New Hampshire and post-traumatic stress

You could say I literally fell into fall. It's uncanny how the year turned almost the second the sun leaned south over the equator.

It was Friday, Sept. 23, in the morning. I was dressed for the gym, anxious to go because I had been skipping for most of the summer. It was sprinkling and I was worried it would rain — I hurriedly biked from Columbia Heights to 19th Street, where I would hit the gym, dress for work, and start my Friday. This day was really exciting. I had spent the night prior meticulously cleaning the house for David's birthday party. We were sure to have a good showing, I was excited for a night of drinking and friends.

I was biking south on New Hampshire when several things happened. The intersection I was nearing became blocked by a vehicle, freezing my lane's traffic. The biker in front of me stopped completely and I realized if I didn't stop immediately I would hit him. I slammed on my brakes, handily stopping my bike, but unfortunately propelling myself over the handlebars and chest first into the pavement. I winced and grunted as even the force of the fall swung my laptop bag over my back, likely smashing a side of my computer (which it did).

I got up, smarting from the fall, and profusely apologized to the guy I nearly crashed into. He was very nice, obviously concerned for what looked like a very nasty fall. I was especially embarrassed and told him I was fine. I picked up my bag and bike and started to walk it through the intersection — noticing a very prominent burning sensation in my shoulder and feeling with each moment extreme discomfort and pain every time I tried to lift my left arm. Something was very wrong.

I walked maybe 300 feet, clearing the intersection and taking myself out of the gaze of any onlookers who might have seen my spill. As much as I hoped I had escaped major injury thanks to another bonehead move on my part, I wasn't getting away from this that easily. I had to go the emergency room and it was going to be a very long day.

...so, yeah, that's basically how it happened. A little over two weeks ago I shattered my clavicle in a bike accident on my way to work. It sucks, but since I've had a couple weeks to marinate on it, it turns out it's not SO bad (although it's not exactly a piece of cake either). So many hard-core cyclists actually consider a broken collarbone a right of passage. I guess this means I've got cred, right? Clavicles are actually among the weakest bones in the body and don't take a terribly long time to heal. That means it can't be that bad, right?

Who am I kidding, I've been absolutely miserable since this whole thing happened. Broken bones slow you down, big time. No biking, no gym, no running. Lumping my bike in the corner and hoofing it everywhere has made me feel like a bird with its wings clipped. Also, I have had pretty much zero fun. The first week and a half, the narcotics kept me away from booze. And last week, when I started to feel like I was in one piece again, I was sent back to bed thanks to a nasty cold.

If fall is going to start like this, what does the rest of the year herald for me? I'm hoping against hope that my doctor lets me bike again before my birthday next month so at least I get to enjoy some of this fall weather. Winter biking is nothing but miserable. The last thing I wanted to do this fall was drag myself around town in a sling, going back and forth between physical therapy (wait, wait...am I flashing back to last fall's ankle injury??)

After a great summer, maybe it has helped me to be more humble, getting knocked down a couple of pegs. I'm getting older — *grumble* — so maybe I need to have more respect the choices I make and the potential consequences. And if you really want to hear the jaw-dropper on this story: No, I wasn't wearing a helmet. I'm damn lucky I didn't break my skull.

But, on the upside of all this, it feels oddly exhilarating to push myself to these limits. I've never broken a bone before — I used to say that with pride. But now I can say I have broken a bone before and I'm better for it. Because the experience instills a respect for these dangers like no lecture can. I know the pain and loss of a mistake such as this and that is a kind of wisdom you can't share.