Self doubt, yeah. That’s it. Anxiety, mourning. All that.

My accident happened on an organized ride. Some lowlife used black spray paint to obliterate the words “STOP AHEAD,” which the ride organizers had put in a blind curve at the end of several miles of uphill-downhill through the mountains. It happened at about the 23-mile point. At the 20-mile point, a banana and bathroom break, a rumor was going around that the course had been vandalized. But there was no formal announcement, no specifics, and no one saying anything in any sort of “official” capacity.

I wasn’t the first one to cross the area, but I was the first to crash. I don’t live in the mountains, but I’ve ridden the road there a good amount and had just completed a metric century about a month prior, also in the mountains. Anyway, I came around the curve and saw that the road was ending, and the intersecting road had major traffic. I hit the rear brake, somewhere around 20 mph, I’d say. At first I thought I might be able to keep my balance, but then the next second was different. I landed on my helmet (cracked in half) and my right hip (also cracked in half).

I am thankful to be alive, thankful I didn’t use the front brake, thankful I didn’t break my neck or my back, thankful the multiple pelvic fractures didn’t rupture internal organs, which I now know causes death 20% of the time.

I’m learning a lot about the pelvis, about what it cradles (sex, peeing), what it gives (balance, movement), what it won’t give (did you know that human bone can withstand more compression stress than steel-reinforced concrete?). Martha Graham referred to the “house of pelvic truth.” Perhaps this evolving relationship with my reforming pelvis will bring me new truths. One thing is for sure. I respect its job and the whole miracle of the human body with a new and tender awe.