Spring

One particularly wet November day, my racing season came to an abrupt end. After taking too much speed into a jump, I was bucked off my bike and violently tossed into a thicket of trees near the trail.

Lying under a damp, sappy pine and covered in dirt, I feel dew and moisture from my helmet dripping down my neck, or is that blood? I tentatively remove my glove and touch my neck. My hand shoots back as searing pain overcomes me.

Definitely blood.

I take my helmet off and sit up, bracing myself against the tree. I move to stand up, but almost immediately collapse upon reaching a standing position. I grab hold of the firm pine tree next to me and pull myself up, now wise to keep weight off of my right knee.

Limping my way up the steep rocky hillside to the trail, I see my bike propped up against a moss covered boulder, improbably resting on both wheels, touching the rock on only one side of the handle bars and the seat for balance. Inspecting my battered body I feel more blood dripping from gashes in my wrist and elbow as the blood from my neck continues to saturate my white jersey. I can tell, however, that my knee is in a pretty poor state. The gash in my arm is full of dirt. I'm almost positive my pinky finger is broken. My knee is roughly the size of a grapefruit.

I swing my good leg back over the saddle and begin to very slowly make my way down the mountain. After a very long and slow trip down the washboard fire road, I reach my car, and with the help of a very friendly cross country biker, I load my rig into my truck and begin a long and painful drive home. Each stop, each depression of the brake pedal sends spasms of pain up my right leg as my knee trembles violently. My accelerations become increasingly erratic and my stops more and more herky jerky.

I pull into my driveway and breathe out a sigh of relief. My 30 minute drive from hell is over. I rock my throbbing head back against my dirty headrest and shut my eyes. Depriving myself momentarily of sight, I feel rather than see. I feel the swelling in my knee, slightly below, to the right and deep.

I would become accustomed to this feeling which will linger long after the scars heal, my pinky bone fuses back together and the blood washes out of my fuzzy grey car seats.

I'm am not so ignorant as to ignore the risks of my sport. Mountain bike riders assume the danger of injury on every outing, dipping back and forth across the line separating control and recklessness. It is, however, hard to understand the long term ramifications of sustaining a serious injury. I've learned that the pain of the injury is far less agonizing than the constant reminders of your inability.

"Sup bro, want to ride this weekend?"

"Sorry man, doc says no riding for at least 2 more months."

Each text message, phone call, casual conversation and friendly invitation is a now simply a reminder of what I can no longer do. I believed that my greatest challenge would be the pain. In the moment of the crash, I felt nothing else, thought of nothing else. There is, however, another side to injury that one faces that I did not anticipate. The effect of knowing you are physically limited as a result of an injury has taken its toll on my spirits. It's hard to convince yourself that waiting to heal is worth it.

And now, months later, after countless hours of physical therapy, visits to the doctor, 2 x-rays, and an MRI, I find myself hoping that this spring will be the spring that I can return to more than riding a spin cycle. I yearn to feel my heart drop into my stomach, waiting in the starting shack for the end of the 3 minute gap. I want to hear the shrill chirp of the course marshal's whistle. I want to choke on dust, fighting for each and every breath at the finish line knowing that I gave everything I have to give and left everything on the course.

I want to win again.

So now, tentatively, I wait for the thaw. I can only hope that my body will match my minds enthusiasm. I can only hope that after this long, hard, cold winter, my body will be ready.

I can only hope that I will be ready for the spring.