Processing What Happened at the Long Voyage

It's been a process. 

A friend texted after a long ride on Labor Day, said he was "being like Molly." It meant a lot to me, in these weird times. Or strange times. Or dark days. Whatever you want to call it, the little message cheered me a little. Like, it's okay that I suck, some people still like me. Cool. 

Cause I've gone through some trials processing my DNF at Gravel Worlds Long Voyage. It's one thing to DNF. It's another thing entirely to have to DNF due to a reason outside of your control. And it's a whole new dimension of suck when you DNF due to a threat to your safety. 

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Just some quick facts in the background: I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in 2019. I completed Cognitive Processing Disorder in 2020, I've been back with my trauma therapist after settling the case against the driver who broke my back in 2018 - getting some loose ends tied up, if you will. I had hoped that returning from Nebraska would be a good place to take a break from therapy. I guess I'm just glad I had this safety net in place before ever having left for Lincoln. 

I'm just going to warn you that the below is a wandering list of the feelings & processes I've been navigating for the past several weeks... it's not pretty & maybe you don't see truth in it. But, what I've learned from therapy is that it is my reality, but it is also my responsibility to deal with it appropriately.

This is part of it. 

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The Grief

Anyone who is reasonably prepared for a race like the Long Voyage has to make so many sacrifices to even get to the starting line. For me, I sacrificed time with my small family, my parents & my friends. In some ways, I felt like I abandoned them. I spent countless paychecks obtaining equipment, replacing parts, getting groceries, paying mechanics, paying for a cycling-specific coach and getting to events. I focused what little time I had preparing in ways that I never have before - and I'm no stranger to long-ass days in the saddle. This event scared me, and I was going to be as prepared as possible for it. Both physically, mentally and emotionally. 

When I tested positive for COVID-19 despite being vaccinated, I had to adjust my expectations. I had to accept that a lot of the physical work I had done preparing my body was going to be lost - so I was grieving that. But I was proud I could toe the line. I was proud that I was there. 

So there's this processing of loss that comes with the DNF. I'm sad as hell that all of my work was for nothing. 

And it does feel like nothing. 188 miles - even on gravel - is beans compared to what I've done before. The level of preparedness and the amount sacrificed to get to 188 miles is disproportionate. It's sad. It feels like a fucking waste. 

I feel like a fucking waste. 

The Anger at Myself

Why? Well, if I was a stronger rider or a fitter cyclist or hadn't gotten COVID-19 or was thinner or wasn't working 50-hour workweeks or better prepared, then maybe I could have kept up with the lead group or the mid-pack, and I wouldn't have been alone at that exact time. 

If I had just ignored them and kept pedaling, like Sean and Steve did. Would they have left me alone?

I can only hear "Wrong time, wrong place" so many times before I just feel like it's a bad band-aid, or covering up the fraudulent man behind the curtain. 

If I truly was as good as I purported myself to be, then I'd have not been at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

The Anger at Other

And not only am I fucking waste, but how furious I am that I wasted my resources (tangible and otherwise) to have them mean nothing in the face of nameless, stupid-ass boys chasing & taunting me in the middle of the night. I'm furious. 

I mean no disrespect from my friends who have DNF'd due to mechanical or health reasons. Those are all legitimate - and honestly, something that might have ended my race prematurely, as well.

But for this? It's just so damn unfair that, as a woman, I have to carry the added burden of my own safety to the point of being unable to finish something that I worked so hard for. And for some people to blow it off. To be made to feel hysterical or unreasonable. 

Because of a horrible, scary situation, I was not able to showcase everything that I had worked for. 

The Resurgence of PTSD

My PTSD manifested itself in several different ways after Gravel Worlds. The intrusive thoughts came back almost immediately. I would wake up with night sweats for weeks after. I had dreams of dark stands of corn, which isn't exactly ominous of flashbacks, but it left me feeling very watched. I found myself looking over my left shoulder more, which was opposite of my symptoms in 2019, where my peripheral vision felt clouded. I was incredibly jumpy. I found myself looking for validation in others, rather than myself. I leaned into things that would distract me and I avoided going home. 

I get mean when I get sad. 

But, as my therapist said, I don't have to start every time. I've said that PTSD is something that I would always have, and there are days when its worse than others. So, this little resurgence... at least I had the tools to manage it straight away, instead of suffering for nearly two years before seeking help. I have the self-awareness now to recognize when I'm taking it out on my friends, or punishing myself, or working towards a panic attack.  

The Loss of Confidence

I have legitimately stared at the screen for five minutes trying to think of how to word this. Because this loss of confidence goes so much deeper than just feeling good about myself. Sure, there was that. But, I think to a degree, it's the loss of the confidence extending from existence. 

What was the point of it all? What good did I actually do? What made me think that I was capable of doing something so far outside of my wheelhouse? What made me think that I was worthy? Who did I think I was, talking up this event and bolstering my ego, like I deserved attention or deserved a spot at the table? I wanted to be seen, to be taken seriously, to matter. 

I just wanted it to matter, for it all to have meant something.