I found out today that the emotional scars from being hit my a car at Rouge Roubaix are going to last a lot longer than the physical ones that are visibly fading. This morning, I went to the orthopedic doc for a follow-up visit. Everything’s healing about like he’d expect, but he does want me to go to some physical therapy in order to take care of the knots in my right glute, quad, and hamstring muscles. No big deal.

I left to doctor’s office to run another errand- go to the William Sonoma Outlet and get a new 13″ saute pan. On the way, I stopped at Starbucks. I got my coffee and was on the way back out to the car. The parking lot was super busy and, at that location, is always kind of a clusterufck. There was a guy in a Taurus partially behind my car while he waited on another car to leave so he could take its spot. As I was walking around towards the back of his car, I dropped my keys. I bent down to pick them up, and as I began to stand, suddenly, there was a Taurus bumper/rear fender in my face & bumping my arm. It was just enough of a nudge for me to spill coffee on his car and my arm.

Before you get upset about people not paying attention (again), I have to defend the guy a little- he’d seen me walking towards the back of his car at “getting stuff done” pace. Then, when he went to back up to let the other car out, he thought I was already clear of his car… not squatting down in his blind spot. Honestly, I could have easily made the same mistake myself, so I can’t possibly be mad at him. He had his window down and was visibly freaked out when I jumped up and gasped as the car made contact with me.

The fact that it was an honest accident (rather than someone being incredibly negligent and not paying attention) didn’t prevent me from having a nervous breakdown once I was inside my car. All of the memories of how terrifying it was to feel like I was at the mercy of an unstoppable mechanized deadly weapon came flooding back into my head. I sobbed for a solid 5 minutes like I did back when I made this post about losing hope in humanity. Like that post, I took a photo, too, but… eh… it’s bad.

I couldn’t stop and had to go home to pull myself together without running my errand to William Sonoma. I just wanted to stay home and hide, but I eventually forced myself to complete my mission a little while later. Retail therapy.

I’ve had a lot of people say that I’m brave for posting stories like this. You know, if I only posted the awesome things that happen during my quest for cycling glory, this blog would be a lie. This is a significant hurdle to overcome in my journey… one that I’m obviously not anywhere near being over just yet. It’s not the first or last (though hopefully, it’s the worst). Posting here has been a good outlet for me to get these things out of my head when they happen, and I appreciate you all listening.

Commence to rambling…

Like I mentioned in my last post, my weekend training wasn’t the usual long rides & intervals. Next weekend, whether I’m ready or not, the race season starts with the Ouachita Challenge. I did go on some nice recovery rides- Saturday, I squeezed one in before my favorite yoga class, and Sunday, I joined up with the Memphis Hightailers afternoon group ride. Combined with lots of foam rolling, my legs are feeling better from Friday’s cold & wet efforts.

Saturday night, we watched a special about Bradley Wiggins called a Year in Yellow (it’s a full-length documentary, and you can see it on youtube here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzmXvHHQzcs). It’s good- it shows the usual drama and triumph behind any great athlete’s journey to winning something like The Tour. However, the part that caught me off guard was something that Wiggins’ wife said about him early in the video. When asked to describe Bradley, she quickly asked back- “Which one?” To her, there were two different men- bike racer Bradley and normal person Bradley. Bike Racer Bradley is a “wanker” (I’m pretty sure that’s what she called him- they actually bleeped it out). He’s selfish, short tempered, doesn’t care about his family, etc. Normal Bradley is, well, a nice guy and a good father. Like a normal person.

I realize I’m not training for the Tour de France (hell, I don’t even get a paycheck yet), but this struck me because I’ve dealt with the same feelings. “Normal” me is kind, caring, and somewhat of a mommabird to those around me. However, when the goal to become as physically and mentally strong and focused as possible takes over your life, you can start to withdraw from those around you. I’ve struggled with it a lot- especially since I’ve quit working and turned my entire focus towards training and recovery. Training like it’s your job can make you feel like you’re unable to deal with everyday life and people. I don’t know if all pro/wannabe pro cyclists experience the same thing, but since hearing that comment from Wiggins’ wife, I take comfort in knowing it’s NOT just me.

I’m not saying I’m not happy with what I’m doing. Not in the least- I love doing this, and the gains I’ve made since I’ve stopped working have reinforced that as a good decision. Something about it, though, makes me want to hide from all of life’s other annoyances and responsibilities. It’s gotten worse since I was hit by the car at Rouge. Since I’m trying to make this my job (or at least get to where I can stop paying to participate in my expensive hobby), I can’t just quit for a while to let my fears subside. I can’t hide in a group. I can’t blow off training rides just because they make the joint between my pelvis and my ass ache as long as it’s fixable afterwards with some ice and ibuprofen. Whether or not I’m terrified of rearward-approaching vehicles or losing hope in humanity because no one cares about anyone else, as long as my body is physically able, the proverbial show must go on.

