Bates, Beach, and Bikes

It’s hard to quickly summarize the changes two years can bring, but I have the right word: everything. 

Two years ago today I crashed while riding my bike. I sustained significant injuries to my face, but nothing unfixable. It could have been worse, as my mom decided to prove six weeks ago. A car turned in front of her on PCH and she managed to break (almost) every bone on the left side of her face and fracture her femur. She spent two nights in the hospital and is still dealing with weekly doctor’s visits and upcoming minor surgeries. While some of our injuries were similar, hers were much more significant. 

The impact of my crash was much more emotional than physical. I learned about valuing myself and the people I surround myself with. I learned about friendships, relationships, and family. The process of physically and emotionally healing exposed my naivety, my weaknesses, and my strength. I’m grateful for the person I came out as on the other side. 

Two years later I’m doing many things I said I’d never do. I’m living at home. I’m working for my father. And, the least expected of it all, I’m enjoying it! I wake up at 5:30 most days and go to bed way too late to fit in work, commuting, training, and being human. I still drool over the Instagram highlight reel’s of full-time pro athletes and tell myself I should do (cycling, stretching, reading, meditating, sleeping, cooking, duolingo-ing) more. There is always more to do. 

But I’m happy. I’m in a weird in-between phase of life as I ponder graduate school, racing goals, and where I want to live. I’m not one of those people who just know what they want to do with their life. That answer can vary by the hour, depending on if I’m at an aquarium (marine biology was the childhood dream), or listening to the BBC (and nerding out over development economics). My first six months back in California I fought hard to plan out my next step. I HAD to know what was next: the when/where/why of graduate school. I could not settle where I was with a job that was handed to me and a free place to live.

Finally though, after a summer of angst and perpetual dissatisfaction, I allowed myself to enjoy where I am now. I’m working in a job that could be a career path. At the very least, the experience I’m gathering is irreplaceable and oh so valuable. I absolutely LOVE the place I call home. I may have a commute that is the bain of my existence, but each day I travel from the beach to the mountains and am able to enjoy both. LUCKY ME. I’m traveling across the country racing my bike with an incredible group of women I get to call my teammates. I have incredible coaches helping me maximize the time I have to train. I have friends who make me feel so alive when we’re together. The here and now is really good. 

A letter to my birthday,

In 16 days I will be getting surgery. In 12 days it will have been seven months since my crash. In 11 days I will be back in California for the first time in three months. In 10 days, I will turn 21. 

When I crashed, getting back on the bike wasn’t an option. I had to. I was thankful nationals was so soon because it was a reason to ride I couldn’t resist. Sure, I was scratched up. I now had two fake teeth, fresh scars, and a broken nose, but I was okay. My legs worked. My head worked. I was okay.

My heart wasn’t quite okay. I’d been fighting depression all school year and it was a battle I’d finally began to acknowledge. Once I admitted I was depressed, I could begin taking steps to recovery. I still don’t know what caused it, or when it began. But I do know 52 days of antibiotics due to chronic strep throat made it significantly worse. The emotional recovery after my tonsillectomy in December was much more demanding than my physical recovery. When I crashed in April, I’d just felt as if I’d finally moved on from this low point in my life. Road season was wrapping up and I’d had solid results. I was thankful for the bountiful friendships in my life and a relationship that was exciting and happy. 

The crash itself didn’t cause emotional trauma. The struggle of juggling school, doctors appointments, and the fear of being a burden to my friends who took care of me did. I was heartbroken. I was disappointed, hurt, and frustrated by multiple aspects of my life. The worst part was I was unable to distract myself from the emotional pain. It was a low point. I was weak. I was in extreme physical pain and I was lonely. I was too tired to do much other than school, doctor’s, bed. Repeat. 

School ended. I went home.  I finally learned I had an abscess in my worst wound. It finally healed. I went to Italy. California. Colorado. Montana. California. Senegal. California. And three months later I found myself back in Colorado with another fresh scab on my face two days after a round of dermabrasion. It was frustrating to take what felt like a step back, but after a good cry on the car ride home and some Indian food, I was okay. Somewhere, in the craziness of my summer, I had healed. In the miserable moments of Senegal (and there were many) I learned about my own happiness. I learned it was something worth protecting. I learned what caused it, what hindered it, and what pretended to be it. I healed.

