Finish Line 70.3

Finish Line 70.3
Finish Line 70.3

70.3 Finisher!

70.3 Finisher!
70.3 Finisher

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

After the fall

Everyone is gonna fall down sooner or later (hopefully, not on TV where you have to shout that you can't get up). You started out as a toddler going crash and boom and now that you have graduated to adult toys, you are simply going to have to accept the fact that one day, you will meet asphalt/concrete/dirt/rocks in an unpleasant manner. Just looky at the Tour d' France guys. A primo ad for bandaids.

Most falls happen on a bike. Some will happen on a run--yes, I've fallen nicely while running. I guess you could fall when swimming but I'm trying to picture how. Maybe on your way to the pool or while getting out (as we get older, those nice ladders look way more interesting than the hoist up on the side from the hips action. What's really funny--or not--is when you try that move and fail. Like I have. Several times. In a row).

THE RUN

My big running crash was about 3 years ago. I was in training for my first half marathon and had a 7 mile run scheduled that day. It was not starting out to be a good day for running; it was a warm day in late February (this is Texas. We can get 90 degree days in February, okay? Just remember that we also get 110 degree days in July and you can feel better about all of that). I had obligations that morning so the run was in the afternoon; not my favorite time of day to run and especially not when it's warm. I was already tired as well, but the show must go on. I strapped on my Garmin and my running shoes and headed out the door.

I had already decided to take a little bit different route for my run than before. I lived (back then) out in the boonies and there was a little dirt/rock road that branched off of my main running road that looked quite intriguing. I had walked a bit of that road the other day and the dirt looked firm and dry and inviting to someone who is always searching for a way to avoid asphalt pounding.

So off I went to Adventureland, trotting down this new road under these huge trees and enjoying myself immensely, or as much as you can enjoy yourself while running tired in the heat of the day. For about a mile this semi euphoria lasted. Then the road started deteriorating on me, and rapidly. First there were the huge ruts from the latest Bubba off roading parties that I had to dodge. Then the rocks became more numerous and larger, followed by large water filled holes everywhere.

A smart runner (nb: not me) would have turned around at this point and gone back to the old, asphalt route, but no, I was determined that this would get better if I just stuck out the bad parts.

I was ruminating on whether the bad parts were ever going to end when somehow I stepped in a hole, on a rock, through a rut--doesn't matter, but suddenly I was no longer vertical but was headed for the ground.

OF COURSE I put out my hand to block my fall and I hit the dirt/rock/gravel hard, taking a full Nelson twist and saying words that do not make themselves for repetition on a blogsite.

When I stopped the dryer tumble, I was sitting up with a broken Garmin dangling from my wrist (fortunately it had taken the majority of the impact rather than my arm. However, the owner's manual does not advise doing that) and both my knees were scraped raw and bleeding hard. I scrambled up, found nothing broken, and assessed the damage.

I was 1.5 miles from home, and I still had 4.5 miles to do if I was going to finish my scheduled run. Determined (read: crazy), I folded my broken-strap Garmin (which by the way, I fixed later with one of those black plastic ties, and thus it serves me today in that fashion) into my fuel belt, wiped off my knees with my (dirty) hands, and started running again. Yeah, now I noticed a definite twinge to my right knee. But I'm not quitting.

About a half mile later, I encountered the Wolf Pack. Okay, they were actually Minature Pinchsers, but there were SEVEN of them charging me all at once, maddened I am sure by the sight and smell of my blood, if not the Gu gel in my belt. This was the boonies, no leash laws (not that such things ever make a difference to some people) and no owner in sight. One dadgummed little donut of a dog latched its teeth INTO MY SHOE as I tried to hobble past. Instinctively I lashed out a Chuck Norris high kick, sending this annoyance about 30 feet in the air just like an extra point in football. At which point the owner shows up (an overweight lady in a nightgown--now remember this was 2 p.m.) outside her trailer, hollering at me to NOT HURT HER DOGS, DADGUMMIT. Which are still charging me and showing their teeth.

I'm a dog person. I have six of my own (on a leash or behind a fence). I'm bleeding, my knee is singing Ave Maria, and there are six small rats snapping at my heels. I do the wise thing and simply decide this is the time and place for a fartlek, and thus I hit high gear and run away from all this hysteria, forgetting for a moment that I will need to GO BACK THAT WAY to get home.

