On June 28, 2023, I was out for an early-morning ride. Early morning has always been my time for working out. Few people are out and about, and the world exposes itself in a very peaceful, beautiful way.
On this particular day, I was riding the dirt roads of the Front Range, roads I have come to know intimately. Climbing one of my favorite stretches of gravel, I popped out halfway up Flagstaff Road. "Flag," as it is affectionately referred to, has been my favorite climb for over 30 years of traversing every climb the Front Range has to offer, from Golden to the South to Lyons (and beyond) to the North. It is a complex climb that is challenging to master. It's a melting pot of switchbacks, straights, as well as flat, steep and moderate pitches. It entices you to get out of the saddle and attack it, but woe be to those who do too early. Especially those who then decide to continue to the true top of the climb, SuperFlag, where the pitch remains in the double digits for close to 2 miles. To estimate I have both climbed and descended Flag and SuperFlag a couple thousand times is accurate.
Sometimes I descend Flag aggressively. Sometimes I head down slowly to take in the awe inspiring panoramic views. On June 28th, I was somewhere in between -- not in a rush, but not pedestrian. Enjoying the flow of descending while being at one with the bike. After the final set of switchbacks, the road opens up into a series of sweeping curves. The most skillful descenders can ignore their brakes and let the reins fully out to the bottom. About a half-mile from the bottom, I let gravity do its work, enjoying the feeling of accelerating wind across my face and frontal profile. Looking down, the MPH were ticking up into the mid-30s.
Around a blind sweeping curve, I was mid-lane and not near my limit. I hadn't seen a single rider nor car the entire time, a rarity. The road was clear until, suddenly, it wasn't. As I slingshot out of the curve, a massive buck stood idly in my path. Left with no time to think or react, I T-boned it mid-torso. The snapshot of this beast that I have in my head includes a massive antler rack; he was no juvenile and had to be 250-300lbs.
I wish I had camera footage of the impact, because the fallout had to have been spectacular. Based on my injuries, I can't really piece it together. The best I can guess, after slamming into the buck, I launched up and summersaulted over him. Landing with a thud and a loud grunt as the air left my lungs from the impact, insult was added to injury as the buck then tumbled over me. He proceeded to skitter down the road before popping up on to his feet, bounding over the guardrail and disappearing down the steep mountainside.
I was left in a sitting position, legs splayed out, panting wildly and groaning with the mounting pain. Bracing myself for the sensation of a broken bone or compound fracture to take hold. There were dents and cracks on the back of my helmet, so I must have hit the back of my head on the pavement first. My left elbow was cheese grated and the outside of both knees were scuffed from hitting the tarmac hard. My tailbone was on fire and my left glute and outer thigh were screaming in agony. And, yet, nothing felt broken. I looked around, a bit panicked that a vehicle would be coming up or heading down that could easily hit me or my bike, just as I had hit the deer. I had to get up and get down the rest of the mountain. As I fought to stand up, blood flowed freely. Fear gripped me as I thought I had sustained some sort of head injury. Luckily, no. The force of the impacts caused quite a nose bleed.
The bike had some damage and broken parts, but was thankfully rideable. My bibs were shredded on the left side, and, oddly, my jersey was completely untouched - not even have a single snag. I gingerly remounted and then coasted down the rest of the way back home. My wife was there, thankfully. She helped me hobble upstairs. I showered to clean up the wounds (which hurt like hell), put on some loose clothes and then she took me to Urgent Care. As they put it, you sustained a near-40mph car crash without the car. Point taken. Their fear was internal bleeding that if left undiagnosed might kill me. As I lay under observation, my body was completely tensed, in protection mode. They gave me some sort of pill that allowed me to relax. My vitals were fine, no sign of a concussion, and x-rays were negative. A couple cracked ribs and some road rash was the worst of it. I was released and my wife drove me back home.
I believe his sheer size made the damage less rather than more severe. Had a hit a deer a third or half the size he was, my sense is that I would have been sent cartwheeling down the road end over end. Ultimately, I'll never know. I feel lucky to be here to talk about it.
Moving was difficult. Sitting down was nearly impossible. Getting into / out of bed sucked. Lying down was largely OK since there was no direct weight on my pelvis. The next day, my left glute had swollen up as if someone surgically inserted a watermelon into it. My wife literally gasped when she saw it from behind. 48 hours after the crash, it was even bigger, and across my entire backside and down my left hamstring was turning all shades of purple.
On Day 3, I decided it was time to start moving. I would walk as briskly as my body allowed and test out some very light - and, SLOW - jogging. If my body screamed, I'd listen. I hit the trails and covered almost 8 miles in less than 2 hours. Every step painful, but from the trauma, not because I was making the injuries worse. So, I kept moving. On Day 4, I went a little farther and a little faster. Day 5 was back in the gym to determine ranges of movement the body could handle and, more importantly, what it could not. Half-squats or less were OK; lying down on a bench was most definitely not. No abdominal work, either. I jogged a mile at 9-minute pace.
