Dedicated to the many cyclists who have been killed in Boulder these last couple of months who can never share their road to getting back in the saddle.
You’re spinning out the legs for your race the next day. You’ve done a few efforts but are about to start some one minute efforts in zone 4. You’re in your happy place. The bike is where you feel at peace. It’s the one place you feel safe and at peace with yourself. It’s the place where you work out all of your problems. It’s the place you celebrate the victories of life. Yeah, some days you get a flat or have tired legs. Some days you get rained on or you develop a saddle sore.
But being in the saddle is who you are. It defines you. It makes you a better person. You ride your bike because you love it in a way that you could never love anything else.
You stop at the light. It turns green. You start pedaling again and are back up to speed.
You see a car.
Blackness.
You wake up in an ambulance scared with no idea where you are or how you got there. You have no memory that you rode your bike that day.
You remember a beach or was it a wheat field?
Now you hear distant voices.
You feel pain. “Where am I?”, you whimper.
You have a face in your mind, a name you repeat over and over…
And then darkness again.
separated shoulder
Hitting head/shoulder first into a car at 28.2 mph is not how you envisioned the end of your season, the end of your 2016 goals. It’s not how you envisioned your next life chapter. You had so many races left, so many bike rides, travel plans and career plans.
Luna cuddling
But suddenly, the only thing that matters is healing and making a slow progression to the person you used to be.
In a matter of seconds your life is changed. Although, I have little memory of it now (thankfully I wrote notes to myself in my phone), here’s how I survived week 1:
- Celebrate the little things– It’s ok if finally pooping is the highlight of your day. Or week. Yay Vicodin.
- Keep the anger away– Feeling angry won’t help you heal. Anger felt by your cycling buddies and family isn’t healthy either. It’s better to embrace that fact that you ARE ALIVE and your injuries are not worse.
- Let people show they care– It’s not the time to be stubborn. Let him wash the blood from your hair, let her comb your hair. If mom wants to mop your floors, let her. It’s a beautiful thing to have people who love you.
- Take your concussion seriously– That means maybe the phone interviews aren’t a good idea. For now, give up all of that texting, thinking about memories, loud noises, multi-tasking and adding numbers. Your brain is in pain. It will function slowly. If you don’t relax, you’ll get confused, tired and angry.
- Wash your armpits– I couldn’t believe how bad I smelled. Take the time and energy ( and help from others) to change your clothes and put on deodorant. It WILL make you feel better and like you aren’t rotting away
- Forgive yourself when your body/ mind aren’t working– Mixing your medical appointments up, miscalculating the distance to the shelf, walking super slow, blurry vision, suddenly crying,not being able to put your socks on, stopping mid-sentence and feeling like you can’t remember anything, . It’s frustrating but don’t get down on yourself.
- It’s ok to be freaked out be cars– What you experienced was traumatic. Even being in a car may scare you. You may feel like there’s going to be a crash at any given moment. That’s where I am at today. I don’t know what will happen when I can ride a bike again but don’t be ashamed if you have anxiety.
Most importantly, don’t let fear stop you from love.
Johnathan washing out blood
My mom making me smile again
COCOA ELITE sending me great stuff!
I’m fortunate that I can even write this.
I feel fortunate for the immense amount of love and support I have received. The kind words, the flowers, cards, visits from friends and gifts from cycling sponsors. There are not enough thanks I could ever give in return.
I want to thank the man, Jim, who was at my side 10 seconds after the crash holding my head\neck and taking care of me while I lie on the double yellow bleeding. There are no words to express my gratitude.
Lastly, thank you Johnathan for washing blood off me for days, learning a pony tail, convincing me I wasn’t in line in Disney world, convincing me that I was still pretty, dressing me and loving me.
Grow.Fuel.Perform 
Thanks so much for this, and all your face book posts!
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Hi Tarah,
My friends Julie and Greg introduced me to you blog a few days ago saying you reminded them of me. I’ve been hit by a car while riding twice, lucky girl aye? The first time was not as traumatic as the second. November 9, 2016 on my commute home from work on a road that isn’t bike friendly but a mere 900 yards away from safer roads I was hit from behind by an 84 year old woman at 40 mph. There are no skid marks so she obviously never saw me. I have traumatic amnesia and don’t remember anything from the accident nor the first few days in the ICU. I almost died. Severe internal bleeding, shattered spine, pelvis, shoulder and clavicle. I also had traumatic brain injury. The different stages of recovery are exhausting. The training I received from Spaulding Rehab taught me how to read and write again then I continued with speech therapy as an outpatient and finally graduated a couple days ago. The brain is the slowest healing organ of the body and the things that worked for me were to simply be okay with simplicity. My life before was constant motion, physically and mentally. Slowing down was never an option and if done I felt like a failure. I also knew my bike ride to/from work needed tweeking but my route was faster so a compromise was not an option. I had normalized the dangers i.e., 3000 pound cars going by me at 40 mph so close I could touch their doors but there was no way anyone could tell me to change, not even my adoring supportive husband of 12+ years.
I’m finally able to walk and even ride now. The first time I was able to ride I thought I would feel like I used to but the realization was obvious immediately. My body is not the same and it will take time to feel powerful again. What the bike gave me in freedom and independence before the accident was gone. I can’t power up the hills or ride with Julie and Greg on some amazing 75 mile Deer Creek Canyon loop, yet. I’m also a big rock climber and was leading 5.10 trad before the accident and now can barely get up 5.7 on a top rope. I can see the moves but can’t perform them and there is nothing anyone can say that will make me feel better; as a matter-of-fact their words of encouragement are mere cliches to me. No one knows the barometer of how I feel and if you ask me, some days, I can’t tell you either. I learned the fundamentals of meditation recently and asked myself, when is the last time you did nothing or put importance of the present moment? I was always thinking ahead before the accident, planning my next adventure. The simplicity of silence at the brain rehab center was something I yearned for every weekend, which is why I would disappear to the mountains after work. It would end too soon and back to reality I’d go. Work, family, training, cooking, cleaning, reading social media smut and getting ready for my next adventure so I could unplug only to come back and plug in. Being around me was exhausting because I’d never quit.
One last story for you. The first thing I remember at the ICU was looking up and seeing my mom. I was intubated so couldn’t speak but I tried. She handed me a notepad and pen and all I could do was draw circles because of the brain injury. I remember being very frustrated that I couldn’t talk to her but she taught me the sign language alphabet when I was a kid so I signed, “I’m hot” over and over. I was told this was day 5 of my 19 day stay in the ICU. I forgot 5 days of my life and the first person I remember is my mom. This was a rebirth and like a new baby that knows it’s mother but can’t communicate the mother knows what it needs. I heard her say, “You were badly hurt, but you’re going to be okay.” I felt comfort. I felt safe with her by my side. She washed the blood out of my hair and my hair was so entangled it had to be cut and she cut it. She took care of me as a baby and 40 years later, she cared for me again.
I don’t have advice for you as I don’t like when others offer their advice for me. You are sharing your story and perhaps this is a small way to heal. I wrote to Julie after I read this section of your blog that I thought you were very hard on yourself and wondering if you’re not able to go as hard physically and therefore being hard on yourself emotionally? Being genuine to that fire and desire, mentality and drive will help you climb this metaphorical mountain.
Your blog has encouraged me to write. Surviving a near death experience was a lesson of what truly is important in my life. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you so much for sharing. I would love to talk more with you. I have your email address and will send you an email!
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