That moment is not yet. These last two weeks have been a roller coaster. The first few days, as my mom helped me transition home from the hospital and settle into a new routine, I was in somewhat of a semi-cognizant state, where everything seemed surreal. But then slowly the pain medicine began to wear off, the concussion-fog began to lift, and the reality sank in. Despite my best attempt to be strong and hopefully, the darkness began creep in, my body and soul hurt with an almost visceral pain. And so I busied myself with even more “tasks” – I began to study for my GRE, attempted to write race reports from Gila, returned emails, brainstormed creative ways I could work from home, read a book in spanish – but I could only do all of these for pathetically short intervals of time before my brain hurt and my eyes throbbed and nothing made sense. And I knew I wasn’t giving myself the best chance to rest, to heal my concussion and broken neck, so I put everything down and closed my eyes. And then I began to feel. The next few days were an emotional roller complete with an unexpected floodgate of tears that rivaled my high school years, but thankfully I have a husband who can somehow handle all extremes of human emotion, a coach who keeps me grounded with her calm voice of reason and assurance, friends who got me out of the house on walks around the block, and others who stopped by with meals and words of encouragement. You know who you are, and you are simply incredible. Each day I feel a bit stronger in spirit, and the tears have come less and less.
This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post or my current situation, and that is part of why it makes me so happy. When I look at this, I am reminded of a joyful day, Marcus and I’s engagement photos in the spring of 2011. I am reminded of someone who’s love for me does not depend on my success as an athlete but is unconditional. I am so thankful for the support and encouragement of him and others over the past few weeks.
Today, just over two weeks since the accident, I am still navigating the darkness, still wrestling the lies and self-doubt that say that everything I’ve done is for nothing. That every passing day I am losing everything I dedicated myself to. That this entire year of sacrifice, effort, and careful planning to make the training schedule of an elite athlete possible while still working an almost full time job is worthless, circling the drain. That the hours of hill intervals, lactate threshold efforts on the time trial bike, and single dollars at a time saved for bike fits and equipment upgrades were all in vain. Because in one moment everything was shattered. That my value even as a person is now called into question because everything I built my life around is in a holding pattern.
All lies, I know that. But in writing this, I am putting into words the cassette-tape script that I, and I can’t help but believe many others before me, have listened to as they navigated these choppy waters of healing and recovery. Of picking up the pieces of a broken dream. Lies. Because those hill intervals taught me that climbing is an art but an attainable one. The beautiful mountains, the silly, trusting deer watching as I trained, the Colorado sky that changed in mysterious, sometimes dangerous ways in the spread of one effort, all those things were true and real and true. The fact that the races I had set my sights on will now no longer be does not rob me of these delicious tastes of life, does not negate the value of these experiences. Those efforts on my TT bike, painful and sometimes soul-wrenching, taught me to go just a bit deeper. To find my limit, that place where everything screamed to stop, and then endure just a bit longer. Those efforts are sustaining me now, I realize, as I sit in the recliner trying to find meaning in this, more than they ever did on the bike. Sometimes I think we as people put ultimate weight on the destination or the outcome and cease to value the journey. We take pride in a final accomplishment, without rejoicing in the great steps that it took to move toward that goal. So no matter what happens, I am thankful for what the bike has been in my life and the way it has spurred me on toward greatness. My value as a human being is and never will be determined by what I achieve or fail to achieve in the athletic realm, and that is why nothing I’ve done is wasted, no effort is in vain, no sacrifice has been for nothing.
Just a Little Spark of Madness 