In it’s own way, a gift.
The thoughtful notes and calls do not go unnoticed, although they may take a bit to respond to, and you may wonder what I have been doing with my time. Shouldn’t a quick response be easy?
Hit the deck hard, and then try to think. Better yet, I don’t reccomend that in the least. Needless to say, I have collected these notes and calls and read them , and reread them when I am feeling low, or just in need of a little pick up. I am not allowed much coffee during this rehab, so I will take whatever extra jolt I can get. I am learning the caffeine of human kindness for the soul is much more effective then the caffeine for the jitters. Although I still appreciate and treasure my single cup of coffee a day.
Speaking of coffee though, Brian sent me some amazing coffee from the DoubleShot Coffee Company in Tulsa, OK, and I would highly recommend this! I have been thoroughly enjoying it!
Thank you for that. Thank you for the notes and calls.
One of my favorite thoughts from these is:
This time to sit is not wasteful, but in its own way, a gift.
I have pondered this statement for quite some time now. Could it be true? Maybe. I am still slow moving, and haven’t been able to be that productive yet. My brain isn’t functioning as efficient as it once did, and I tend to go into a daze staring out the window thinking of all the things I would rather be doing. I don’t want to sit here. I don’t want to rest. Rest is for the weak. Yet, I find myself with no other option but to sit.
Is it a gift? I will let you know when I come up with the answer.
For now, I am contemplating discovering new hobbies. Should I knit? Cross-stitch? Or maybe I should start making jewelry? There is a whole world out there that is going under discovered by me right now. There is only so much sight-seeing I can do from behind this computer screen. However, I am not wasting this time, I will turn into into a gift. A gift of relaxation, if I can stand it. A gift of self-discovery. A gift of thought and prayer. I will not waste this time, but I will look forward to the future. A future where I will be stronger and more motivated than ever (which is scary thought in itself). Each day we have on this earth is a gift. Yes, a gift. Even if we are stuck in bed, it is still a gift to be here.
PodiumInsight.com
“My grace is sufficient for you. For My power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Cor 12:9
A Video Dedicated to the US National Women’s Team
Check out the video about the Giro Donne.
This seems like a world away. Sigh.
Surveying.
I figured it is about time to sit up in bed and survey the situation. Can I move? Not really. But am I alive? Most definitely.
Each of us has our own levels of battles that we face in life. Some may be viewed more difficult than others, but none are more than we can handle. It is not our place to judge others levels of hardship as not fair, or not the same. We have our own personal sufferings. I will admit to you, giving up the freedom of mobility is extremely challenging for me. I love my freedom of being outside. I love the ability to move at will. I never want to be a burden on someone else. Too late for that. I am officially a burden. An immobile burden.
Besides all the obvious adventures I feel I am missing on my bike, there are several other nuances I miss as well. I like to clean and organize. By myself. Who doesn’t crave this, right? I like to put things in their place at my discretion, in their appropriate color coded, alphabetized, sort of way. Obsessive compulsive? Quite possibly. Without being able to move, I sit and stare the offending object that needs to be put away. I attempt to use my crutches as chopsticks to pick up and launch the item in the direction it is supposed to go. As you can imagine this method only as a 50% success rate. With a failed attempt, I relinquish control once again, and lay back in bed. I wiggle my toes. I take a deep breath. I thank God I am alive in this world another day, even if I am fuming about the mismatched sock on the floor. I have another day to be here. Another day to make an impact. Another day to cherish.
Is it really only Day 5?
First things First.
You probably know by now that I crashed. Hard. Yet, I don’t want to allow this event to steal the thunder of what was supposed to come.
First things first.
The Cascade Cycling Classic is one of my favorite stage races of all time. Maybe it is because it is one of the only races I have done more than once in my short professional career, or maybe it is because I have become mildly obsessed with the beautiful scenery of Bend, Oregon. Maybe I haven’t done all the races there are to do in this world, but regardless, I love Cascade. Upon returning from the Giro, I was excited to test my new European legs in one of the last tours of the season in the US.
Test those legs I did.
First stage. 2mile prologue. Under 4minutes of pain. Only 3 of us broke the 4 minute barrier. It may be short, but will cause a hacking cough for the rest of the evening. Over 30mph. I got 3rd. There is no strategy to a prologue of that length. You go hard. You go until your legs burn and you taste iron, and then you go harder. Before you know it, you are done. I like it. The pain is worth it.
Photo by Jonathan Devich
I was happy with this result. My legs were ready to rock. Bring on the mountains of Cascade.
Photo by Jonathan Devich
Things were looking good going into the 74mile race of McKenzie Pass. And then it happened. I was floating back on a completely wide open descent to try to remove my frame number from getting caught in my rear brakes and spokes. I wasn’t concerned, it was straightforward. A crash occurred in front of me, and I saw the clear line to avoid the carnage of bikes, carbon wheels and women. However, a rider to my right panicked, locked up her brakes and crashed directly in front of me. Before I knew it, I was flying through the air, and landing soundly onto the highway, rolling under a truck on its way to a farmer’s market in Sisters.
I quickly surveyed the damage. No road rash. I learned from an early age from my dad, that no blood meant everything was okay. Where was the blood? No where. I was in business. I jumped up to grab my bike from the mechanic to keep racing. My body convulsed into a panic. Into a shock. Why was I screaming? There wasn’t any blood. Just relax. Then I lost consciousness. I fought to keep racing. I wanted to keep racing. I love to race. I felt great. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to me?
It could have been worse. I was air lifted out of McKenzie Pass back to Bend for a CT Scan, and X-Rays. It could have been worse. I didn’t suffer any brain damage besides my concussion, but I did fracture my pelvis in two places. I am a strong, sturdy girl. I don’t break. How did this happen? I guess I crashed hard. Really hard. It could have been worse, or at least that is what I am told.
I will keep you posted on the recovery process. I will focus on healing now. Healing, and trusting that God has a plan for this. There is a plan. There is a reason. I will return stronger. That doesn’t mean I am not frustrated, not upset, and not disappointed. I am all of the above. This crushes me.
I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support that i have received. It is comforting to know that you are there for me in the good times of yellow jerseys and podiums to the bad times of helicopters, fractures, and even muscle cramps. I continue to be humbled by this, and am so appreciative of your love and support.
Man, I really wanted to race that time trial yesterday. Darn.
