle ligaments in the foot and ankle are severely sprained on both sides. It might take a few months to fully heal. But my foot isn’t broken.

It could’ve been so much worse.

Some time with an ankle brace is a blessing. I am fortunate. All in all, I’m in good spirits.

It sucks that it happened just before my birthday, and it sucks that I’ll probably be sitting on my ass for the next few days.

But my bike will get repaired. My foot will heal. I’ll walk and run again. I’m glad for that. I don’t know what I’d do if those abilities were removed from me.

The foot seems like a nice metaphor for life and growing up, and what it takes to maintain integrity and goodness and go out into the world and just be you in spite of those who will despise who you are to the core.

Sprained, but not broken. Swollen, but not torn. Willing to stand up when others are willing to run you down with a much bigger machine than the one you own.

I’m relieved that by chance things did not go worse than they did. I landed at what I’d consider a pretty lucky angle. I’m also grateful that my partner was willing to drive me to the doctor and look after me when it wasn’t at all necessary.

I’ll remember this birthday for awhile.

I’ve got a nice foot brace. Good news: it fits within my sandals!