January 29th 2010

WARNING - Some of the photos are pretty gross, so if you have a weak stomach, don't scroll to the end.

One year ago today I suffered a life altering injury.  Okay, I am being a bit dramatic but I did get into a pretty nasty accident.  I was out for a solo ride that I had gone on a 100 times before.  I just turned off my street and hit the 4 way stop before I was to cruise along the coast for a gorgeous 32 mile maintenance ride.  I had just received my racing license and I was motivated to hit the 2010 So Cal cycling race circuit.  So I rolled up to the stop sign in a huge gear, paused and the lady in the mini van across from me waves me through.  It is amazing how quick something happens and how much can go through your head at that moment.  I get out of the saddle (standing to use my weight to turn the cranks), lean over my handle bars (because I am a stud racer now) and give the nice mini van lady a thank you wave.  The moment my arm raises from my handle bar I can feel Pinky (my bike) twist below me.  My right arm goes up and my front wheel sharply swings left.  I try to regain control, but before I know it, my face slams into the concrete.

My first thoughts are of complete and udder embarrassment, now there are 4 cars each at a stop sign staring at me.  My second thought is "I wonder if I can finish this ride, I JUST started".  My third thought is "I hope Marc (my husband) doesn't find out I was listening to my iPod".  A flurry of people rush to me asking me if I am okay.  I am fine, just don't make a fuss.  I will just hobble home and stick a band-aid on it, I say to myself.  I go to lift my right arm and realize that it is not straight and hanging in an odd direction.  Thank goodness is was chilly and I was wearing a long sleeve jersey, so I could not see my Ulna peeking out from my flesh.  A nice man, tries to help me to my feet by lifting my right arm.  A sharp, agonizing pain shots through my body and he says "It is broken".  Huh?  Broken?  Oh, like when a little kid falls out of a tree, I can handle that.  We move me out of the intersection and the shock is wearing off, pain is setting in.  The Nice Man tells Mini Van Lady to call an ambulance.  I am so confused, I don't need an ambulance.  I just need a little cast, no ambulance.  Nice Man asks me if he can call someone.  Yes, thank goodness my husband is actually in town this week, you can call him.  As my husband is walking into a meeting downtown, he receives a call from me.  A strange man is on the other end stating that I have been in an accident.  Now, I am not the most graceful cyclist and have had my fair share wrecks (I have walked away from all of them with a few scratches and/or bruises) so my husband was not too alarmed.  Then he hears the sirens in the background and Nice Man tells him which hospital they are taking me to.

A firetruck and 2 ambulances arrive at the "scene".  In typical woman fashion I am perfusly apologizing for the inconvenience and telling poor Mini Van Lady that I am so sorry, she was mortified.  The EMTs are looking at my face, this too is confusing to me.  MY ARM.  PAIN IN ARM, NOT FACE.  Blood is dripping out of my gloves and from my finger tips, tears are streaming down my face.  The tears are masking the feeling of the blood dripping from my cheek.  Come to find out, my face plant resulted in a gash under my right eye.  I mentally allow myself to be taken care of and just go with it.  Physically I was not resistant, but in my head I kept thinking that everyone was overreacting.  I am placed on a gurney and head off to the ER.  The 3 point turn the ambulance had to make in order to change directions was the most painful experience in my life.

Once I get to the ER, I am finally administered some pain medication which does nothing.  I ask for more, relief for about 3 minutes and then pain again.  What is this children's Tylenol?  My husband arrives, he is so handsome.  I am so happy to see him, don't let him find the iPod!  I tell him what happens and no one can believe that such a simple act as waving "Thank You" can end up like this.  My body is uncontrollably shaking in pain and I need more pain meds.  I feel like an addict asking for more and more.  I need drugs, PLEASE give me more drugs.  The man next to me is suffering from a heart attack, another heart attack enters the small ER.  I feel shame for taking the nurse's attention away from these patients but the pain is so bad.  I am such a wuss.  I am finally told what has happened and that I need surgery immediately.  I almost feel like I have been given permission to be in this much pain.  As soon as the Orthopedic Surgeon can get to the hospital and an operating room is available, I am going under the knife for the first time in my life.  I have never been in the ER and haven't been admitted to a hospital since birth.  I would be scared if I wasn't so drugged and in so much pain.  I jumped on the bike at 10am, by 4pm I was in the operating room.

Marc goes home to gather some clean clothes and promises to be back after surgery.  I am moved into a new room with a new set of nurses.  They are asking me the same damn questions the EMTs, 4 ER nurses and the ER doctor asked.  They have my freaking chart, can't anyone read!  I become very annoyed and agitated.  Just then the anestesologist arrives and knocks me out, that was probably for the best for everyone involved.

