I had the operation to pin my collarbone last Friday. It went well, but the pain I suffered on Saturday was practically intolerable. As it had been three weeks since the initial break, the break had healed reasonably well, which would be good news under most circumstances. However, since I was going to have it reset all that had to be reversed. I think it was the reversal process (breaking it all apart again) caused the pain that I was suffering on Saturday. Now, three days later, that part of the pain seems to be gone, leaving me with just the pain associated with the healing process. The "opening" where the surgeon went in has been stitched up and to be honest, it looks like a shark attack - micro-surgery this ain't! I don't want to post a picture of it; it's altogether too grim.
I've had plenty of time to think over the last three days, and I still feel the same about racing as I did when I first had the accident. That is, that I don't feel able to give 100% any more. It isn't just about the accident, it's the whole thing: planning, training, racing. Sometime in the last month I saw an interview with a rider about his retirement. For the life of me I can't remember who it was, but he was talking about the moment when he knew he wanted to retire. He said something like: "you know when it's time to stop; the burning within you is no longer there. The complete desire to win at all costs is no longer there." And when I heard that, I knew. Everything revolves around the word "complete". Sure, there is a desire; but the desire isn't total, it isn't absolute. That doesn't mean, however, that I want to give up entirely. I read an interesting story about US Secretary of State John Kerry recently, that resonated with my situation more than I would have ever expected with a member of the United States Government. Kerry is a cyclist. He is also the man who is negotiating with Iran about their nuclear capability. During the negotiations, (And I don't mean here, that he said to President Ahmardinijad: "hold that thought; I'm just popping out for a ride on my bike" - I assume there was a natural break in the negotiations, where he took advantage of the gap to go for a ride). He was out on his bike when he crashed and broke his leg.
He was flown back to the US to undergo surgery, and it's amusing to think of the conversation he would have had with his wife. She'd be saying: "so are you going to give up the silliness now?" He is, after all, 70 years' old. And he would no doubt promise that would be the case. But I don't suppose he wants to give up either.
In the midst of all my angst over whether I should or whether I shouldn't, I had a call with the guy who helped me just after the crash. It was somewhat eerie getting his perspective. He said that after I went past him at the top of the climb I just disappeared and he couldn't believe how quickly I shot down the other side and out of sight. He described how, just before the bend where I crashed he'd wondered if I'd gone down, and then dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Talking to him was like putting pieces back together. I didn't know how long I'd been down, but he said he thought only a few seconds, and that I was already trying to get up when he saw me. He pretty well confirmed that I hadn't lost consciousness, as he said that I was lucid as soon as he spoke to me. So between his perspective and mine we were able to piece together all the crash and its aftermath. I feel better about that. As we spoke I was beginning to talk about riding again, and he mentioned my racing, suggesting that I might return stronger than before. I was intrigued by that statement, since he doesn't really know me very well, but did he garner that from my conversation? I don't know, but it was good to talk to him and get another view. I'm still not concluding what the future holds, and I've still got conflicting feelings, but I feel more balanced now. Time, as they say, is the great healer.
He was flown back to the US to undergo surgery, and it's amusing to think of the conversation he would have had with his wife. She'd be saying: "so are you going to give up the silliness now?" He is, after all, 70 years' old. And he would no doubt promise that would be the case. But I don't suppose he wants to give up either.
In the midst of all my angst over whether I should or whether I shouldn't, I had a call with the guy who helped me just after the crash. It was somewhat eerie getting his perspective. He said that after I went past him at the top of the climb I just disappeared and he couldn't believe how quickly I shot down the other side and out of sight. He described how, just before the bend where I crashed he'd wondered if I'd gone down, and then dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Talking to him was like putting pieces back together. I didn't know how long I'd been down, but he said he thought only a few seconds, and that I was already trying to get up when he saw me. He pretty well confirmed that I hadn't lost consciousness, as he said that I was lucid as soon as he spoke to me. So between his perspective and mine we were able to piece together all the crash and its aftermath. I feel better about that. As we spoke I was beginning to talk about riding again, and he mentioned my racing, suggesting that I might return stronger than before. I was intrigued by that statement, since he doesn't really know me very well, but did he garner that from my conversation? I don't know, but it was good to talk to him and get another view. I'm still not concluding what the future holds, and I've still got conflicting feelings, but I feel more balanced now. Time, as they say, is the great healer.
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