It's all about balance: part 1

On February 23, 2012, just three days before the opening race of my final collegiate triathlon season (the Stanford Treeathlon), I embarked on an afternoon ride with my good friend and coach John Dahlz. It was a route we knew well, and had just come off the high of a grandiose noon swim session, followed by some core work in the gym. Although February in the Bay Area can be fickle, the weather that day was glorious and I reveled in my decision to play hooky from lab. After summiting Tunnel Rd, we started riding the flattish stretch of Skyline Blvd. Since I normally ride alone and early in the morning, I usually have no qualms about riding in the center of the lane to increase my visibility to cars.

On this afternoon, however, I became aware that by riding two-abreast, John and I were taking up valuable road space and potentially annoying the cars behind. I scooted over to the right of the lane, and on rounding a gentle left turn, caught my wheel in a deep crack in the road. I rocked my body left and right to maintain control of the bike, and for a split-second thought I had managed to save the fall, but ended up landing hip-first on the hard pavement. There was no skidding, just a brutal, painful thud.

After the accident, I knew immediately that something was wrong as I couldn't put weight on my left leg, but I hoped that it was just a terrible contusion and perhaps some tendon damage. It wasn't until I heard the words from the doctor: "Your pelvis is broken" that I started to sob. There went my race, my season, my life as far as I was concerned.

I'm so sorry, pelvis!

I was so incredibly lucky, though, not to have sustained any other injuries or head trauma. And also I was lucky that, although my injury resulted in a pelvis fractured in two places, it was stable enough not to warrant surgery (at least initially). My doctor warned that residual pain could accompany my injury for years after the healing process but said "we'd cross that bridge when we came to it."

My first week was primarily spent in bed. Every baby step was a hard fought battle - rolling over in bed and taking a shower without my mom’s help. I couldn’t use the stairs and so was essentially trapped in my room, separated even from the kitchen. I slept a lot those days, partly because of the medication, and partly because I felt sorry for myself.

But there comes a point where you make a conscious decision to fight, set goals, and work towards them. I started slowly - doing laps around the garage on my crutches. I argued with my parents to take me out to dinner, so I could see more than just my room and practice being more mobile with my new metal appendages. Three days after the accident, I convinced them to take me to the Stanford Treeathlon race, which turned out to be the most emotionally exhausting day of all.

Cheerleader in action! (And seriously contemplating poking my crutch through one of 'Furd's wheels)

I was thrilled to see my teammates again and racing so well, but it broke my heart not to be on the course with them. I was more determined than ever, though, to get back to the sport that I loved.

Christie-Shannie hug it out. There were tears.

Coming back from a serious injury is a humbling process. I had to relearn how to stand and walk on crutches. I had to learn how to navigate stairs, dress myself, and get in and out of the shower on my own. When I began swimming again, even the pressure of the water on my pelvis was sometimes overwhelming and made me cry into my goggles. But that never lasted long, as the joy of doing something (anything) active overturned all of the bad I felt. You have to accept limitations though and work within them. For me, this meant using the pull buoy all the time, and making giant sweeping circles with my body at every turn, because I could barely push off the wall, much less execute a flip turn. It was excruciatingly frustrating, and yet these challenges forced me to focus on other elements of my racing. That includes technique, and for me, upper body strength. Because I couldn’t rely on my legs at all, my shoulders, back, and core had to take up the slack. I learned mental fortitude and to find the joy in little improvements.

I also took the opportunity to master new things. I returned to weight lifting twice a week, something I’d always loved but found it hard to incorporate into a previously hectic training program. I started doing all of my upper body work while perched on a bench, and would painfully, awkwardly lower myself down onto a Bosu ball for ab work (the hard floor was too painful on my pelvis for crunches, and I was terrified of rolling off of a true stability ball and reinjuring myself).

Gradually, I came to almost love my huge sweeping turns and became pretty damn quick at executing them. My arms were getting incredibly strong from the weight training and all of my swimming work. I began to dream of getting on my bike again, although my dreams centered mainly on the idea of trainer workouts.

One thing you learn after a devastating injury is that the mind can be a powerful tool both for the good and the bad. My mind was determined to get back to race-ready fitness (at least as far as swimming was concerned) but it was also screaming at me that danger lurked around every pothole and every crack in the road. Every journey down a flight of stairs tormented me as I constantly had visions of falling and refracturing my pelvis. Triathletes are very often type-A personalities and enjoy being in control, and this was never more true than during my recovery period. I had to be in perfect control of my body at all times, I felt, in order to make sure I stayed upright and healthy.

After seven weeks of permanent attachment to my crutches, I was finally cleared by my orthopedist to begin actual training again. In his words “I could do anything I wanted” - to which I replied, “Can I race collegiate nationals in a 10 days?”. To many, this query would seem absurd. My poor body had been through so much. Was it worth risking future injury for this last chance at coming down the finishing chute proudly sporting Cal colors?  Reassured by my doctor that no swimming, biking, or walking would injure my pelvis, I was ready for battle.