I awake in a dark room with a strange young man looking at me and my husband is sitting next to him.  The doctor tells me what he just did and I have no idea what he is saying.  I understand some of the words, but nothing makes sense.  I am comforted to know that Marc is there and he can explain/interpret this to me later.  The doctor asks me if I have any questions, "When can I get back on the bike?"  He responds, "at least 4 months..."  I start balling.  Four months seems like eternity, plus I am very emotional because of the pain meds.  Everyone assures me that four months will fly by.  Yeah, yeah right, I get it.

I wake up in the middle of the night and need to go to the bathroom.  My arm is bandaged from finger tips to arm pit, I am hooked up to machines, I hit the nurse button.  A large women comes in an assists me to the bathroom, escorts me in and leaves me.  Ummm, how am I going to do this.  I figure it out and shuffle to the sink to wash my available hand.  I look up into the mirror and horror.  I had been so focused on my arm, that I had forgotten about my face.  Road rash and scabs cover my chin and lips, a huge set of black stitchs across my cheek.  I burst into tears.

The next 2 days in the hospital are a blur.  I slept most of the time, ate crappy food and itched from the morphine.  Once we got the pain meds under control, I was discharged.  I arrived home at 6pm on Sunday and went straight to bed, not even noticing that the house was so clean, you could eat off the floor!  I was so nauseous from the new oral pain meds that I couldn't eat and just slept for the rest of the day and most of the next.  On Monday night, I had my first bite of food at home.

Ummm, peanut butter toast, I could only wear Marc's button down shirts and that cast was so heavy!

At this point the swelling was way down and a lot of the scabs on my chin had fallen off.

Many frustrating weeks followed.  I had a compound fracture in my right forearm and I am right handed.  I needed help doing almost everything.  I couldn't drive, walk the dog, open a jar, brush my teeth or brush my hair.  And let me tell you, Marc is not the best with pony tails!  He was so wonderful at understanding my frustration and the extreme emotions that were exemplified by the pain meds.

I spent 6 weeks in a cast and then 4 months in therapy.  My wrist will never be the same and there are 2 scars on my arm.  A year later I struggle with the strength in my grasp.  I can't pump gas with my right arm and pulling weeds are out of the question.  I wear a brace when doing push ups or any strength training.  My doctor was amazed that I had such a bad break from a bike crash, mainly you see these type of breaks in car accidents.  I am lucky, it could have been so much worse.  I have met women who run marathons with double hip replacements, 3 time breast cancer survivor who competes in triathlons, so my broken arm is NOTHING.  But it is mine.

My first ride after the accident

I was back on my bike in exactly 4 months and haven't looked back.  I have never wanted to ride my bike more than those 4 months.  I am sure you are wondering about Pinky, she was fine.  A new set of grip tape and some scars on the right hood, but that was it.  We are still together, Pink and I, and we share a lot of good times.  A lot of people asked if I was scared to get back on the bike.  And the answer is, No really.  At first I stayed in the saddle, mainly because I could put that much pressure on my wrist and grabbing for water bottle was a little sketchy.  Beside that, it was actually very easy to get back on the bike.  I think it the accident would have been caused by something out of my control, like a vehicle or something in the road.  But I just don't wave to drivers when I am out of the saddle.  I do wave "Thank You" though, I am a good Texas girl and that would just be rude!

GROSS PHOTOS BELOW...

This is after they removed the big monster cast and put me in a normal cast.  One week after the accident.  This is the underside of my arm.

This is the outside of my arm and the gross red scar above it is where the bone exited.

A few weeks later...

A few week later, in between casts.  Yes, I am wearing a shirt that reads "I Ride" :)

The inside of my arm a year later.

And here is my face today (with my mutt Cosmo) You can barely tell that I had 12 stiches under my right eye.

Partners in Crime

I am very lucky to call Molly one of my closest friends and partner in crime.  Let me tell you a little about Molly, she is quite possibly the nicest, kindest person I have ever meet.  She is a true and genuine person with the best attitude.  I would tease her that a grumpy Molly=Shannon on her best day!  She is positive and up beat, the kind of person you want to train with.  We ran the San Francisco marathon together, we are currently learning to swim together for our first tri and she has made me the happiest friend in the world...she bought a bike!

When you have a passion, you want to share it with everyone you love.  I want all of my family and friends experience the joy I feel on a bike.  Now I realize that not everyone will share my passion, but I think I may have Molly hooked!  My husband and I helped her pick out her lovely blue Giant, outfitted her with a Tough Chik jersey and introduced her to clipless pedals.  We have taken her out on a few rides and it is amazing how quickly she has taken to it.  I am very impressed and a little jealous as to how she has progressed.  She is much more comfortable on the bike than I was at that stage.

