Upon a Pillory

"Upon a pillory - that al the world may see, A just desert for such impiety."

What flashed through my mind as I was falling was the scene in GoldenEye, wherein the evil henchman Boris, thinking that he was finally victorious, yells, “Yes! I am invincible!” Of course, Boris gets his just deserts immediately afterwards when a tank of liquid nitrogen spills over him and his building crashes down.

So it was on that day in March, when a dear and longtime cycling friend, Bob, fell hard in front of me after tangling with another rider during a fast group ride. I remember thinking that perhaps Bob might continue sliding down the road and out of my line and that I might avoid running him over.  But no, I went over the top of him, thinking of Boris and my 26 years of hard group rides with nary a mishap and only a handful of humorous close calls.  I awoke flat on my back, unable to sit up or move my right arm.

My bike was fine, thanks.

It might be hard to be sympathetic when a person injures himself having fun, getting his jollies and some exercise goofing off with his friends while avoiding house and yardwork on a lovely and calm weekend morning. To be sure, it’s a first world problem. But the pain, confusion and the sense of loss afterwards is the same whether it is caused by throwing hay bales or swinging a tennis racket.

So, it came to me, as I was falling and breaking my shoulder in about four places, that my self-confidence, bordering on arrogance, from having ridden with professional teams, from having worked for a bike company, from having never fallen in 26 years of cycling, from my acquired feeling that “It will never happen to me. I’m too good at this,” had finally triggered some serious karma.

Well, I am more than just humbled. There is a lot going on here beyond a cosmic course correction. To quote from the internet, “Athletes react to injuries with a wide range of emotions which may include denial, anger, sadness and even depression. An injury often seems unfair to anyone who has been physically active and otherwise healthy.” Yep, I have experienced all of that. In my case, I had envisioned an elaborately active retirement of fun, biking, hiking, motorcycling, fly fishing, climbing and all manner of exploring. All of this seems now to be only a dim statistical cloud of maybes as opposed to a glowing fantasy to daydream about during my time toiling away in an office. I do know that it is hard to maintain a positive attitude because I have nearly constant pain, and activity makes it worse. My recovery will likely take the better part of a year. The bubble is officially burst.

I am surprised at how mentally fragile I am right now. I never realized how much I depended upon being physically fit and connected to and accepted by other cyclists. I was proud that I was as strong as cyclists half my age. I thought I was mentally tough from all of the suffering in the saddle.  But now tears appear easily. Staying focused is hard.  I don't enjoy my other hobbies as much.  It is clear that my sense of myself was not balanced and this has magnified my sense of loss.

Now, three months after surgery, I can sometimes find small victories during my workouts.  I notice the good days and ask for help on the bad days.  I’m trying to sleep more. I will schedule some psychotherapy to reduce my anxiety about returning to active life. I should get better. Who knows?

There are some things that I replay. While I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive, another long time cycling friend, Dave, held my hand the entire time I was lying on the pavement. I don’t remember what he said when I said "I am really broken.” But I will not forget that he kept me from freaking out. The gang surrounded me to protect me from traffic. People stepped up. Bob was in anguish about me going down. For a bunch of testosterone-crazed, coffee-fueled scofflaws with unnaturally big legs and bad tans, I am reminded that my friends are good people first.

Someday soon, Bob and I will go for my first post-surgery ride. We have talked about how important this is. It will be different. It will be slow. It will be uncomfortable. But it will happen.

I have understood from the beginning of this process that my life will never be quite the same. But it will be right.