Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: 7 years

August 19, 2021

Seven years.  2,555 days ago a driver decided that crossing into my lane and hitting me with her SUV was more important than waiting 30 seconds. “But Mom, I told you she was there” her son says, as she tries to deny seeing me. “Could you watch your language” she says first thing as I’m laying under her vehicle, looking up at her exhaust, swearing up a storm.  “No!” I reply. “You hit me with your car…I can say anything I want right now!” I shout as my friends drag me out from under her car, while I’m still clipped into my pedals. 

Seven years.

She has fixed the dent I left in her door, but my brain is permanently injured…damaged. 

2, 555 days.

This year was one of my hardest years yet (and not just because we were living in a pandemic) but there was also a bit of acceptance.  This past winter, being shut inside avoiding people, I finally condensed my four giant tubs of teaching material down to one.  I’m still not ready to admit I won’t go back, but I’m ready to reduce how much material I keep around.  

Seven years.

This is the first year that the month of August, leading up today, didn’t send me into a downward spiral.  I thought I was in the clear, another form of acceptance.  Then, a few days ago the anxiety got worse…the anger…it all hit me like a storm.  Then last night, the storm got worse. 19 days worth of emotions snowballed into three. I guess I’m not in the clear.

2,555 days.

I could tell you how tired I am. I could tell you how hard this is.  I could tell you how frustrating this is.  I could lay out every one of my symptoms/deficits.  I could tell you that I can’t imagine doing this for another 40 years (or even another 7 years) but if you know me or you follow my Confessions, you already know all that.  I could tell you a story about that awful day.  I could share more about my journey but I simply do not have it in me this year.  So instead I’ll end with this…please, please, PLEASE, don’t be selfish.  Don’t think that your time is more important than someone else’s life, their safety, their health.  Share the road with cyclists.  It won’t kill you to wait, but it might kill us if you don’t.

Seven years. 2,555 days.