Me and my technicolour dream skin II

Click here to read the first part of this story. Hmmm...I'm a bit disappointed. The reason I chose this particular title is because I expected to be all colours of the rainbow by now. But I'm not.

Don't get me wrong - my numerous bruises are still pretty impressive, just not worthy of a bunch more self-portrait photos. That said, I am particularly proud of the bruise that came up around the 12cm-long slice into my left leg. It's so distinct that - were I educated in the appropriate branch of "-ology" - I'd be able to tell you the genus, species, and classification of flora/fauna that bitch-slapped my thigh.

When people ask my why I keep mountainbiking the answer is always the same - to put myself in harm's way, and challenge my anxiety head-on. Indeed, as in my time-trialling back in the UK some years ago, some of my best rides are accomplished with the right mix of aggression, assertion, and focus. I used to be pretty good on courses with rolling hills. I'd attack them and, instead of changing down a gear, I'd try to maintain the same pace by sprinting over them. One of the key indicators of my fitness level would be how much I was gasping as I crested the hill, and how quickly I could return to optimum speed and get my breathing back under control afterwards.

That's the key to breaking the other riders' will. It's bad enough to be passed on an uphill section, but if you get to the top and realise that the guy who only just passed you didn't even slow down to recover and is now a tiny speck on the horizon, it's pretty crushing. I expect Lance will similarly mutilate most of his opposition in the Alps and Pyrenees in a few days' time, which reminds me - I really must figure out which cable channel the Tour de France is on.

Point #2 about all this is that bruising and bleeding are side effects of the drug I'm on. Well, that's not quite true. I doubt the FDA or whatever the Canadian equivalent is would allow a drug on the market that directly bruised people who took it! I guess it'd be more accurate to say that the drug induces haemophilia-like symptoms. All it takes is for a shin to brush a table leg and - hey presto - the next day "Billy" or "Aspvik" is stamped backwards in purple on my skin.

Point #3 is that crashing usually isn't as bad as one expects. GAD is probably best described as the fear of fear itself. Sometimes one can be experiencing fear-like symptoms (increased heart rate, sweating, agitation, twitching) without being able to describe what it is that you actually fear. Sometimes there isn't anything, but the whole problem is that you can't just switch it off. This is why CBT is based on the idea of retraining the mind to be able to rationalise one's fearful feelings and say, "Is there actually anything I need to worry about right now? What's the worst that could happen? Honestly, how likely is that to actually happen? Has it ever happened before, was I mistaken?" So, in a way, the crashing is almost as important as the riding itself. It's the only way you can learn that it really wasn't as terrible as you expected.

That said, it's not like there's no terror. In the 'crashing' example on the first part of this story, there was muchos dreados as I headed towards the dog-leg right turn I was never going to make. Still, I can't specify what I was actually dreading - I wasn't imagining myself being impaled on a tree stump or similar - just a horrible, sickly, panic-inducing, "Oh no - I'm out of control" feeling that rose up inside me. It's kind of a shame because it makes me wonder, were I able to suppress those feelings, would I have actually been able to make the turn...? I guess it's the same as training soldiers to be calm when under fire. If you only have a split-second to get a shot off before somebody shoots you, then it's sorta important to remain calm and make sure your solitary shot finds its target.

This is why (point #4) me making a grab for the overhead branch in order to ensure the bike took the fall instead of me is such a worthy achievement. It means I was thinking rationally. I feared disaster, yes, and was caught in the grip of mind-bending anxiety admittedly. But, it means that in the split-second beforehand my thought process must have gone along the lines of:

1. "Gosh, it's lovely and sunny up here. Is that a chipmunk over there? Oh...hang on a moment...this suddenly doesn't seem to be going too well. I've lost control of the back end of the bike, and I'm now losing control of the front as well. That's not so good;"
2. "Yep, I thought so. I'm not actually riding this bike anymore. It's just going wherever it wants to go, and it just happens to be my feet locked into the pedals and my hands on the bars;"
3. "Oh dear. I can't imagine this is going to turn out very well. There's a massive, steep drop ahead of me and to my left, and that seems to be where I'm heading and there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it;"
4. "I suppose I could try really throwing the front wheel into the right-hand turn?"
5. "No, I don't think I'm going to be able to do that. I'm just going way too fast for a turn like that, plus I don't know what's around the corner;"
6. "Yeah, this feels like I'm about to take a flying lesson - do I really want to do that?"
7. "Hmm...bikes weren't really designed to fly, and there's lots of trees and branches around here so it's more likely I'd get caught up in those than actually get airborne. Besides, you just don't hear about people or bikes being able to maintain flight for any significant quantity of time, so perhaps I should think of an alternative arrangement..."
8. "Oh - talking of branches, there's one right there coming up in front of me. I wonder if it would take my weight?"
9. "Well, it looks pretty thick, and I don't see any other branches I could reach that'd be stronger. Besides, it's probably better to try to slow my body down a bit even if I can't slow the bike down;"
10. "Yeah, I reckon that's my best bet. The front wheel will probably turn at right-angles as soon as I let go of the handlebars, so I'll have to get my hands onto that branch pretty fuckin' quickly. Sorry Al Gore, but I think I'm about to vandalise a tree;"
11. "Got it! Yeah, it's bending under my momentum, but it feels pretty sturdy. That's cool, I should be OK now;"
12. "OK, here it comes...here we go...";
    
13. "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!"

Cue opening my eyes, bloodied and cleaved, with a tree branch in my hands and a damp, soggy feeling in the back of my shorts (the wet mud I landed on - I didn't actually go as far as shitting myself).

Not that time anyway.

And afterwards:

"Wow! What happened there? I still have the branch in my hands but I seem to be a long way from where I was when I closed my eyes. OK, where does it hurt? Left thigh, left calf, left ankle, back of my right knee, left hip, left shoulder blade, and my ribs at the back. Oh, and the knuckles on my left hand. Yuk - my socks are full of mud. I still have my crash hat on though so I can't be that badly hurt. Where the fuck is my bike though?"

It's a running joke amongst cyclists in the UK that you can tell how badly injured a rider is after a crash by what he/she says first. If their first comment, assuming they're not winded, is something along the lines of, "Is my bike OK?" then you know they're pretty much OK no matter how much blood and gore there might be.

If they don't say anything, then call an ambulance.

Point #5 is that, once I'd got both me and my bike back onto the trail, I carried on riding. This is crucial because after a bad crash, whether because it was notably terrifying or notably painful, it is possible to be out-psyched by the crash itself. Kinda like a mini-version of post traumatic stress disorder. If you don't start riding again immediately, then it can take a long time to do so because you allow the fear to take control of you. Conversely, if you get back on the bike then you're using your body to combat your mind. Keep riding, and your mind has no choice but to conclude that the crash - whilst inconvenient - wasn't enough to stop you in your tracks. It makes it 'just routine'. Were I more generous, I'd conclude that there must be some semblance of courage or valour in there.

This is also why I made sure that I was out on my bike again two days later. I didn't do the exact-same trail again, but I might ride that today to see if I can do it better this time.

I think I need to change out of my pyjamas first though.