Middle Fingers Up.

I'm trying to write this without being whiny while also being true to myself, and there's not a way to do it. So, without apology: I was heading into 2018 hellbent on proving myself (to myself?) that I was worth my goals and ambitions, that I wasn't a lesser form of my fellow cyclists, that I wasn't a one-hit-wonder.

Despite the anxiety of those goals, I was loving the adventure: exploring gravel roads, coming up with training plans to get used to new conditions and riding up mountains, and being part of a campaign to get more women on bikes in big events. There wasn't much lined up for me with my career, so this was supposed to be the Year of the Bike. And when that man hit me, it was over, done, that's it. Everything I had been working for five months - 1,200 miles accumulated, weight lifting, yoga, go, go, go - meant nothing. What's worse, my livelihood - my paycheck, my calling - is now limited to delegating to students and cleaning up after my coworkers so they can run themselves ragged because I can't work. I went from as strong, fit, competent and on top of my game as I ever have been, to... what feels like nothing. It's demoralizing.

What's worse is how the lack of endorphins has just crashed my mind. Not only was I 'addicted' to the endorphin high, but I relied on it as a way to deal with depression and anxiety. And now I'm trapped in a body that has all if this brokenness- spine, mind. And I'm pissed. I'm fucking furious, because I can't compete, I can't excel, I can't do what I love and what I've planned, and I'm letting my team down. I don't want to be told how lucky I am, I don't want to be told that I'm lucky I'm alive. You don't think I know that?! It's not helping this week, where I can barely work and then pass out from exhaustion when I get home. The prayers aren't felt when I can barely do PT exercises. I don't want to hear about so-and-so's huge achievements and race reports from every.fucking.race. I miss because of this, because I'm jealous and angry and I feel left behind. Does that make me an asshole?

So here's a picture of two pissed off cacti from my friends, the Baldaufs. Because, I'm mad, and I'm sad, and I'm stuck. There's nothing to be done but 'take it one day at a time.' I'll get back to where I started, someday. But right now? I'm grieving and mad.