I’ve spent enough time riding to know that some sort of injury was somewhere on the horizon. I’ve been contemplating this for the last few seasons; marveling at just how relatively unscathed I’ve been through racing, commuting, and riding with friends. I’m no stranger to broken bones, but it’s been long enough (12 years) since I remembered just how much that experience can set you back.

Turns out though, that this time around I didn’t know it was broken for 330 miles and 5 days later. A year of planning a trip on the OCVA never included riding with a broken hand, but thankfully the braking fingers worked and the scenery and weather were stunning. A high tolerance for pain notwithstanding, it made for hard days in the saddle to keep our 4 day schedule.

A forced reset was something I knew I needed, but never would have actually signed up for. And maybe it’s the slow crawl into my late 40’s or the thousands of miles under my belt, but it’s been welcome. There’s been a perspective shift in my brain over these last few years that made this injury different from others.

This body I inhabit is slowly beginning to break down. My fifties are around the corner, but I find a particular pleasure in knowing that I can continue to push and find new areas of growth. I hope that I have a few decades left to continue finding new paths, new ways to enjoy the world around me while accepting that the horizon is somewhere out there.