PTSD

Bike riding has not always been kind to me.  In fact, nearly every broken bone I have had is because of the bike.  My first memory of riding a a bike is when I broke my leg at the age of 5.  I am sure I had been riding for quite sometime before that (see me learning to ride above) but this memory wipes them all out.  It was a dreary day (it must have been!).  I was at my friend Jill's house, and she had a gravel driveway on a hill.  These were the days when you back pedaled to put the breaks on.  Unfortunately, I had the bright idea to put my leg down to stop myself.  And, there you go, a spiral fracture of my right tibia.  Of course it was at the beginning of the summer, so I had to spend the entire summer in a cast and on crutches.  Swimming meant floating on a tube with a garbage bag over my leg.  What a bummer!

Then there was my encounter with Meredith Hoyt and a man hole cover, which left me with a broken rib and her with a broken tailbone.  This added to my not so memorable trip of climbing hills in France.  Oh well.

And then the "best" break of all, my collarbone, at crit practice, in August last year, followed by surgery, followed by a year to forget.

Which has given me PTSD (i.e. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  So today, riding in Hulda Crooks with Matt, I did the toddler thing and pouted (or rather flatly refused) when confronted with a steep downhill gravel trail.  The adrenaline starts, then the nerves, then the loss of balance and all confidence.  I will surely die (or break a leg, or a collarbone) if I ride it.  Right?  FLASHBACKS to 5 years old!  But, yet, I have decided to take the plunge (no pun intended) and get a mountain bike.  In exchange, Matt has agreed to be my nurse when I break the next bone.

The weather was great today, though.  And the view was awesome, although I didn't see much of it because I was concentrating so much on the trail...