I outpace the pack, stop to take a drink and re-assess the situation. I decide to keep running. And it's getting hot now, about 90 degrees, and my knees are streaming blood down into my shoes. And now I realize I have to run back through the Wolf Pack.

About 4 miles into this run, I've had enough. I rip out my phone and call my husband to come get me. Now. I'm bleeding all over the road here.

My husband then informs me that he just tore his ACL playing basketball.

It was a long night.

(PS yes, I did recover and run the half marathon, and no, I never ran down that road again).

THE BIKE

Bike falls are generally more tramautic in nature because (a) it's a longer way down and (b) you are going faster. Now there are bike falls that happen because you forgot to unclip and you topple over at a stoplight (always a spectator thrill), but the majority of Bad Bike Falls come when you are going fast. This is why you wear a helmet.

I was crusing around White Rock Lake one very windy afternoon (wind was gusting up to 40 mph) and I was headed down to the aerobars from an upright position. I was still not totally comfortable on the bars, and getting from Point A (upright) to Point B (folded over like an envelope with your elbows steering) involves some, well, balance. I socked left elbow into the cup and was on my way down with right elbow when a particularly nasty blow of wind gusted and simply twisted my handlebars 180 degrees (that would mean they were facing me, not a good thing when you are cruising down a small hill about 18 mph). I had time to yell "this is gonna hurt!" (as if that were news), my feet yanked upwards trying vainly to defy the clips, and I went head over teakettle onto the concrete, striking with my shoulder first and my knee second and doing a complete somersault away from the bike.

It took a moment for me to blink and realize I was mostly still intact, although my shoulder felt like it had been hit by a NFL linebacker. I sat up and told myself "you're all right" (my favorite mantra, even if it's not true). I didn't move much more than that, however, and I couldn't assemble my thoughts long enough to stand up, look at my bike, or look at my knee (same knee as the run! 4 years later!). Some kind runner (thank you) stopped and asked if I was okay (of course I said yes. I lied). He fortunately didn't believe me and helped me to my feet, and then picked up my bike (oh yeah, the bike!). It had a crooked front wheel that he straightened with his bare hands (this was not a young dude, and if I wasn't already married to the most wonderful man in the universe, I would have married him right then) and suggested I go clean up my knee, and my shoulder, both of which were oozing things not appropriate for a bike ride.

Yet, I was halfway 'round the lake already. I could turn around (4 miles back) or keep going (4.5 miles forward) to get to my car. I choose to get on the bike and keep going. I was wobbly and sore, but I managed to get to the car. This was six weeks before my first Olympic triathlon. I was Not Happy.

I ended up with a Grade 2 shoulder separation (nasty thing and it limited my swimming for about 30 days) and a lot of ugly road rash. What I also ended up with was a healthy dose of FEAR of FALLING.

For about four weeks, I was unable to go down on my aerobars at all. I was afraid of falling again. Finally, I was able to force myself down, but only for a little bit at a time. Any rut, shadow, person, car, dog, bird, squirrel, wind, leaf, or grass clipping in my vision would cause me to sit up in panic and grab for the normal handlebars. I was also afraid to go fast. I would feather the brakes on big downhills and slow down dramatically on turns and whenever I saw something/someone that might be a crash potential. Not six weeks later I nearly had another spill when a clueless walker stepped right in front of my bike, which didn't help my mindset too much.

I'm mostly recovered from the willies now, although not completely. I'm now back on my aerobars most of my ride, I now arrow down the hills and am taking my turns more aggressively. Still, the memory of The Fall is very clear in my mind. I still find fear on some steep downhills and sharp turns. I read that a little fear increases your edge, but I'd like it to be a little less than I have now.

Still, I grit my teeth when I'm feeling anxious on the bike and just go for it. Life's short. Push the pedals. Do, or do not. Yoda and all.

Friday night was a 2000 easy swim, Saturday was off (weight training), Sunday was an easy brick and yesterday was a 5 mile long run at an easy pace--it was hot and humid at 6:45 a.m. and I broke a record for sweating. Tonight is a short bike and we leave tomorrow for Wyoming and cooler weather for a couple of days. I'll be off training other than running, although we will be hiking quite a bit, including one difficult and long hike.

T

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