Day 6 was a day off. Day 7, I pressed the strength session. I limited my ROM to quarter-squats, and encouragingly I was able to groan my way to lying flat on a bench. After this, I rode the spin bike easy for 35 minutes followed by a mile jog at 9-minute pace. Day 8, 8 miles on my feet took 80 minutes rather than 110 a week earlier.
On Day 9, I was too big for my britches. I lifted weights again and then decided to test the waters on some on-the-bike moderate intensity with 12x1min shooting for 250-270w, easy under normal circumstances. Well, 250-270 felt more like 350-370. While my body was still stiff, the pain was subsiding and the glute swelling was finally coming down even as the backside discoloration was grossly spectacular. It reaffirmed that all was not OK, that my body was still strongly in "repair mode."
Over time, the pain and stiffness largely subsided and I finally returned to full capacity from both a volume perspective (first) and an intensity perspective (second). Yet, even today - over 4 months later - there are vestiges of the crash. Sometime my sacrum flares up as I sit too long in a chair, or my right glute tightens up from having had to carry the burden as my left side healed up.
JUST ANOTHER LESSON LEARNED
So what did all this teach me, or cause me to remember?
1. Athletes need to take weight lifting more seriously. Luckily, I've had few bad crashes. I have seen a lot of damage done by them, mainly regarding punctured lungs, broken collarbones and scapulas, broken femurs, and broken ribs. In many cases, the cyclists aren't strength training or are doing so half-ass. Bone density becomes an issue and there is less structural integrity of all the muscle and connective tissue encasing the skeleton. So, shit breaks and, in some cases, breaks really badly. Luckily, some cracked ribs and road rash is the worst of it for me. I attribute this to a year round serious focus on weight lifting as much as dumb luck, staying relaxed while crashing, etc. Hit the weights - hard - 2-4 times a week.
2. Our bodies are more resilient than we realize. It would have been easy to take a couple weeks or more off, waiting until I felt a lot better to start testing my limits. Instead, I gave it 2 days of rest and, then, only because I could barely make it up / down a single fight of stairs. There's a difference between discomfort and pain, and between acceptable pain and bad pain. Pain is OK as long as you are not exacerbating it or it is forcing you to materially alter your form. Pain is feedback on whether what you are attempting is acceptable or not. Test your limits.
3. The body is a most excellent coach. Listen to it more. Forget all the useless data you're tracking and which governs your every moving minute. The body does a wonderful job of telling you what you should or should not attempt on any given day. That failed 12x1min bike session was a clear reminder that I was in way ready to test myself with any intensity. I kind of expected the session to fail, but it was still shocking in the moment. Athletes do themselves a disservice by chanting the "no pain, no gain" mantra and thinking it noble to destroy themselves session after session. It's not. If you turn inward more so than outward, I'll argue your results would be no worse and very well could be better.
4. Take more easy days and days off. If you don't feel fairly well refreshed heading into a high-intensity day, then you may want to push it off another day. As with Point #3, if we continually batter ourselves and don't allow the body to come out of the troughs, we'll never hit the peaks. The peaks are what we want! For key workouts and for races.
5. Be careful out there. Despite the countless times I have been up-and-down Flag and all the other Front Range climbs over 30+ years of living in Boulder, I had yet to have a close encounter with wildlife. Calamity can hit at any time, regardless of how careful we are being or how much we are aware of our surroundings. Everything can go sideways in at the snap of the fingers, even if you're doing everything right.
Well, that's about it. I hope you enjoyed the rendition. While I can't recommend it and hope you never experience it, one thing is clear -- there is always lemonade to be made out of lemons.
Happy Training,
Coach Nate
On this particular day, I was riding the dirt roads of the Front Range, roads I have come to know intimately. Climbing one of my favorite stretches of gravel, I popped out halfway up Flagstaff Road. "Flag," as it is affectionately referred to, has been my favorite climb for over 30 years of traversing every climb the Front Range has to offer, from Golden to the South to Lyons (and beyond) to the North. It is a complex climb that is challenging to master. It's a melting pot of switchbacks, straights, as well as flat, steep and moderate pitches. It entices you to get out of the saddle and attack it, but woe be to those who do too early. Especially those who then decide to continue to the true top of the climb, SuperFlag, where the pitch remains in the double digits for close to 2 miles. To estimate I have both climbed and descended Flag and SuperFlag a couple thousand times is accurate.
Sometimes I descend Flag aggressively. Sometimes I head down slowly to take in the awe inspiring panoramic views. On June 28th, I was somewhere in between -- not in a rush, but not pedestrian. Enjoying the flow of descending while being at one with the bike. After the final set of switchbacks, the road opens up into a series of sweeping curves. The most skillful descenders can ignore their brakes and let the reins fully out to the bottom. About a half-mile from the bottom, I let gravity do its work, enjoying the feeling of accelerating wind across my face and frontal profile. Looking down, the MPH were ticking up into the mid-30s.
