Where the mild things are

Did I "learn" anything in 2021?

To the point that mebbe regret is a way of learning, I guess so?

Perhaps it belongs in the "da doi" column, but I shoulda not tried to "race" at the Breck Epic.  That was one of the stupidest moments of bowing down to my own personal stubbornness and inability to respect my limits.  I was still pretty banged up from my wreck on the Palisade Plunge that happened on July 16th.  I just went through my Wahoo data acquisition device, and I only managed to ride less than twenty miles of trail from then till August 14th, the day before the Breck Epic started.  I'd skipped out on all the non-cycling exercise I normally do (mostly core stuff) because I couldn't manage to do any of them without pain.  I'd resorted to strapping KT Tape across my injured shoulder/back because according to what I've gathered, it's the panacea for all achy muscly things and all the other things as well.  

Did it help?

Dunno.  I felt like an "athlete."

But I decided to start the Breck Epic anyways.  I was taking ibuprofen and something else from the medicine chest from a previous injury.  Despite that, the pre-ride we did on August 14th was harrowing.  The pain in my ribs and shoulder would spark up with every quick movement, and I could feel my inability to react to the trail.  On top of all that, I was still kinda mentally scarred from the previous incident.  I was terrified of going down again, especially on the same side of my body.

So it should be no surprise that I only made it eight miles into Stage Two before throwing the right side of my tiny physique into the ground and adding my foot/ankle/leg to my list of problems.

Stupid.

I don't think of myself as a proud man (def not a Proud Boy), but I let pride fuck with me nonetheless.  Just because I had a plane ticket, a place to stay, and a number plate with my name on it in waiting for me in Breckenridge, and I could still hold onto my handlebars, none of those were reason enough to follow through with participating.  

I coulda respected my injury, flew out, volunteered, and still got on the board for the El Jefe Margarita Challenge Edition II... the only thing that mattered.

It woulda been "fun."  I coulda been soaking in the hot tub, course marshaling, riding around town or on the greenway... recovering.  Who knows?  Mebbe I woulda came back from Breck feeling like an almost whole human and been able to ride a bike in the woods without pain.  Mebbe the Shenandoah Mountain 100 would have been a less harrowing/slightly more rewarding experience.  Mebbe I wouldn't have been still dealing with my injuries on the week long trip up to West Virginia.

And by "mebbe," I mean certainly.

The worst part being that instead of losing a month and a half of good riding, I extended my misery out at least another month.  A summer month.  A mountain biking month.

How many of those do I have left?

So here's to making better decisions in 2022, or hopefully not having to make those decisions again.  Mebbe if getting in and outta bed is an awkward struggle trying to leverage my grip on the sheets with my good arm in order to maneuver the rest of my body, that's a good sign to hold off on trying to have happy fun times.

Mebbe.

All that said, it feels awesome to be normal (50+ year old me normal) again.