I had 10 days before the race to get myself ready to tackle a 1500m river swim, a 40k bike ride, and a 10k run/walk.  The swim would be a no-brainer. In the prior week I’d progressed to flip turns and felt extremely confident in the water. My goal was to demolish every other girl in my swim wave.

The bike was to be a little trickier. That very evening I loaded up my bike into my car and drove it to “The Farm”.  In the midst of a house full of triathletes eating a monstrous dinner, I set up my bike on the stationary trainer and straddled her for the first time in almost two months. She is a thing of carbon beauty and it felt like being home, perched on her saddle.  Ladybug (my bike) was also the perfect way to be reintroduced to cycling.  Being an aerodynamic time trial bike, riding her means that my body is tilted forward over the aerobars extending from the cockpit, so that the pressure on my ladyparts is focused on my pubic bone rather than my tender sit bones. I was able to push the pedals for a solid 40 minutes before satisfying myself that biking on an actual road would be a reality. Before embarking on the open roads, I treated myself to one more 45 minute trainer session (both to strengthen my legs and increase my hip flexibility - which had greatly deteriorated).

First time on Ladybug in two months.

Finally the big day arrived. I arranged to meet John at the Burlingame Aquatic Center, one of our usual haunts for a noon swim. I felt solid in the water, but panic started to creep into my psyche at the thought of riding afterwards. Because our normal loop involved a semi-significant climb, I elected to drive out to the flat and wide section of Canada Rd and wait for John to join me there. Canada Rd was the perfect place to regain my confidence as a cyclist. For about 7 miles, Canada rolls along the Upper Crystal Springs Reservoir with wide, smooth bike lanes.  There were no panic-inducing ruts in the road and very few cars. John accompanied me on my out and back excursion before heading off for his own journey up into the hills. I made it! Conquered 14 miles without dying! This ride took place on Wednesday, leaving me just 24 hours before packing up my road bike for the journey to Tuscaloosa, Alabama for collegiate nationals.

The “race” proceeded almost according to plan. Because I’d registered so late, I was relegated to the last of the women’s wave - the open wave. My goal was to be the first woman out of the water for my wave, capitalizing on my increased upper body strength. Luckily for me, the swim start was an in-water start, so I didn’t have to worry about running into the water (which there was no way I could do) or diving off of a platform (which I probably could have done but wasn’t looking forward to).  From the beginning, my pelvis felt tight as I kicked my legs into high gear. However, once I developed a significant gap between myself and the next girl in my wave, I was able to “turn my legs off” and let them float behind me.  Indeed, I was able to keep ahead of the rest of the ladies in my group of pale blue caps, and caught many women who had started 4 or even 8 minutes ahead of me. This advantage was quickly degraded as I struggled to drag my body out of the water and up the river bank. Of course, I had no choice but to walk, much to the chagrin of all of the spectators. In a way, I felt as though I was letting them down by strolling towards the transition area and my bike, but I knew that to attempt a jog now would be disastrous for the rest of my race. So I continued to saunter up the long path to transition, keeping, still my goggles on my head. (I realize that I looked ridiculous, but I also stood little to no chance of finding my bike in the sea of transition without the assistance of my prescription goggles).

If the swim had gone according to plan, transition definitely did not. I was eager to embark on my 40k bike ride, but to my chagrin, someone had knocked my helmet and sunglasses off of my handlebars and onto the ground! Not only that, but my prescription sunnies were now missing a lens, which I found a foot or so to the right of my bike. In the crash, dear Gravity had seen fit to fracture my frame and allow my right lens to hop out. Nope, Gravity and I were not friends this spring. I wanted to cry, knowing that there was simply no way I could get through the race without my glasses, and even wearing my goggles throughout the rest of the event did not sound appealing. I was able to pop the lens back into the broken frame, and vowed to go as long as I could, and if the lens fell back out, I’d call it a day.

To my very great surprise, the lens stayed put for the rest of the race! I walked (not ran) my bike out of transition, again, to the chagrin of the volunteers and spectators. Somewhat irritated by the sunglasses incident, I quipped “Hey there, I have a broken pelvis, give a gal a break!”

I gingerly swung my right leg over the saddle and began pedaling off onto the second leg of my triathlon journey. Luckily, the bike segment of the race was relatively uneventful. I rode just hard enough to feel some effort, but not fast enough to worry about crashing or injuring myself. All in all, I paced about 17-18 mph for the 40k bike ride, which was significantly slower than I’d ever raced before, but I satisfied my personal goal of cheering for as many Cal teammates as possible during each of the two loops of the bike course.  The blessing in disguise of starting in the last of the women’s waves, and cycling so slow, meant that on my way back in towards transition I had the great pleasure of watching my teammate and close friend Christie Farson run her way to a 4th place finish. She emerged from the woods around mile 4 of the run course as I passed by on the bike, and for a few meters I slowed to bike beside her on her way to the arena. However I didn’t want to saddle her with a “pacing penalty” so I yelled a few more encouragements and continued on my own way towards transition. As I neared the area, I saw some of my Cal teammates cheering me on, and I started to get choked up - but refused to allow myself to cry since crying = no breathing = no racing.

