Training Through the Crack: Lessons from the Pavement

 Life remains a little crazy. Maybe the “Big Guy” upstairs is trying to tell me something.

I lay flattened on the ground, staring into the concrete, pain radiating through my shoulder. I moved my head gingerly—my helmet had whacked the pavement hard and slid, but I seemed functional. Then I tested my legs, my left arm, and slowly stood up to face two anxious Watertown, MN, homeowners who’d already called an ambulance.

Dang, I thought. Another bike crash—six years after the last one! Super painful but, once again, I escaped life-threatening injuries. (I love my helmet, and yes, I always make sure the chin strap is securely tightened.)

Of course, my brain immediately started defending itself: I wasn’t goofing around! I had been enjoying the fall colors, double-checking every intersection for cars, scanning the road ahead. But alas, I must have been too relaxed on my aero bars and didn’t notice a depression from a manhole cover. In a nanosecond, my front wheel dropped into the sunken concrete which popped my arms up into midair. Grabbing the aerobars as the bike lurched right then left was too little too late. I attempted to steady myself—but I’m no Cirque du Soleil acrobat, my body launched forward onto the street like I was sliding into home base.

Diagnosis: fractured clavicle. Two breaks. Thankfully not displaced, which means no surgery—just patience. And that’s the real test.

I was—am—training for the World Half Ironman Championships in Spain this November. One Sunday ride gone bad, and I was stopped cold. The incident reminded me that no matter how strong you are, something can always take you down. Internally, I had been a little cocky—everything felt great. I had more time this summer to train, to relax, and my finicky 66-year-old body was cooperating beautifully. Ha!. Now I’m back to square zero.

But self-pity has never been my thing. Plenty of people I know face far tougher challenges. My personal problem? Wanting to heal in 5½ weeks… so I can race again. I know, a very self-indulgent drive. Granted, it’s a big deal because this triathlon coming up was a year in the planning. Racing in Spain wasn’t just another event—it’s the ½ Ironman World Championships and my “A” race, a chance to see my son, a Navy Diver stationed in Rota, and his pregnant wife. Should I just give up, sit on the beach cheering others and heal properly or see what I could do?

Nah. My first thought was, How can I still make Spain happen?

My reasoning? I better live my own messaging. I’m building a business around supporting women as they age—challenging ladies to build a life of abundance by pushing through setbacks with resilience, gratitude, and better health. Obviously, now I too, need to pivot with purpose. Chasing a medal has evolved to chasing “the commitment”; To show up, appreciate everything I have, learn from my mistakes, and see what’s possible.

This post accident week? I’m healing and resorting priorities—creatively and positively.

First steps? Control what I can. Feed myself good food. Hike the hills with one pole. Ride the indoor trainer while wearing a sling. Get in the water, grip the kickboard with one arm, and flutter kick. Feel my scabs slough off (sorry, Lifetime Pool). Keep the feel of movement, even if my right arm can’t join the party yet.

I tell women all the time: Aging isn’t a total decline. We don’t have to be defined by old habits or injuries. The real path is finding the why behind what happens to us, making the best of it, controlling what we can, and turning our hard-earned wisdom into growth. This injury forces me to live my own words.

No more homemade cookies for now. And geez, my giant Costco bag of Skinny Pop I can demolish in one workday isn’t making me skinny. To attempt my adjusted goal of controlling what I can to make it to the event, indulgences must take a back seat. Nutrition will move front and center. (Yes, a little chocolate always stays.)

The goal is simple: heal and train. Listen to what I know works and lead by example. This reset must be a learning moment, otherwise the whole incident is a painful waste of emotion, torn skin and broken bones. The balance between discipline and relaxation, pain and push, commitment and achievement is where real growth happens.

I preach living a Life of Contrast in my Gals with Grit coaching program;  I believe deeply in the energy that Contrast creates. It keeps life dynamic, meaningful, and full of possibility.

Will I race in Spain? I don’t know yet. But I’ll be there, in whatever capacity I can. Perfect outcomes are elusive. But I can reshape many of life’s spontaneous combustions, build a colorful story, and hopefully share a lesson or two while doing so.

Broken bones heal. Grit, gratitude, and learning endure.

Stay tuned. I’ll share the next steps of adapting training and the effort to complete workouts using methods I normally don’t enjoy. Hopefully I will stand at the start line of the Mediterranean ocean swim… if my collarbone heals in time. And if not? I’ll enjoy the beach, cheer for my friends, learn a lesson and call it another chapter in this crazy, colorful ride of life.