Welcome Back
My first journey back on a bicycle.
Well friends, I hope we’re coming to the end of my Car Crash Recovery series on this Substack. I’ve made plenty of new little notes, incidental thoughts, lines of questioning to pursue, that have nothing to do with being hit by a car while I was cycling home, and that’s really nice. I’m looking forward to sharing them with you.
I’m struggling with sentences at the moment, my brain is doing some kind of post-trauma remapping, some kind of fog, and complete, coherent paragraphs are difficult to form. The only time my brain has felt like this before is after an ultra marathon, so I believe it’s just the comedown from all the adrenaline, stress and exhaustion of the past few weeks. I trust that it will come back. The cast came off my wrist last week, but now I’m trying to pursue legal action, and it’s just a lot to hold. I’m not in my usual patterns. But I wanted to share a small tale from Friday morning:
I’d been awake for hours, but somehow 9am came and went, and with it, the time I should have left to catch the bus to work. I know I did it on purpose. The idea of trying to cycle to work had been lingering in the back of my mind for a week - I’d tried going out on my bike a few days previously, but the wrist hurt going over any sort of bump in the road. But I wanted to try today. My wrist has been getting better rapidly, and last week the doctor’s main concern was that I wouldn’t have the strength in my wrist to react, to brake if I needed to, to grip. I had the strength now, I knew that for sure, it was just a bit uncomfortable. Also, I was starting to feel a ripple of fear about cycling, so I knew I needed to nip that in the bud, before it expanded and escalated. I wrapped my splint around my wrist nice and firmly, put my rucksack on, and cycled off into a sunny morning.
New bike, new smoothness, different posture. But the same push of the legs, strength in the back, firm grip on the handlebars. Old friend, old home, old safe and quiet place between destinations. I would be going my usual route, I would go past the crash site, yes I would. The banks are all covered in cow parsley now, the road looks slimmer with the starburst boughs of flowers. I knew where the exact spot was by the huge gash in the concrete across the middle of the road, the mark I think his car had made after hitting me, before hurling into the hedge on the other side of the road. There are still bits of car scattered around, bits of rubber, bits of bumper. I cycled confidently through it.
Only a couple of metres further along, an oncoming car slowed to a stop to let me pass. This hasn’t happened before - there’s usually enough space for both parties to pass, if everyone is being mindful. I said thank you - a smile and a small wave of the hand - and passed by the car. Why should that happen exactly here, where I was hit, and where so few cars pass on an average weekday morning? And then it happened again: I stopped at the bottom of a hill to let a car come down, but they stopped and waved me through. A smile, a nod, a small wave in thanks.
I feel emotional recalling it. Two cars fully stopped for me, where it’s rare that I should even see one. When I do see one, they usually maintain their normal speed.
Sometimes you can’t not see these things as being meaningful, somehow. I was being welcomed back, I was being told to continue, I was being told that I belong on the roads. I was being told that it’s okay, that the universe is on my side, that this is a safe route after all, that most people are good and careful and kind. Any fear I might have felt about being back there was soothed. I cycled merrily on to work, then I cycled merrily home, excited to complete the return journey, this time.
On running: I’m managing to run up to 10k, now! My muscles get tired, but every run I do is money in the bank to get back to where I was. Spring has been a beautiful time to recover, drawing so much hope from the spectacle of growth and newness around us, and now it’s racing season, and I feel fire. I know I’m only running 10k at the moment, but it’s hard not to feel excited about running an ultra again.
Following Rachel Entrekin’s performance at Cocodona 250 this week - obliterating the men’s course record, and finishing first overall - has been electrifying. the Western States 100 is next month, and the GOAT Jim Walmsley announced that he will be racing, in what was already set to be a thoroughly stout and competitive field. I’ve been closely following Jim’s journey in the sport since I first got into it myself, he is my era, his was one of the first names I ever knew, and I am already paralysed with anticipation. News of the return of the four-time champion and course record holder has been received by those looking to compete with him this year with excitement and joy. This is one of the reasons I love this sport so very much.
As Corrine Malcolm pointed out in an episode of the FreeTrail podcast recently, an edition of these races without a Jim Walmsley, a Courtney Dauwalter or a Katie Schide seems to carry a bit of an asterisk beside the winner’s performance. Even if the course record was broken, and if the men ran under 14 hours, as is expected to happen this year, some (like me) would still wonder what would have happened if Jim was there. The chance to beat Jim fair and square is a heck of an opportunity. Your stature is undeniable then. Some may try to run the race with Jim, will blow up and go down in a glorious ball of flames. Some may try to stay ahead, some may stay close at his heels. But he will undoubtedly be the centre of gravity here. No one knows how to run that race like Jim.
Learning about the Western States 100 is what got me into this ultrarunning mess. I watched those elite ultra runners make quick work of the course and they made it seem possible. I wanted to have a go at running 100 miles. I had a go. It was really hard. But it was indeed possible and I completely loved it. As a fan of the sport, as someone continually aspiring to get better, Western States still holds all of that magic for me. The kernel, the catalyst, indeed, the centre of gravity for me.
I was going to keep this short, on account of my struggling with paragraphs. but dang, don’t get me started on Western States. I know you didn’t start this, I started it…but maybe that’s all I can mentally process right now. Compensation, and Western States. You know what? I’ll take that.