Six months later, I’ve finished my last collegiate mountain bike season, I’ve committed to my love of bike racing, I’ve dedicated myself to school, and I’m happy. It’s been one hell of a year and it’s not close to being over. In two weeks I’ll be receiving rhinoplasty to correct my (now) crooked nose while improving my breathing. Somehow, the crash still manages to come up every day. I’ve learned more about it. Apparently, I was calm when they found me on the side of the road. I answered questions coherently. I listened to instruction. But, as soon as they lifted me onto the stretcher, I threw a fit. I do not remember this, but I believe it. I’ve been told who was on the scene, who made called my teammates and who called 911. 

And every damn day, I massage my scar cream onto my face, just between my left nostril and lip. Some days I hate my scar. I want all the hard tissue beneath it gone. It’s shiny, red, and ugly. It never lets me forget what happened. I just want to go one day without thinking about April 16th, 2017, just before 10:00 am. It’s exhausting.

Other days I love it. It’s subtle but present. It’s bad ass. It’s a reminder of what I’ve overcome. It’s a reminder of how much more I can accomplish. I have to love it. It’s a part of me and I must love myself. It goes with my new bracelet that subtly reads “Unfuckwithable”. 

We’re almost there folks.

Race day. Last year this course had been our State Championship and I had gotten second. This year it was Nationals. I knew I had an advantage by knowing the course. I knew I came from altitude. I knew I was well rested. I only focused on my advantages. 

Noah, Sophie, and I piled into my car and put on soothing music. Nerves were hitting us for different reasons. We didn’t need pump up music, we needed to calm down and focus. So we did. 

Rolling up to the start, I saw my coach. He had never seen me race before but now, at nationals, he would be at the start and in the feed zone. Knowing that one of my favorite people would be supporting me through this race, I relaxed significantly. 

I started seeing other racers from Colorado, and to the entire RMCCC, thank you! The happiness everyone expressed at seeing me back on the bike was exactly the motivation I needed. I was surrounded by friends. I felt loved. I felt supported. I felt like the luckiest bike racer there.

For most of the first lap all 62 racers stayed together. I stayed in the front until the final descent. It was steep, it was crowded, and it was insanely windy. I didn’t like it. I watched everyone fly by me as I took my time. 

At the bottom there was a crash. No one was hurt, just a couple of girls had taken the turn too wide and found the ditch. Yet it was enough of a commotion to break up the field. A group of four went off the front. A group of five chased. And I found myself chasing a second group of five as we fought the headwind on the climb towards the start/finish.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. I thought I was going to never catch the wheel in front of me. I thought I was going to pull out of the race once we got to the top. I told myself to catch that wheel so at least I wouldn’t have to ride all by myself. Then I could quit. No one would blame me, I was under two weeks out from my crash.

I caught the wheel as the group started rotating. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but as I got to the front I realized the next group wasn’t too far ahead. We could catch them. 

During my next turn on the front I realized we hadn’t moved further or closer to them. We were holding the same pace. It seemed like I was the only one who thought we could close the gap. After rotating through once more and making no progress, I attacked. 

Everyone jumped on my wheel and we began drawing them in. I pulled for the next three kilometers. We caught them right at the top of the climb. I sat up, sat in, and recovered. I could now contend for 5th, that last podium spot. 

The next two laps I realized I was feeling good. I felt really good. The climbs felt easy but listening to the breathing around me told me the sea level girls disagreed. My coach said afterwards that he could tell I was having a good time. I stayed calm, I stayed patient, and I waited. 

As our group of 11 approached the finish, I made my way to the front. I knew the first girl to attack would not be the first across the line. The tempo started to slow; everyone was waiting. But when we hit the 1 km to go sign, the first attack went off. 

I responded instantly, but she had blown up. I flew past her. I looked back; I had a gap. I looked forward; the finish line was still a ways off. It really wasn’t a sprint finish. it was a head down, looking at your Garmin, and thinking “for how much this hurts I should be pushing so many more watts.”

I did it. I crossed the line in 5th. I podiumed at Nationals. I made a comeback. I was wheezing. I was crying out of happiness. But holy shit, I did it. 

The next day was the crit. I had the legs, but my mental stamina was gone. The crowded course scared me. I’d make my way to the front and then get passed when I was too timid in the tight turns. I kept thinking “two weeks ago today I was in the ER”  and “my nose is still broken.” Not the best self-motivation :). Quickly, I decided my goal would be to finish with the lead group and stay rubber side down. Mission accomplished, and Nationals was a wrap.