It is so exciting to me that I can introduce someone I love to the sport I love.  My husband introduced me to cycling and now I get to pass it on to Molly.  I love showing her the ropes, teaching her tricks and watching her grow as a cyclist.  But what is more exciting than that is watching her love for the sport grow.  Cycling can be intimidating and uncomfortable at first but if you stick with it, it can be amazing.  Now she can't wait for the weekend for our rides!  She even signed up to ride the AIDS Lifecycle with us.  545 mile, 7 day ride from San Francisco to LA!

Molly I am so proud of you!

Molly helping me at a Tough Chik event, she had to wake up at 4AM on a Saturday!

Molly, Me and Marc before our first Lifecycle training ride

Molly, Me and Daniel enjoying some pretzels at mile 19 of the SF Marathon

Molly first ever ride!

I LOVE TO RIDE!

I love to ride, it is an amazing experience every time I go out.  It feeds my soul.  It clears my head.  It is my sanity.  I have been "seriously" and consistently cycling for only 2 years, but I really can't remember an existence without it.

I have publicly stated that I will enter my first triathlon in 2011.  Here is the issue, I really don't love to swim and run.  I desperately want to have the same passion for running and swimming, but it isn't happening.  Running is so convenient, you can do it anywhere!  Swimming is so good for you and easy on the joints!

I am reminded that when I got my first bike about 8 years ago, it was not love at first sight.  I started on a mountain bike and there was a lot of blood, sweat and tears in the beginning.  To be honest, there was a time when almost every ride included a crash and a good cry.  A few years later, I picked up the road bike.  Ahhh, the road.  No huge rocks, tree roots or ledges to fall off.  And then the move to southern California and the intro to climbing.  Holy cow, the climbing.  I must have asthma, the only explanation to this wheezing!

I am hoping that in a few years I will reflect when I would drink half the pool and laugh at the thought of swimming anything over 600 meters.  I can't wait for that day.

Reverse Resolutions

I feel like I am the only person who has less motivation at the beginning of the year vs. the rest of the year.  While everyone else is gearing up with their New Year's resolutions in hand, all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch football.  I try, I really do, but it is so hard!

First off, the gym is crazy.  It is amateur hour with a bunch of folks sporting their new shaping tennis shoes and work out guide strait out of the new health magazine that was found in their stocking.  Aimlessly wandering from one machine to the next or stealing MY bike at spin class.

Secondly, it is cold and rainy.  It is so much easier to lace up the sneaks or jump on the bike if it is sunny and 75.  I know that I have NO ROOM to complain since I live in SoCal, but as you can see from my previous post, I AM A WEATHER WEENIE!

It is "off season" for me.  I really don't have a major race breathing down my neck to scare me into running or cycling.  That is about to change since I am participating in the AIDS/Lifecycle, which is an amazing 545 mile ride over 7 days from San Francisco to LA.

Cold season.  If I am not sick then one of my work out partners is under the weather.  I can ride solo, no problem, but the competition of riding with a friend always pushes me.  Right now I am fighting a sore throat and my husband has been sick for the past week.  Vitamin C, Zinc, gargling salt water...I am doing it all!

Lastly, it is dark.  I like to work out in the evenings, which is so hard to do outside when it gets dark at 5:30.

I need some motivation, so help me out there in blogger world (all 3 of you!)

Weather Wennie

Hi, my name is Shannon.  I am a weather weenie. 

Wow, that was hard to admit, but it is true.  In the 7 years since moving from Texas to southern California, I have morphed into the very person I mocked in those first few years of Coastal living.  It drove me crazy to hear people complaining that it was "freezing" outside.

"You are aware that in order for it to be freezing, the temperature must drop to 32 degrees?" I would quip. 

As I mentioned, I am not from Fargo or Buffalo.  I realize that Houston, Texas isn't exactly the frozen tundra, but at least I could tolerate 55 degrees without the dramatics that go along with those types of temperatures here in sunny SOCAL. 

This phenomenon occurred on the other end of the thermometer as well.  I had zero tolerance of Californians complaining of the heat during an 85 degree day.  No sympathy from me until the temperature breaks the triple digits at a very minimum....don't even get me started with humidity. 

"I spent 20 years in Houston.  I know humid, this is not it."  I would say smugly, almost as if my tolerance for wider temperature ranges made me superior to native and otherwise naturalized Californians.

Fast forward 7 years. 

