Recovery...

So as I'm sure the majority of the blogosphere knows I was hit by a car last week while training on my brand new time trial bike. Without getting into to much detail about the accident I will say that I have never been so scared in my life. Seeing a car pull out in front of you when your fifteen feet away traveling at twenty-five to thirty mph is absolutely terrifying. If you do the math on the situation I was traveling at approximately 13.4 meters per second so essentially it was impossible for me to avoid disaster. A little part of me is surprised that my fingers are not bent into the brake levers, I was squeezing that hard! In the great match up of man vs. automobile the man always looses, or so everyone is telling me. Miraculously my helmet did an amazing job and absorbed the blow of my head hitting the driver side window. The next two to three minutes were the most frightening moments of my life. I physically could not draw a breath into my lungs and my entire right side was burning with a white hot pain that seemed to be piercing all the way to the cellular level. As bystanders immobilized and covered my body to counteract the shock that we creeping in the image that filled my eyes was beyond surreal. A green 2001 Buick with a massive dent oddly similar to the shape of my body, a Felt S22 time-trial bike in three pieces strewn across the pavement like so many carelessly disregarded roadside dumps, and then under the car some fifty feet further up the road my Briko cycling glasses. An ominous reminder that it could have been my whole body that far up the road. Through the amazing EMTs of the Keene Fire Department I was at the ER in no time being poked and prodded by an assortment of doctors, nurses, radiologists, and lab techs. Mary and Erik sat by my bedside while we waited for my test results to come back. The popular bet was that I had some broken ribs with an outside shot at a cracked femur. As I anxiously awaited the results my mind swam in terror. Having rehabilitated a broken femur before I was aware that there possibly was a very long road ahead. Finally the doctor reentered the suite with a glum look on his face. My mind was in overdrive as surges of morphine tried to reestablish order in the millions of synapses wildly firing their excruciating message. I was prepared for the worse when suddenly a wry smile came across the Doctor's face. "We've gotta get you doing more speed work, somehow you weren't going fast enough to break anything!" Erik would later say that the doctor clearly did not know who he was dealing with. Relief quickly spread as the doctor and nurse began to caution me about the days to come. Warning me that the next week was going to be terrible and that things were going to get worse before they got better. Unfortunately they were both right and despite massive amounts of pain meds I have been living a cruel shadow life the past week. As things stand now I am beginning to see some improvement. The range of motion in my neck has returned to near normalcy leaving me to deal with the unyielding pain of my severely bruised ribs and thigh. The time table for my return to training is foggier than a San Fransisco morning run but hope is creeping higher with each passing day. Obviously a new bike is on the horizon and I will have to start at square one again just as legitimate competitive fitness was beginning to blossom. But the good news is that I'm still here eager to begin this new journey.

Mark