Progress and an answer

Eventually I stopped crying about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to do the NJ State triathlon. I’d realized my broken collarbone and subsequent surgery to repair it, had left me unable to swim. I had let the disappointment sink in. But just because of my crazy contrarian streak, I went on the race’s Facebook page and sent a message to the race directors asking them to let me switch my registration from the long course (olympic) to short course (sprint) event. They said it was no problem. They even issued me a partial refund. I should have asked for a full refund and just withdrawn. I knew that. Because I realized the who think was hopeless.

The next day I had another check up and x-ray. Even though I felt lower than I had since the day of the accident, Dr. Flemming said he thought I was making good progress. He said keeping active would encourage faster bone growth, he said race or no race, I needed to keep training. He lifted my arm, palpated the space below the incision where the nerve had been cut and the skin was numb and still is. He opened my arm out to the side, made it into a little wing and flapped it.

“You’re doing well.” He said.

I did not feel well. I felt two hot, wet tears bulge out of my eyes and plop onto to the hem of my shorts.

“Don’t stop.” He said.

He told me to come back in five more days, at which point it would be only five days until the race.

Friends were coming in from out of town. I made them posters. I would stand at the edge of the race and do my best to cheer.

I did a few bike sessions on my trusty mountain bike, with its fat, slow, knobbly tires. I jogged a bit and found a rhythm for swinging my right arm so I could keep it from getting bounced too much. I got in the pool one more time and found a little more rotation in the arm, was able to complete a 500, though barely enduring the pain.

When I got to my next appointment with Dr. Flemming he showed me the latest x-ray and asked me if I was feeling any better.

“A little,” I said. I went on: “My body is improving, but I feel really depressed.”

“Would you feel better if you did the race? Because I am ready to give you the go ahead.

I couldn’t quite believe it. I had been pretty sure if I felt like crap, that meant I wasn’t healing fast enough and that he was going to tell me to the race was a bad idea. But instead he said I could go for it if I wanted. I had to ask him three times to figure out if he was really sure, really meant it, was sure I wasn’t just going to worsen everything. He was sure. In fact, he was pretty adamant that I probably needed to attempt it, otherwise the psychological defeat would be worse than the injury.