Hit and Run - Anger, F-Bombs, and Church

After a restless night of sleep, I woke up with the intention of going to church. I needed to go to church. It was one more step towards my ultimate goal of reclaiming all that is "normal" in my life.

It was about twenty after seven so I knew I was going to have to hustle a bit to try and get out of the door on time to make the 8:30am service in Manteca. HS had already made coffee, so I took a few sips and made my way to the shower.  The warm water felt great on my black and blue body, but I kept my wash time to a minimum and proceeded to try and get ready.

Road rash reality

Step one was reapplying sterile pads to the road rash. I struggle to be as independent as possible, but HS eventually stepped in when he saw my frustration level rising. I was snappy with him. I just wanted him to hold the pad while I tried to wrap the ace bandage around me. I was trying to wrap the bandage so the metal clips were in front and not somewhere that I would I would have to sit on it.

Step two was reapplying the silicone scar sheets to the areas that were no longer considered open wounds. The sheets rolled, curled and stuck together. I was finding it exceedingly difficult to get them to stick and was starting to even more frustrated. Tears welled up, but I tried to hold them back.

HS popped into the bathroom to let me know that we were going to have to leave soon. My hair was still wet and I had no makeup on. I grabbed my concealer and started applying makeup to my black eye and oddly colored cheek. I looked in the mirror and started to cry. The first time in over a week putting on makeup and all I managed to do was make myself look worse. The makeup was no match for the yellow and grey hues on the left side of my face. I only succeeded in making it look like I was trying to hide something...poorly.

I grabbed a makeup remover towelette and wiped off my face as I started to cry. Mike came back in the bathroom to see what I was doing. I was quickly sinking into a sea of self pity and anger. "My makeup only made me look worse" I cried. He responded but I'm not sure what he said. He knew there really wasn't a way to help. Words only seemed to make my mood worse.

I moved on to trying to dry my hair but it was a hot mess. I think during my rushed shower I left some conditioner in my hair. The tears continued. I went to the guest bath to rewash my hair with the hand held shower head. Gingerly kneeling on my "good" knee, I hung my head in the tub, applied shampoo and then rinsed. I went back to the master bath and tried running a brush through my hair. I cried some more.

By this time, it was well after 8am. HS came into the bathroom to say something and I snapped again. "Why can't we just go the f*****g 10:00 service?" I screamed. Yes, that is how bad it was. I was dropping F-bombs in our discussion about what church service to go to. Ugh. It was ugly. HS said it was fine if we went to the 10:00 service. He said I didn't need to go to church if I didn't want to. "I need to go," I cried. I was so frustrated and angry that I couldn't get ready in 30 minutes like normal. I was mad that we couldn't go to our "normal" service time. I was mad. Mad at everything.

HS left the room. Probably so he wouldn't have to take the brunt of my verbal assaults. I sat down on the edge of our bed and cried. And cried and cried and cried. If my anger and self-pity were quick sand, I would be up to my neck at this point.

HS checked in on me again. I was frustrated at my wardrobe options. It wasn't cool enough for a sweatshirt, but a bit too cool for a short sleeved shirt. The one pair of workout pants that I could comfortably wear were in the drier getting "freshened up". I pawed through the options in my closet. Running top, race shirt, cycling jersey, cycling jersey, cycling jersey. OMG! Thank's to my Pearl Izumi "Ambador" status over the last two years, I have an abundance of bright, fun, screaming pink jerseys that mocked me this morning. The thought that I may never don a cycling jersey again smacked me in the face.

Yes, this is my closet!

I continued to search for something to wear and settled on last year's CIM shirt. Long sleeve, but loose, it would cover the wounds on my arms but not be too warm to wear. I sat on the bed and continued to cry. Not only did the unknown driver needlessly injure me and my two friends, but he had destroyed my favorite bike, stolen my joy of riding, and erased the last few months of training for CIM. This was going to be my year to qualify for Boston. In a second it was gone. I cried even more.

Eventually I pulled myself together enough to get dressed, finish drying my hair, and to apply some mascara and lip gloss. No foundation today. At this point, I didn't care if people saw the yellow and purple hues on my face. I would wear them like a badge this morning. I left the bedroom and went to sit on the couch with HS until it was time to leave.

Our ride to Manteca was silent. I continued to simmer in my anger. Cars appeared to fly past us, but I had asked HS to not get in a hurry because riding in a car was stressful for some reason. I think I was worried about how bad it would hurt if we got into a accident. My battered body was not ready to hurt even more.

When we finally pulled into the parking lot, we only had a few minutes to spare. HS looked like he was going to park in our "normal" spot, but I asked him to drop me off near the front because there was no way I would be able to walk fast enough to make the service on time. He drove around to the front row and was about to drop me off at the center walkway when he noticed an open spot just to his left. Perfect. He parked and we made our way inside.

