Unplanned
Golden Havest, 2002, Radi Nedelchev
Routines and calendering are at the center of who I am. Before the week begins, I schedule my rides and workouts and follow the plan religiously. I know where I'm going for lunch on Wednesday and where we're going for dinner on Saturday. The routines and planning reduce my cognitive load. They take out the thinking and move me to doing and accomplishing. Some friends and family members find me robotic and inflexible because of this, but my routines are the engine that keeps me focused and accomplishing.
I had to adjust my routines and modify my plans when a car hit me during my bike ride on September 13th of this year. As I think back on this day, nothing about it was unusual. I rode a route usually void of cars when I rode (~6 AM). I approached an intersection going northbound. I had the green light; my 1300-lumen headlight was blasting through and lighting my way, and I felt confident that the 30 miles that day would be just what I needed to prepare for the 75 miles I planned to ride on Saturday. As I approached the intersection, I saw a car coming the opposite way (southbound); they stopped at the light, knowing I had the right of way. I went through the intersection, and I saw a headlight approaching rapidly. All I could do was mutter, "No, no." On impact, I was tossed off my bike and rolled. I sat up in complete disbelief and anger about what happened.
My first thought was that the iPhone in my jersey pocket was broken. I pulled out my phone to check. Then I noticed my headphones and sunglasses (I have photochromatic ones) were also knocked off.
I landed in front of an idling car. This car was facing westbound, stopped at a light, and waiting to turn onto the road I was just on. A man hopped out and asked me if I was OK. The person who hit me hopped out of their car and asked if I was OK as well. I looked around and noticed the impact left me with a laceration on my left leg. It was too dark to tell how badly, but it looked manageable. I pulled out my phone and called my wife to tell her what happened. I told her I had a minor leg cut and was OK otherwise. As I talked to the man who hopped out of the car to help me and the person who hit me, I pulled out my phone, turned the flashlight on, and got a better look at my leg. It wasn't good, and blood was pooling on the asphalt beneath me.
EMS Helping Me
The emergency services came as I tried to make sense of what happened. They took a look at my leg and mentioned "femur" and "broken." They wrapped up my leg to stop the bleeding, and my wife arrived at the scene with our two children shortly after. Despite the known dangers of road biking, I never felt unsafe. The hundreds of mornings I've left in the dark and returned gave us all comfort. The phone call to my wife to tell her about my accident was the worst phone call I have ever had to make.
Once I got to the emergency room, the doctors there felt I had sustained a broken leg. They ordered X-rays, and I waited. It took at least an hour before they got an x-ray and another hour to confirm that my leg wasn't broken. They said the laceration was terrible and I might need to go to the operating room to stitch it back up. Eventually, a doctor came in and said he could stitch it up. He mentioned it was not a cosmetic surgery and would leave a big scar. Once stitched up and 16 staples later, I was home. The doctor's orders were: no biking or exercise until I returned to remove the staples three weeks later.
For all the trauma of being struck by a vehicle, the aftermath was equally traumatic. Because of where my laceration was (from the shin to my calf), I could not walk normally with the staples in. I worked up a sweat, getting up and down the stairs for the first week. I had to sit on the couch with my leg elevated instead of riding 75 miles that Saturday. I had so much time to play the accident back in my mind again and again. I see those headlights, and I imagine things are worse than they were.
I had to keep this compression wrap on my leg to keep the staples in place
The frustrations of missing two races, losing my favorite hobby, and watching my fitness decline have been exhausting. It's forced me to adapt. I've had to form new routines and make my plans more elastic. I've had to accept that walking around the neighborhood is the best exercise I will get that day. I've had to accept that nowhere on Zwift is as beautiful as St. George or Moab, but that will be fine. As a person, I've considered my discipline to be my strongest trait. But this time has taught me that discipline and slight flexibility are superpowers.
I went to Hilton Head, SC during the last week I had my staples in. I couldn’t get in the water and couldn’t help much with the kids. I had a blast hanging with our friends but it was still challenging.
This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my life and health. The scar is ugly, but it's not a cast or a traumatic brain injury. The bike needs a new frame and many components, but my body is still fully functional. As I imagine what it would be like to retake the road and clip into my pedals, I worry riding at night will be uneasy. Despite the worry, I can't wait to return to the road again. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Graphic Warning! If you’re interested in seeing the wound I sustained you can here