***

Lots of unsatisfactory thank you’s to come, but I didn’t recover from this on my own. 

To my coach, for believing in me, trusting me, and guiding me through this. I am so glad I could make you proud.

To my parents, for being parents. Sorry I didn’t let you fly out that afternoon, but I knew I was in good hands. Thank you for trusting me. And paying the medical bills....

To my mom, who saw (or heard via phone) me at my lowest throughout the process (and there were a good number of those moments). Thank you for all the advice and encouragement. Thank you for being my hero. 

To Nic, for being the first one in the ER, for telling me daily how much I’d healed, for being ready to get anything I needed, for reminding me to be patient with myself, and for the moral support. Oh, and making sure I was eating enough tuna and honey.

To Isaac, for being the world’s best friend. For sitting through four hours of the ER, for spending the next day being my personal wallet and chauffeur, for providing laughs, hugs, and smoothies. 

To Kate, my roommate, for getting us all through the ER, for the constant check ins, and for letting me know it’s okay to not be okay. What haven’t we been through??? Endlessly grateful for you. 

To Noah, for keeping me company when I looked like...not myself, for the ice cream, for the funny YouTube videos, and for being proud of me. We’ve got a national champ right here :)

To Sophie, for being the teammate that got me through Nationals, for being a great road trip companion, and for all the (boy) talks. I’m so glad you came to CC this year. Another year of great things lie ahead.

To everyone. THANK YOU! The phone calls, the texts, the stories, the smiles - all of it got me through the hard parts. I am so. Incredibly. Lucky. I don’t know what I did to deserve such love in my life, but I hope I can live up to it. My heart is full. I am so happy. 

Sophie and I decided to do something special for my first ride back outside, so we put on all the layers and headed to the Monument. All I can say, is damn. I took 85 photos on that ride. The climb to the top was beautiful. It was exactly what we both needed. The road was quiet, the view was ever-changing, and we were two teammates just enjoying the simple thrill of riding our bikes somewhere new. We had no agenda. This ride was just for us. 

We knew it was going to be an out-and-back, and the temperature was dropping the higher we climbed. We had yet to take off any layers and had no more to put on. We rode until we got to what was “basically the top” and made a u-turn. We let two guys pass by us and began descending, letting out the occasional four lettered word when a gust made our teeth chatter, but still laughing at how great life is. This was just one of those rides.

The two guys continued just ahead of us. I started thinking of catching them for some wind protection, but Sophie was enjoying our mellow pace and I was in no rush. They slowly went just out of sight as we enjoyed the views. The turns were jaw dropping, but then one of them was heart stopping. 

We came around a blind right hand turn and heard yelling. “STOP!” 

Writing this is hard. I cannot recreate the emotions we felt, nor do I want to. But I know Sophie and I will never forget that day. When we stopped we saw one of the cyclists lying on the road, a car just uphill from him, and the other cyclist trying to call 911, yell at the driver, and make sure cars stopped, all at once. It was evident we were the first on the scene. 

I found out later via google that the car coming up the road had moved into the other lane to pass a a(n illegally) parked car right as the cyclists were descending. Both had crashed, but only one had been hit and sustained major injuries.

As his companion yelled into the phone we heard that he had been run over. What Sophie and I could see was a dislocated hip, a broken femur, and road rash. What we could hear was the sound of incredible anguish. His moans are what I wish I could forget. I wish he had gone unconscious like I had. But he was very much awake and attempting to move. Sophie and I knew we couldn’t stomach the scene but needed to help so we went to slow down cars coming up from the corner below. Once traffic had been stalled, we very slowly finished the descent down, stopping three times for emergency vehicles on their way up. 

I would not have gotten back on my bike without Sophie. But she told me I could do it, so I did. We rode home in shock, but we had each other. We carried on with our day, using funny YouTube videos, tuna, honey, and cookies (an excellent combo) to distract ourselves. Noah, our friend from the Springs and third roommate for the weekend, showed up and helped to lift our moods with news of his 1st place finish in the TT. We made plans to meet my coach for dinner downtown and forced ourselves out of bed with the promise of food.

