fat hand on a little bike

One week ago, I got spit over the high side during a motorcycle race. The "high side" may sound like a hip club or urban lingo for artificial enlightnment, but it's an altogether less pleasant thing. While chasing another rider throught the last turn of the last lap, I spun up the rear wheel and broke the back end loose. When the tire re-affirmed its grip, the cock-eyed bike went from sliding to bucking, violently tossing me over the right side.

I landed hard; hard enough that I don't remember anything until I heard the EMTs pestering me with questions. What's your name? Can you feel your toes? Where are you? Can you breathe? What's the date? It was like a concussion / paralysis pop quiz, and I passed with flying colors.

And then came the prerequisite trip to the emergency room, which primarily meant hours of waiting and several inconclusive x-rays. At least I got to watch The Incredibles in between bouts of unconsciousness.

The good news is that nothing showed up on the CAT scan, which might mean I have no brains but more directly that I have no concussion. And while my right hand looks like it's been through the wrong end of batting practice, the ortho at Austin Bone & Joint confirmed that nothing is broken. So now it's a matter of pain management and recuperation.

After a week, it's been incredible to watch the improvement. My hand's gone from 200% normal size to a mere 25-50% swollen. The grip that seemed impossible is now within reach (ugh). And in the ultimate irony, the pain in my wrist has subsided to the point that my shoulder, back, and hip are KILLING ME. But it's all good.

Well, not quite all of it. The biggest healing has to take place between my ears. There's a gaping chasm between when I'm riding in control and when the red mist blocks everything else out. My last two laps were personal best times at TWS, but the lust for competition pushed me over the edge into a the last corner disaster. The exact same thing happened to me in a practice last year when I broke my scapula. In both cases my desire outweighed my skills, and the self-preservation governor got switched off.

Right now, my racing brain is strictly binary where I need to it be a rheostat. I'm not sure how to get that granularity, but it's clearly something that's gotta happen before I turn a wheel in anger again. Good thing I have many weeks to figure it out.