This morning I woke up feeling quite chipper, I washed down my good night’s sleep with a spanking cup of mild brown blue mountain coffee, climbed into my bibshorts and headed off up the road for a quick 30k.
3k later I’m on the side of the road sat in a pool of my own urine cramping nerve pain paralysing my right leg so that I couldn’t unclip meaning that I basically fell over onto the pavement through the pain caused by the spasm created by one of the shards of cartilage banging on my sciatic nerve.
There’s a panic about that, being in pain at the road side, two very helpful pedestrians untied my Sub-6 lace ups, got me off the pavement and rang the number that make the ambulance appear.
The people that helped were wonderful and I feel a bit crappy for not remembering their names but I was hit with something by the paramedics that made my world feel like the velvet room that only ketamine can put you in.
The paramedics and I had a chat, I told them the history and I suggested that instead of taking me to hospital that they drop me at the house and intead of taking the hospital meds and tying up a bed I could get home and take the pain management package that was issued late 2016 when I broke my spine.
Pissing yourself in public isn’t great, I’m not really a fan of public weakness, and asking for help is perhaps the most alien and uncomfortable thing for me. I’ve got through life on my own since I was 16 I trust myself and that’s not to say I don’t trust others, its’s just my trust is hard won.
I spoke with my physio who suggested, and this is the first time it has been said to me, that I just keep riding to leisure and forge the British Record. As you might guess I’m not in a great place today but the upside is I have pre surgical on Thursday so I hope the surgeon will be getting stuck in mid Feb with returning to riding three weeks after.
I’m still looking to the horizon and regardless of the pain I’m in right now I will smash that fucking record.