Tomorrow is supposed to be my first lake swim and transitions practice.  I don't own a tri suit or any other cold water apparel.  The high at the lake tomorrow is supposed to be a fairly unacceptable 61 degrees, and I have spent my entire swim life (all 8 weeks of it) in a heated pool.  The thought of swimming in a 50-something degree lake is a little unnerving to say the least.  The idea that my balmy weather-assimilated body will soon be exposed to such arctic temperatures is down right terrifying.  Top that off with the thought of jumping in and out of the lake to practice transitioning has catapulted me into full panic mode.  There is no way I can perform under these conditions, so with much shame, I asked my trainer if we could practice in the pool for another few weeks.  Just until the weather cooperated a little more.  Everyone knows that people have expired from any number of respiratory afflictions in such frigid, 60 degree temperatures like what I am facing tomorrow.

My name is Shannon and I am, in fact, a weather weenie...

Jealous much?

I have been asked speak at an event this weekend.  I am a product sponsor, so in return I "get" a few minutes to pitch my product line to a captive audience.  When you are a small business on a shoe string budget, you will take any free advertising!  My husband is on the road (as usual) and we were discussing what I was going to talk about.  If you have read my post on how I became a Tough Chik, then you get the gist of my spiel.  Marc said, "and make sure you talk about your wreck!"

On January 29th I feel off my bike and suffered a compound fracture in my right forearm. (but that is for another post)  Subsequently I have 2 scars, one either side of my forearm and a little scar where the bone escaped.  One is about 6 inches long and the other is about 8 inches long.  On many occasions Marc has requested that I show my scars to anyone and everyone.  The guy at the bike shop, a Tough Chik customer at a tri, co-workers, gardeners, really any time cycling or injuries come up in conversation, he makes me pull up my sleeve.  Trust me, we talk cycling A LOT, so this is a frequent occurrence.

It dawned on me during this conversation that I think he is jealous of my scars.   I think he has a touch of scar envy.  Now don't get me wrong, he has his fair share.  I don't think anyone who has spent any considerable amount of time on a mountain bike can escape without a few war wounds. But none of his are from surgery, so they aren't nearly as impressive as mine.  That or he is proud his wife is "hard core".  Probably a little of both, although it does make me a little uncomfortable at times.  Some people don't want to see my scars and think scars in general are kind of yuck.  This is a concept that seems to be foreign to him.

I have a brunch on Sunday with a cycling group, I should just wear short sleeves.

December 2010

March 2010

Fear

I am just now learning how to swim and swimming is hard.  Had I learned at a younger age, swimming would now be second nature.  I suddenly see why parents push their kids to succeed in sports early in life.  I, on the other hand, was able to pick and choose my activities.  As a "girly" girl, my activity was dance.  I spent over 15 years in ballet, tap and jazz.  You know what I have to show for it?  I am pretty good at yoga.  I can do a mean cobra and have decent flexibility (especially for a runner/cyclist). That is about it. 

Do you ever wonder how good you could be at cycling and/or running and/or swimming if you would have started at the age of 5?  I do all the time.  I really think it would have been a HUGE advantage on the mountain bike.  My main hurdle on the dirt is the fear that manifests in my head.  When you are young, you have no fear.  Now every rock, rut and ledge are potentials for a horrific fall.  I think about this when I ride, even on the road.  I think about falling, getting hit by a car, riding off a ledge or having a distracted driver blow a light and run over me.  Most of these scenarios involve my body flying through the air like some sort of rag doll.  Is this normal?  I don't think so.  But maybe I am a safer cyclist (at least on the road) because of my fatalistic thoughts. 

It is a HUGE detriment on the dirt though.  Those who have spent time mountain biking know, if you think, "I am going to hit that rock".  You WILL hit that rock.  I have a friend who takes his young son mountain biking all the time.  This kid has no fear and can conquer any obstacle.  And if he falls, he just tries it again.  If I fall, the last thing I want to do is try "that" again.  I am scared of falling.  I have fallen many times and I have to say I'm not a fan.  At times I will see something down the trail and jump off the bike.   I am determined that there is no way I can climb up that or descend down whatever obstacle looms in the distance.  So I just jump off the bike and don't even try.

This has also been an issue for me in life.  Like the old saying goes, "you never know unless you try".  Fear can be the biggest obstacle we face in life.  How many times have you avoided a situation because of fear?  Fear of failing, fear of sounding stupid, fear of loosing or fear of not finishing.  I know that we have fear as a survival instinct, built into our mechanics to prevent an early demise via a saber tooth cat or some sort of giant, wingless terror bird.  But do we want to survive or strive?  I work every day to strive, not merely survive. 

I think I am going to dust off the mountain bike!