I’m not allowed to grip a handlebar for 8-10 weeks. In fact, I’m typing this with my right hand and left thumb. The rest of that hand is close to useless after I severed two tendons during a freak door knocking accident, old door, antique, single-pane, mullioned glass. Stitches. Surgery. Etc.
And so, when Padraig came to town to visit, I wasn’t able to accompany him on a hammerfest down the Battle Path, a ride I had dreamed of sharing with him. Nor will I be able to ride D2R2 with him next month. It sucks. Not to put too fine a point on it.
It looks like I will become a runner over the next 6 weeks, a plodding, sweaty fool of a runner. I will set the trainer up in the basement and pretend it’s wintertime, two feet of snow on the ground and an arctic wind at the window. My wife will subject me to crunches and planks and lunges and all manner of gym rat skull-duggery. And I will weep for the loss of my two-wheeled escape.
No llores por mi Argentina. Like Gloria Gaynor, I will survive. I will maintain positive mental attitude. I can wait. I will come back stronger. It’s going to be fine. Maybe I’ll catch up on my reading.
This week’s regrettably brief Group Ride asks, what do you do when you can’t ride? And, if I don’t come out of this thing with abs of steel, will the whole thing have been a wasted opportunity?