Because of my hip flexibility, or significant lack thereof, there was no question of attempting my traditional flying dismount.  Instead, I removed myself from my bike as gingerly as I’d hopped on, and began the long walk back to my transition spot.  Because time wasn’t an issue, I could afford to take my time in transition.  I grabbed a gel (because I knew I’d be walking for a long time) and a spare water bottle and sauntered off in pursuit of a 10k “stroll”.

For my first week sans crutches, I had to focus intensely on minimizing my tendency to limp along.  While the bones of my pelvic ring had healed, I’d been chained to my metal appendages for almost two months and had thus altered my gait to suit them.  However, limping was neither productive towards healing nor comfortable on my pelvis, so I used all of my mental capacity to walk as normally as possible. The first mile of my 6.2 mile walk was a good way to lock in my “stride”, as it includes a short, steep hill - and luckily walking uphill was much easier to control than walking on flat roads or downhill.

While climbing, I could focus my effort on solid foot placement and engaging my glutes and quads. I tried to use this heightened awareness of my body-mechanics through the rest of the “run”. To the benefit of my sanity, I came across another athlete who was also walking, and we decided to team up and walk together! She was also recovering from an injury and had only been free of her walking boot for a week, so we were perfect partners to finish the race together. We spent the next 5 miles talking about anything and everything - from triathlon, to cycling, to country music - and decided that once we passed the 6 mile marker (0.2 miles from the finish), we’d jog or prance our way to the finish line.

The elusive 6 mile marker finally appeared after I’d been on the course for almost three and a half hours, over an hour longer than I should normally have been racing such a distance, but I was thrilled. I picked up the pace a bit and started “prancing” on my toes for that last 400 meters. I’d glance to my right and see my partner in crime, and now competitor, also picking up her pace! The battle of the cripples was now on, and we kept increasing our turnover as the finishing chute drew closer and closer. Finally we were on the blue carpet in the Tuscaloosa amphitheatre and the end was in sight! I lunged across the line and managed to beat her by a fraction of a second, but immediately turned to her and gave her a huge hug for supporting and pushing me through the end of the race.

I subsequently burst into tears, which alarmed the finish line volunteers. Through my sobs, I had to reassure them all that I was fine and not near death - but that I was just so happy to have taken part in the last USAT collegiate nationals triathlon of my Berkeley career. From a hospital bed to triathlon finish line in less than two months - even three years later I still have a hard time wrapping my head around that accomplishment. My poor broken body exceeded all of my expectations and for that, I have to acknowledge the support of my family, my friends, my doctor, my coach - everyone who sent baskets of Edible Arrangements and books and sprinkles - everyone who encouraged me while I swam awkwardly for weeks - my landlords who graciously cared for me and my sweet rabbit during my convalescence - John, for taking me grocery shopping every week when I couldn’t carry bags on my own - Christie, for girly sleepovers to make me feel like a real person again - and so many more.

Never been prouder of my Cal Bears. We're sexy and we know it!

---------------------------------------------------------------

As an afterward, after Collegiate Nationals, I upgraded my “running” from non-existent in early May to 30 seconds, to 1 minute, to 2 minutes … and up to 5 minutes straight in Hawaii in mid-May.  This ballooned to an epic 4 miles along the beaches of Tel Aviv, four days out from the Silicon Valley International Triathlon at the end of June, in which I had to extend my long-run capabilities by another 2.2 miles.

Hiking in Israel.

Then in one month, I increased my run volume further to reach 8.75 miles a little over a week out from Barb’s Race, my annual half-Ironman. I was nervous about having to complete a full 13.1 miles at the end of that race, but I did it and PR’d from last year by almost 5 minutes.

Hanging with the Vineman champ, El Jefe, and wonderwoman Amy Latourette post-Barb's Race.

One week after from Barb’s Race, I started my life over in Washington DC where I dove into training for my final race of 2012 - Austin 70.3. The whole time I was thinking: “Come on pelvis, we can do this together!” And we did! I came ever-so-close to the magical 5 hour barrier (5:04), won my age group, and qualified for the 2013 70.3 World Championships in Las Vegas, my home away from home.

Did I really just qualify for 70.3 Worlds??

Me and Ladybug at the Alamo.

---------------------------------------------------------------

So where does that leave me now? Well, despite “healing” and racing for almost three years since the accident, I never saw a physical therapist and never properly retrained my left leg to integrate back into the beautiful machine that is my human body.

I know that in order to progress as an athlete, all aspects of my body need to work together seamlessly. With that in mind, I enlisted the help of my new friend Holli Finneren, DC Tri triathlete and DPT, to diagnose and correct my hip/leg imbalances. In Part 2 of this post, I’ll talk about what we found and what we’re doing to fix it!