Bike racer’s blogs are legendary for their self-indulgent, mind-numbing race reports. Professional cyclocross racer, Georgia Gould, characterized this disease best when I asked her whether she had a blog, Facebook fan-page or twitter-feed: “No, I am not into that stuff…Would anyone really care about the details of my racing? To me, it would seem very boring.”
If race reports from professionals are boring, you can bet a slow-twitch masters-aged racer’s report would be the ultimate cure for insomnia. Thus, I vowed to always avoid posting the details of my weekend racing.
And this CW post will continue in that same vain, but for a unique reason: I cannot remember a darn thing about the race—as if I was in a propofol-induced slumber.
|Milliseconds before the crash|
Can you say concussion.
It seems that if one whacks their brain hard enough, like any other organ (cardiac stunning after a heart attack, acute liver injury from low-blood pressure, or transient kidney failure from toxins), the brain can transiently be stunned.
“Gosh, what happened to your face”
“Crashed the bike.”
“I can’t remember.”
But here is what I do remember: the kindness, the compassion and the many well-wishes of friends and cycling colleagues. Some traditionalists may argue that social media fosters some bad habits, but one of its really cool positives is that it also allows for an unparalleled avenue of expressions of goodness. Like the multitude of text-messages, Facebook posts, and emails which I received after the accident.
To all who called or e-messaged me, I say thank you.
I am fine. There are no deficits or residual symptoms. (I was cleared to work by two independent doctors.) In fact, like Henry, in Regarding Henry, I think I hit my head so hard it turned me into a “nice” cardiologist. Hopefully, this particular sequlae will persist.
One can only hope.