I was secretly hoping for one of those sermons that, when you heard it, you assumed had been written specifically for you. The current series is called (Be)Loved and the topic for this week was called (Be)Careful. I'm not sure what I was expecting...maybe something along the lines of (Be)Careful riding your bike because some stranger may run down you and your friends and leave you on the side of the road. Alas, the sermon was not Tracy specific. It was a great sermon, just not the grab me and shake me message I was hoping for. I desperately wanted something to dissipate my anger.

When the service ended, HS and I made our typical exit out of the side door. I shuffled along next to a woman with a cane. I think she was racing me. I let her take the lead. At the sidewalk, HS and I ran into Pastor Brian. He recognized us and stopped to give me a "gentle" hug. He was aware of the hit and run and had messaged me a couple of times during the week to see how I was doing.  He asked about Jessica and Dal, and we discussed some details about the unfortunate events of last Saturday.

Pastor Brian is a cyclist himself. He admitted that he often rides alone. I pray that he finds a riding partner. While I have learned the hard way that there is no safety in numbers, it is a much bigger gamble if you are on your own. If you are by yourself and someone hits you and leaves, there is no one to call for help.

If Brian want to continue riding alone,
this bubble-wrap outfit might be his best option

At the end of our chat, he asked if he could pray for us. We stood in a small circle in front of Crossroads as Pastor Brian prayed for me, Jessica, and Dal. Honestly, his words were a distant noise that I struggled to focus on. Why can I not pay attention to what he is saying? Pay attention, stupid!! I heard names, but everything else seemed lost. What I did notice was that the powerful gusts of anger and self-pity that billowed my sails suddenly ceased. I was at peace. It was amazing.

We said our goodbyes. HS and I found our truck and headed to Target for more bandages and some pain relieving spray for my road rash. I tried conjuring up a little anger. I thought about CIM and not being able to race. Nothing. I thought about how badly my body hurt. Nothing. Nothing I could think about seemed to raise my ire.

I'm not sure how long this peaceful hiatus from anger will last. I pray that it will become my new "normal". Am I angry that my friends are hurt? Yes. Am I angry that our loved ones were put through this anguish? Yes. However, I am thrilled that the anger is no longer consuming me from the inside out. I still suffer from random bouts of tears, but I no longer feel like I am losing myself.

Hit and Run - A Week Later

This morning I woke up and looked at the clock. It was 6:42am. "I was just leaving the house at this time last week to meet everyone" I said to HS. I can't believe it's already been a week.

At roughly 7:28am on Sept. 30, 2017, three lives changed

Five years ago today, I completed my first triathlon (I can't believe it's already been five years). I was immediately hooked on the sport and more specifically, cycling. I absolutely loved going out for a ride with my friends, teammates, and co-workers. If anyone wanted to ride, I was there. Today, one week after two friends and I were hit by a car and left on the side of the road, I can't say if I will ever ride again.

One happy group of finishers

I am a basket case of emotions. I cannot express how absolutely thankful I am to be up and walking around, kissing HS, chatting with my daughters, hugging my fur babies, posting on my blog. On the other hand, I am wracked with guilt that I am able to do all of the things I just listed and that one of our riders is still in the hospital with very serious injuries. I fight off bouts of self pity for a bunch of various reasons. I am unwilling to even divulge any of the reasons because they are stupid and trivial.  Tears come at random times and I laugh and joke when it may not be appropriate. 

Yesterday I tried reassembling Beauty. I don't know what I hoped to achieve. I think I secretly hoped that doing so would restore all the missing pieces of my memory. That didn't happen. Instead, I was merely saddened by the loss of a dear friend. This bike started as an upgrade to an aluminum frame, store brand bike. I wanted to go on group rides without +James  bitching at me about group ride etiquette and my tri bike. I was also tired of trying to keep up with a bunch of cyclist on carbon frames.

A year ago today we said goodbye to Buster

I've been documenting my recovery with photos. Again, I don't know what I hope to achieve. It did come in handy at the doctor's office so I could show her what I looked like in the hospital and when I got first came home. I choked back the tears when I looked at my body in the mirror today. The football lump on my backside is hideous and weird. However, when I look at my pictures from Monday, I can see the change and pray that my recovery continues.

I'm not sure what the future holds. I hope to return to running and swimming. Cycling (and even riding in the car) scares me. When I see friends posting about their rides, I am afraid for them. At only a week out, I know it is way too soon for me to say what I will and won't do. I will continue to play it by ear...maybe one day you will see me back out on the road.

Hit and Run - What I Can Tell You

Before I start my story, I want to take a minute to say thank you to everyone for all of the love, prayers, and support. It means more to me than you could ever know. 