I choose to do that because I love bike racing. If I didn’t, there’s no way I’d willingly put myself through that sort of car-induced mental torture or participate in rides like the one on Friday. It’s just that this is harder than I expected- in all sorts of ways. I’m constantly amazed at what my body is capable of handling with the additional rest and recovery time, but that just means that the training is harder and more exhausting. No matter how much it hurts or how much I torture my brain with it, I like it, and I want more (I’m pretty sure that Bradley Wiggins would say the same thing). It’s just that kind, caring, nurturing, “normal” Andrea is not as readily available while that’s happening.

Last night, I heard from Matt that a couple of pretty fast guys (local hero John King and used to be local hero but transplanted to Colorado Russ Griffin) were going out for a slow & steady long ride in the morning. I had a similar ride on my training schedule, so I figured I’d join them and add a little to the end if I needed any more saddle time.

When I met them this morning, it was actually a group of 8 at that point- a mix of all ages and abilities. Under sun and blue skies, we rolled out of the city limits north towards Shelby Forest (gorgeous, rolling old growth forest in the north end of the County). Rain was in the forecast, but at that point, it was nice, and everyone chatted and randomly pedaled harder than easy up some of the hills, only to coast at the top as the group caught up.

Two hours later, the rain had rolled into the Forest. At the top of one of the steep riverbluff hills, we stopped to regroup, and a majority of the riders decided they’d turn back early (you know- family obligations and whatnot). So, John, Russ, and I headed back into the forest in the rain to put in our allotted amount of work.

There’s something beautiful about riding with other fast, experienced riders. It’s quiet-  you avoid potholes early rather than yell and swerve about them, there’s less droning of freehub bodies, and no one is breathing harder or shifting more than they need to. Everything is intuitive. You read each others body language and decide on a pace without verbal discussion. For a while, Russ and John pulled me around. It wasn’t that I was having a hard time, it’s just that they’d silently decided that it’d be faster that way.

Once we were headed back towards home (still in the rain), we started to share the work in a continuously rotating paceline. We were cold, totally saturated, and every time you’d rotate from one rear wheel to the other, you’d have to pass your face through a roostertail or two of road water. On top of that, I found the sound of most cars approaching us from behind in the rain to be utterly terrifying. Not only did we share the work, we were equal partners in misery as well.

As we came back into civilization, we exchanged our “what gratuitous act are we going to do to warm up when we get home” plans and joked at how our hands had turned into useless ice flippers. I think we also shared the tiny feeling of smugness that, while others turned back or stayed inside today, in fulfilling our “local hero” obligations, we’d ridden through it like it didn’t matter and come out faster and a little tougher on the other end.

That ride was the perfect end to the pre-Ouachita buildup. I have a rare two-recovery-day weekend, so I’m going to enjoy some yoga and lots of time with the foam roller trying to encourage my right glute to continue unknotting itself. I’m feeling cautiously optimistic about Ouachita, so hopefully the healing process stays on track.

In an ironic twist of events, my legs have somehow disconnected from my aching sacrum ans well as my brain’s sudden meltdown into a quivering heap of lost hope in humanity. During the past two days of training, my system has done a 180 from it’s normal function of brain not listening to whining legs. It’s like the exact opposite of this:

I appreciate everyone’s concern and suggestions in my previous post. Group rides are great, and the atmosphere of the one I went on last week was incredibly accepting and fun. They’d be an excellent way of getting back into road riding with less worry about drivers “not seeing me.” However, a coach/training plan isn’t usually compatible with a group ride, and, as long as I’m physically able to do so, I have to set my meltdowns aside and get on the HTFU train to improving my fitness.

So, my legs have taken over like they’ve got a mind of their own. It’s akin having Sargeant Hartman in my quads. I’m hoping that when the Ouachita Challenge rolls around in a little less than 2 weeks, I’ll be healed enough that I can put them to good use and negotiate the steep and rocky parts of the Ouachita Trail. If not, I’m gonna have a bad time. If it all works out, I can pull off a win at a race where I’ve had plenty of bad luck in the past. Last year’s winner, Carey Lowery, is not on the entry list, but Jessica Rawlings, who beat me by minutes last year, is going to be there.

In an attempt to not have repeated breakdowns while road riding, yesterday I took to waving and saying “thank you” to every driver that took care by slowing down, giving space, and waiting until the road ahead was clear when passing. It took my mind off of the other 50 that passed too close and/or fast on blind hills & whatnot. Focus on the positive, right?

Training this weekend was, physically speaking, not a failure. I’ve still got sacroiliac pain, but, from what I understand, that sort of thing just takes a long time to heal. I’m going in for another checkup with the orthopedic doctor on Wednesday, and I plan on talking to him to make sure that everything I’m experiencing is normal with my sort of injury.