It was just as we sat down for dinner that I learned about the passing of Chad Young. I excused myself from the table to call the person who had shared the news. He was a friend and teammate of Chad’s and I wanted to make sure he was okay. But the call didn’t go through and I did the only thing I could think to. I called my mom. Hiding in the corner of an empty stairwell, I hit dial and completely broke down. I can’t claim to know Chad personally. I’d driven him home from a party after being told I was going to fall in love like every girl who met him did. He was so genuine. He talked about his upcoming plans and how he was going to live in France his own way, despite everyone having an opinion of how he should do it. He had us drop him off where he thought would be most convenient for us. He was also only 21, and that ran through my head again and again. The reality of my crash, which had still felt like a dream, the crash I’d witnessed earlier, and Chad’s crash all came together. Sobbing into the phone I told my mom I’d never been scared to ride my bike before but, right now, I was so, so scared. I told her how lucky I was. I told her I didn’t know if I would be so lucky the next time. I crash often, but I usually roll out of it with a few scrapes. I was terrified I would crash again. I realized I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. I was afraid that another crash would make it mentally impossible for me to get back on the bike. I can’t stop riding bikes. I love them. But at that moment, I hated them. I just wanted to stop seeing Natalia’s wheel and the ground rushing towards me. I wanted to stop hearing that man moaning. I wanted to stop imaging Chad sitting in the back of my car. I wanted to change it all. 

I couldn’t change anything. 

I could pull myself together. My mom told me I was in shock. But that didn’t seem fair. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be complaining when I was sitting on the stairwell, talking to my mom, with friends and dinner waiting downstairs. I should only be grateful for what I had.

Before I continue, I need to thank Isaac. I will never stop thanking him. The next part was the worst to come. Despite receiving a hit of morphine (if you want to talk about weird experiences...) I wasn’t entirely above experiencing pain. Nothing will compare to the numbing injections I received prior to the ENT cleaning up and stitching up my face. I would’ve broken Isaac’s hand if I could’ve. It was the first time I cried in the emergency room. I don’t know what made the injections so f*@!#ng painful, but they were by far the worst part of the entire experience. Fortunately once numb, the rest was easy. She cleaned up my face, removing gravel and pieces of teeth (yummy), and did a fantastic job stitching me up. Isaac was thrilled to find out that this counted as sitting on a surgery. At least he got something out of it. 

Then the wait to get discharged began. I hadn’t eaten or drank in seven hours and the morphine wore off. Cue round of crying number 2. 

Finally, Isaac drove me home. I checked my phone...and wow. I was incredibly overwhelmed, in the best sense of the word. News of my crash had spread fast. The outpouring of concern, support, advice, and love was unreal. I couldn’t believe it. 

Once home, a nice shower helped adrenaline kicked back in and I had some visitors. I was happy to see friends and pretend everything was okay for a bit. But at 7 o’clock, the reality of the situation hit hard and the fatigue was unreal. I asked Nic to kick everyone out (sorry guys) and laid down. Yet, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Natalia’s wheel and feeling like the ground was rushing up at me, so I asked Nic to watch something on Netflix as I’d listen (concussion problems) as a distraction. I fell asleep sitting upright with ice on my face, Rogue One playing in the background, and a hand to hold. It could’ve been worse. 

“It could’ve been worse” was what I told everyone who saw me the next few days. I looked rough, but I knew I was lucky. I had zero concussion symptoms, no broken bones (other than the nose and two teeth), and the best friends in the world were helping me get and do everything I needed. I will never understand how I got so lucky to be surrounded by such incredible people.

As it turns out, the medics weren’t sure what had happened to me either. “You were in a bike crash.” True. “We found you on the side of the road.” Not entirely true. “You hit your face.” Very true. “You were alone when it happened.” Not true. 

I thought I remembered being with Natalia and Emily, so I ignored the details. I was too distracted by the fact that I had crashed, and it was serious. My first thought was “I don’t do this! I crash a lot, but I don’t hurt myself badly. That’s what my mom does (sorry mom)! This is wrong. I shouldn’t be here.” None of it felt real. And that was terrifying.

I began to shake uncontrollably. The shock hit me hard, and that was when they decided to take my blood pressure. I was later sent home with papers that advised I lose weight, exercise more, and consume less sodium and alcohol. Whatever you say, doc. 

My next thought was that I needed to tell them who to get. I kept trying to say “Nic and Kate, Nic and Kate, Nic and Kate”. I thought it, over and over. It was my little mantra on the drive to the ER. It kept me awake. I tried so hard to tell the medics those two names, but it never happened. It was taking all of my energy to keep my eyes open. I knew I couldn’t fall back to sleep, but sleep had never sounded so good. 