• Thank you to HS who rushed to the scene of the accident and has been my rock through all of this. 
• A special thank you to Renee for calling him while I was on the phone with 9-1-1.
• Thank you to my daughters, Ashley and Lindsey, who have pressed pause in their lives so they can be home taking care of me (this may be bragging, but HS and I raised two amazing young women). 
• Thank you to my son-in-law, Max, who spent his weekend dog sitting.
• Thank you to all of my co-workers and frequent riding partners at the City of Stockton for all of your kind words, prayers and support...and for the beautiful flowers! And to Eric Houston for his efforts to help find the driver.
• Thank you to James Cotta for your support and your tireless search to find the hit and run driver. 
• Thank you to Trisha and Tony for rescuing me from hospital food with a big bag of gummy bears and for their CSI work.
• Thank you to the amazing staff at San Joaquin General Hospital. Everyone I encountered was so caring and understanding. 
• Thank you to the all the emergency personnel that were on scene and to the young man taking care of me in the ambulance. I don't remember your name, but I remembered your face when you popped into my room Saturday night to check on me.
• Thank you to the drivers that did stop and offered assistance.
• Thank you to the second half of our Saturday riding group. Things happen for a reason and I am so thankful you were behind us.
• Thank you to my Central Valley Triathlon teammates, my fellow Pearl Izumi Ambadors, my church family at Crossroads Grace Community Church,  the cycling community in the Lodi/Stockton area, and last but not least, all of my family, friends, friends of friends, and complete strangers for your prayers. They truly made a difference.

I wish I could thank everyone individually. Every Facebook post, text message, Instagram comment, and email means so much to me. This event has been a life changing experience, not because of my injuries, but because of the outpouring of love.

Typical Saturday Ride

I had made plans to ride with some friends on Saturday morning. HS was supposed to ride with us, but he had a very upset stomach and decided to stay home. I met up with my riding partners at Bear Creek High School and discussed which route we wanted to take. One rider suggested heading up to Lodi and looping back on Peltier Rd. Peltier is a heavily traveled road and can be dangerous in spots. I suggested taking Armstrong Road east since the ride is nice and the roads are pretty quiet. HS and I have rode this route a number of times and have always enjoyed it.

Once everyone was ready, we clipped in and pedaled off. I turned around to do a quick head count and noticed four riders still in the parking lot. I asked Jessica why they were still there, but she didn't know. I thought that maybe they decided to take the other route. Jessica, Dal and I continued to ride. We were uneasy about one of the other riders because he had forgotten his helmet but still wanted to ride (this is a big no-no).  Our route took us up Thornton, on to Devries, and then a right turn on to Armstrong. Traffic was light as expected.

And Then It Happened

Our ride was uneventful up to that point. Just a typical Saturday morning ride. The next events are a blur. The last thing I remember was hearing the sound of tires in gravel and loud cracking. Crack! Crack! Crack! My Garmin shows me accelerating from 17 mph to nearly 21 mph in a matter of seconds. Less than seven seconds later, I am no longer moving. My Garmin doesn't detect movement again for almost two minutes.

The next thing I know is that I am standing on the side of the road looking around, trying to figure out what happened. Blood is running down my face, but I can move. I see Dal laying on his back with at least half of his body still in the road. I believe he was to the right of where I was standing, but I'm not sure. He was moaning and seemed to be in a great deal of pain. I turned and saw Jessica on the ground, but she seemed to be mostly off of the road. She was also moaning and in pain.

I've been told this is what adrenaline does for you

According to my phone, I called 9-1-1 at 7:30am and stayed on the phone for 14 minutes.  I remember running back and forth between Jessica and Dal. I know I shouldn't move them, but I was concerned about traffic. I looked to the west and saw a big truck headed our direction. I was terrified. I ran into the road and started waving my arms. I prayed that the driver would see me. Thankfully, a driver coming from the opposite direction stopped and quickly jumped out of his vehicle to help me stop the truck.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but I saw the other four riders approaching. I could tell from the looks on their faces that things were bad. I asked Renee to call HS because I was still on the phone with 9-1-1. Time was a blur after that point. I remember seeing HS pulling up in his truck. Tears ran down his face when he saw me. He was just thankful I was alive.

I'm not sure what possessed me to snap pictures at this point. I guess since my phone was in my hand it just seemed like something I should do. Honestly, I don't remember taking the pictures or even the arrival of the fire trucks and ambulances.

Jessica is sitting up and being attended to on the side of the road.

HS standing next to Beauty

The next photos are not vanity selfies. I snapped these in an attempt to see how bad my injuries were. 

I think I was afraid to snap the side of my face with the injury.

It took me a while to get up the nerve to take a picture of the injured side of my face.

In the ambulance, I was finally brave enough to check out the other side of my face

I'm not sure how I ended up with my water bottle in the ambulance. I think I may have picked it up off of the road. I kept trying to take a drink but the EMT in the ambulance would tell me not to drink because I may need surgery.

To be continued...

Hit and Run - A Week Later
Hit and Run - Anger, F-Bombs and Church