Unfortunately, as my physical scars are fading slowly, the psychological  impact of my accident is beginning to sink in. On Saturday, I went out for a road ride. I cried no fewer than 5 times. Why? People were being careless- they’d pass a little too close, or going into a blind turn or hill. One driver buzzed me at ~50mph because he/she wanted to pass when there was oncoming traffic. After the initial 5 seconds of adrenaline, I pulled off the road into a heap of snot and tears.

None of these things are atypical for any road ride, and, aside from the buzzing incident, none actually put me into much danger. However, I’ve become acutely aware that a majority of people in existence just don’t care about anyone other than themselves. It’s ugly, and it makes me lose hope that I won’t get mowed down again because someone is too wrapped up in their own agenda to actually give a damn about the well-being of others. It’s like this quote posted by one of my Facebook friends about motorcycles:

My tattoo artist, Joe Stamp, is still in the hospital because someone who wasn’t paying attention pulled out of a sidestreet and hit him while he was riding his motorcycle. He just had to have the lower half of one of his legs amputated (you can donate to his insane medical bills via this link: https://fundrazr.com/campaigns/7SCd6. I’m guessing the amount that’s on there right now will pay for 1 or two days of his really long hospital stay, so chip in if you can)

At one point, about 5 miles from my house on the way home, I actually called for someone to come and pick me up. I almost couldn’t bear to think about any other human beings acting in a manner that would put other human beings lives in danger. However, a few minutes after I made the call, I texted back… (warning, I used the “F” word)

So, I rode home. I didn’t cry again until I was back.

Sunday, I did a recovery ride mostly in Shelby Farms, and today, I’ve got a trainer workout (indoors). Tomorrow, I’ll get back out and try again. It’s all I can do at this point.

Things are slowly getting back to normal for me.

Earlier this week, I had a meeting with an insurance agent from Progressive, the insurance company of the driver who hit me. Up until this point, I’d received a lot of advice and admonishments about how to handle the wreck/insurance situation. Everything from, “Call a lawyer and sue everybody for huge sums of $$” (most of facebook) to “You’ve got no reason to meet with them. Don’t do it” (my dad), and lots of people saying that I needed to be on my toes because I would be pressured to sign a settlement immediately and for less than what I “deserved.”

Thankfully, my experience was quite the opposite of any of those things.

The agent I met with was kind and genuinely concerned for my well-being. I know what some of you are thinking- I’m being naive. No, not really. She was, by far, the nicest and most helpful person I’ve dealt with (and she felt bad about asking if I was wearing dark clothing in our previous phone conversation). I’ve got a pretty good handle of when people are blowing smoke. So, it looks as if everything is in motion for getting my medical, equipment, and P&I (pain and inconvenience, which I had no idea even existed) taken care of, with her help.

As for riding, I’ve been getting back into it slowly. I can pedal at a moderate pace without any pain or discomfort. However, any hard efforts make my sacroiliac joint ache. According to the ortho doc I visited last week, everything is structurally intact, but there’s lots of soft tissue bruising. He also said that getting back to my normal activity at a rate that’s not uncomfortable is the best therapy for my type of injuries.
I did manage to get out with a group ride last night. I joined up with the Memphis Hightailers for an early-evening loop around Germantown. Being in a group feels a little safer to me for the time being, though I’m determined to not let solo-ride traffic anxiety deter me from getting on with training in the near future. I did make a “security blanket” purchase last week- Cygolite Hotshot 2W
I actually bought 2. Just in case. In case of what? I can’t really tell you, but so far it’s come in handy for when Matt went out for an evening ride while I was using light #1.

So, the machine is slowly winding up again. Hopefully I’ll be back at cruising altitude in the not too distant future.

I’m discovering another bad part of getting hit by a car is not only the actual injuries, but also the fact that you get to tell your story of “this is how some lady wasn’t paying attention and could have killed me” to no fewer than 5 insurance company employees in the days that follow. They are generally nice, but they ask loaded questions like, “were you wearing dark colored clothing?” and the like. I’m not afraid to admit, yesterday, all of the phone calls made me cry a little in the name of feeling sorry for myself.

Then again, I’m glad I’m not dead or paralyzed.

I’m relatively certain that I’ve found most of the damage to my equipment. The most glaring of the damage is that the steertube of my fork is cracked…

Which essentially means that, at the ripe old age of 3 rides and 95 miles, the CAAD10 is currently unusable (frame integrity is yet to be determined- there is a lot of paint damage, and I’m taking it to the shop to check the alignment today). So, I’m once again without a road bike.

Prettymuch all of the rest of my equipment resembles my body- sliding down the road at however many mph we were accelerated to via bumper of a car is not kind to anything.

On a more positive note- I used my spare non-training time yesterday to make springrolls! An international market opened up near my house last year, so I’m trying to find new stuff to cook that involves interesting ingredients that I can find there. Now that I know the basics of the spring rolls, I’m gonna try some other rice-paper wrapped stuff. They have really good seafood up there, so I made these with gulf shrimp, spicy rice noodles, cucumbers, and carrots…