Things started to become clearer in the ER. I remember Nic walking in the door, and knowing that the doctor was explaining my injuries, but I didn’t hear any of it. I was trying to focus all of my attention on the hand I now had to hold. I was trying not to be scared. I was trying not to be shy, because I knew my face looked bad. I was trying not to cry. So, I held on, and closed my eyes. 

When I came back from my CT scans, Nic was replaced by Isaac and Kate. I’d never been happier to see my two best friends. The CT scans revealed I had a broken nose, but my brain appeared just fine. Still, I had lost consciousness and that meant a concussion. Miraculously, the rest of my body was okay. As the doctor checked for broken bones, he applied pressure to check for sensitivity. When he got to my legs, he commented on how strong they were. I thanked him, saying he was free to continue giving them a massage. He laughed and said he liked me. I didn’t get my massage :( 

To kill time, I had Isaac send out a photo (see below) of me in the gurney with bandages on my face with no explanation and, consequently, read me the reactions. I am so sorry if you were one of those people who received the photo. However, making light of the situation helped it feel less serious. 

They did an ultrasound to check for internal damage. The ER doctor couldn’t log into the machine at first, and two others joined him to help. The nurse joked “how many ER doctors does it take to operate an ultrasound?”

My response, “how many blondes does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

“Two. One to hold the lightbulb, the other to turn the ladder’

At least everyone in the room laughed.

The bad jokes continued when the otolaryngologist (ENT) came in to stitch up my face. 

Isaac: “How many frat bros does it take to screw up in a lightbulb? None, CAUSE IT’S LIT FAM.” *insert most dramatic eye roll ever here*

ENT doc: “How many neuro surgeons does it take to screw in a light bulb? One, he holds it, and the world revolves around him.”

Isaac: “How many Freudians does it take to screw in a light bulb? Two. One to screw in the bulb and the other to hold the penis... LADDER! I said ladder!”

This confirmed what I had guessed, I was in for a long day.

***Do NOT try this at home***

In the second to last weekend of the RMCCC season, I was going back and forth with Natalia Franco from CMU for the top spot in the conference. It didn’t really matter which one of us snagged it, we’d be competing in separate divisions at nationals and would both get a front row call up. I was excited for us. Natalia and I had been going head to head all season. I’d beat her if it came to a sprint finish, she’d beat me when she could break off the front. She pushed me to be a better racer.

The first race of the weekend was a criterium. My result was great, but the best part of the day was how much support I had on the sidelines. Every section of the race had teammates, professors, or friends cheering me on. I couldn’t stop smiling. It helped me get over my nerves. The year before I’d crashed on the final turn. Despite no broken bones, I came out of it covered in copious amounts of road rash and it had been my worst crash yet. After having already crashed this season in a wet CSU crit, I just wanted to stay upright. Mission accomplished, and a podium finish to go along with it. 

The next day was the road race. While I dreaded completing four laps of the hilly course, I knew there was nothing to do but line up and ride. Coming up the final climb of the first lap the pack was still sitting together. Natalia was in her happy place, pushing the pace on the front, and I sat in third position behind her, refusing to get dropped. It wasn’t until I heard her teammate yell from behind us to slow down that I realized just how hard we were going. Natalia refused to give up. This was going to be her race, and we soon had a sizable gap on the rest of the field. 

Emily, Natalia, and I were determined to keep the break. Natalia was strongest on sustained climbs, myself on punchy hills, and Emily on the flats. We used this to our advantage to keep building our break. None of us wanted to get caught. We had the podium ahead of us, and were flying. On the sustained 1% descent we were averaging 29 mph, rotating steadily, and listening to the moto as he told us our gap was growing. That’s all I remember. 

I woke up lying on my back on the side of the road. I remember being very grateful someone was putting a blanket over me because I was suddenly very cold. The same person held my hand and kept telling me not to move, I’d be okay. I wanted to tell her that I was very comfortable with this blanket and wouldn’t move. I also wanted to tell her to stay; her voice was very soothing. I was awake, but I just wanted to go back to sleep. I was very tired. The warm sun felt so nice, and it had heated the asphalt underneath me. I was in a lullaby state, positive I was dreaming.