Wipeout

This past weekend was gorgeous - unseasonably warm weather with temperatures in the upper 70's, just perfect.  So perfect in fact that I was dying to do some type of physical activity outdoors - run, bike, something.  Running is still out of the question due to a recurring inflammation in my foot.  So I decided to borrow my husband's bike and go for a nice ride around Lake Accotink, like I used when before I lost my bike to a faulty bike rack this past summer.  I figured I'd lower the seat a bit and everything would be fine, right?

Wrong.  Note to self:  A 5'5" tall woman should not ride a bike meant for a man who is over 6 feet tall.  It's a bad idea, very bad.

The ride started off well enough.  I was so happy to be riding a bike - the wind rushing against my face, birds chirping, sun shining.  The fact that the gears worked a little differently than the ones I was accustomed to on my old bike should have set off warning bells in my head, but I shrugged it off and decided that I'd get used to it eventually.  I pedalled happily to the entrance of Lake Accotink and descended the long, curvy hill to reach the trail that goes around the lake.

Anyone who has ever run or biked on the trail around Lake Accotink knows this - the trail is not paved.  In many spots it's covered in gravel and I remembered from past rides that certain portions are slightly rocky or covered in tree roots.  On my old bike I plowed right over these obstacles without a problem, changing gears without thinking, pedaling up steep hills. 

I got to the end of the paved trail and turned left.  The trail immediately became steep and rocky.  I frantically tried to change gears so that I could pedal uphill but panicked and couldn't figure out how to work the gears in time.  I came to a complete standstill pointing uphill and before I could react the bike started falling to the left.  I realized then that my feet were caught in the stirrups on the pedals and I was unable to pull them out to stop the fall - and so I went crashing down onto the sharp rocky path, still tethered to the bike, yelling as I hit the rocks and the heavy bike pinned me to the ground.

OW!  Boy did that hurt.  I wondered if anyone had seen or heard me.  The trail seemed deserted at that moment, so I painfully managed to pull my feet out of the stirrups and heaved the oversized bike off my battered body.  I limped to the side of the trail, leaned the bike up against a tree, and gingerly sat down to examine my injuries.  I had multiple contusions on my legs, knees, elbows, etc. but everything seemed intact.  I was pretty shaken up however and the tears began to flow as I looked around and realized that I was completely alone.  I kicked myself for not bringing my phone - what if I'd been seriously injured?  I felt like an idiot.

A jogger happened upon me a few minutes later and seeing my dejected and tear-stained face she stopped and asked me if I was ok.  I nodded and managed to say that I was ok, just trying to collect myself and thanked her for stopping.  I must have looked like a wreck because she looked a little uncertain as she jogged away, but at that point I wasn't really crying because of the pain.  I felt like a stuck faucet had suddenly been opened and my pent up emotions from other things going on in my life started pouring out.  I sat there and wondered if I should just give up and go back home.

Then something came over me.  I got mad at myself for giving up so easily.  So what if I had a few scrapes and bruises?  At least I still have the use of my legs and my lungs and can handle a bike ride on a nice day.  I thought about my dad who will never ride a bike or do anything more physically exhausting than walking fifteen feet to and from the bathroom ever again.  What sort of a wimp was I to throw in the towel the minute something didn't go the way it was supposed to?  I was still crying, but now I was crying out of anger and frustration.  I decided to keep going, scrapes, bruises and all.

I'm happy to say that I made it the entire way around the lake.  My confidence was shattered though - every time I encountered a steep incline or decline I hopped off the bike and walked.  I felt like a kid who tries to ride a bike uphill for the first time.  Every rock and tree root caused a stabbing jolt of fear.  I resolved to never ride this particular bike ever again on this type of terrain.  Even a little boy pointed at me and said "Mama, why she go so slow?"  Sigh.

When I finally made it back to the paved pathway that leads back to my neighborhood I was elated.  I was even more overjoyed when I managed to pedal the entire way up the steep, curving hill - it's a killer.  Anyone who has ever pedaled a bike up that particular hill knows what I'm talking about.  It made the fall seem like nothing at all.

When I finally got home an hour later, my husband said he'd wondered what had taken so long.  When I told him that I'd had a little mishap he immediately said "Did you flip over the handlebars?" He and I had both flipped over the handlebars of our bikes on another unfortunate bike ride years ago, but that's a story for another time.  When he reminded me of that particular incident I realized that my fall that afternoon really hadn't been so bad after all.  Now I sit here a few days later with an aching knee and large angry purple welts on my leg where the bike hit me as it fell on top of me - but I just look at them as battle scars.  I'm still here, my body still works, and that's all that matters.  Now I just have to go get myself a new bike that is meant for someone my size.