Around a blind sweeping curve, I was mid-lane and not near my limit. I hadn't seen a single rider nor car the entire time, a rarity. The road was clear until, suddenly, it wasn't. As I slingshot out of the curve, a massive buck stood idly in my path. Left with no time to think or react, I T-boned it mid-torso. The snapshot of this beast that I have in my head includes a massive antler rack; he was no juvenile and had to be 250-300lbs.
I wish I had camera footage of the impact, because the fallout had to have been spectacular. Based on my injuries, I can't really piece it together. The best I can guess, after slamming into the buck, I launched up and summersaulted over him. Landing with a thud and a loud grunt as the air left my lungs from the impact, insult was added to injury as the buck then tumbled over me. He proceeded to skitter down the road before popping up on to his feet, bounding over the guardrail and disappearing down the steep mountainside.
I was left in a sitting position, legs splayed out, panting wildly and groaning with the mounting pain. Bracing myself for the sensation of a broken bone or compound fracture to take hold. There were dents and cracks on the back of my helmet, so I must have hit the back of my head on the pavement first. My left elbow was cheese grated and the outside of both knees were scuffed from hitting the tarmac hard. My tailbone was on fire and my left glute and outer thigh were screaming in agony. And, yet, nothing felt broken. I looked around, a bit panicked that a vehicle would be coming up or heading down that could easily hit me or my bike, just as I had hit the deer. I had to get up and get down the rest of the mountain. As I fought to stand up, blood flowed freely. Fear gripped me as I thought I had sustained some sort of head injury. Luckily, no. The force of the impacts caused quite a nose bleed.
The bike had some damage and broken parts, but was thankfully rideable. My bibs were shredded on the left side, and, oddly, my jersey was completely untouched - not even have a single snag. I gingerly remounted and then coasted down the rest of the way back home. My wife was there, thankfully. She helped me hobble upstairs. I showered to clean up the wounds (which hurt like hell), put on some loose clothes and then she took me to Urgent Care. As they put it, you sustained a near-40mph car crash without the car. Point taken. Their fear was internal bleeding that if left undiagnosed might kill me. As I lay under observation, my body was completely tensed, in protection mode. They gave me some sort of pill that allowed me to relax. My vitals were fine, no sign of a concussion, and x-rays were negative. A couple cracked ribs and some road rash was the worst of it. I was released and my wife drove me back home.
I believe his sheer size made the damage less rather than more severe. Had a hit a deer a third or half the size he was, my sense is that I would have been sent cartwheeling down the road end over end. Ultimately, I'll never know. I feel lucky to be here to talk about it.
Moving was difficult. Sitting down was nearly impossible. Getting into / out of bed sucked. Lying down was largely OK since there was no direct weight on my pelvis. The next day, my left glute had swollen up as if someone surgically inserted a watermelon into it. My wife literally gasped when she saw it from behind. 48 hours after the crash, it was even bigger, and across my entire backside and down my left hamstring was turning all shades of purple.
On Day 3, I decided it was time to start moving. I would walk as briskly as my body allowed and test out some very light - and, SLOW - jogging. If my body screamed, I'd listen. I hit the trails and covered almost 8 miles in less than 2 hours. Every step painful, but from the trauma, not because I was making the injuries worse. So, I kept moving. On Day 4, I went a little farther and a little faster. Day 5 was back in the gym to determine ranges of movement the body could handle and, more importantly, what it could not. Half-squats or less were OK; lying down on a bench was most definitely not. No abdominal work, either. I jogged a mile at 9-minute pace.
Day 6 was a day off. Day 7, I pressed the strength session. I limited my ROM to quarter-squats, and encouragingly I was able to groan my way to lying flat on a bench. After this, I rode the spin bike easy for 35 minutes followed by a mile jog at 9-minute pace. Day 8, 8 miles on my feet took 80 minutes rather than 110 a week earlier.
On Day 9, I was too big for my britches. I lifted weights again and then decided to test the waters on some on-the-bike moderate intensity with 12x1min shooting for 250-270w, easy under normal circumstances. Well, 250-270 felt more like 350-370. While my body was still stiff, the pain was subsiding and the glute swelling was finally coming down even as the backside discoloration was grossly spectacular. It reaffirmed that all was not OK, that my body was still strongly in "repair mode."
Over time, the pain and stiffness largely subsided and I finally returned to full capacity from both a volume perspective (first) and an intensity perspective (second). Yet, even today - over 4 months later - there are vestiges of the crash. Sometime my sacrum flares up as I sit too long in a chair, or my right glute tightens up from having had to carry the burden as my left side healed up.
JUST ANOTHER LESSON LEARNED
So what did all this teach me, or cause me to remember?
1. Athletes need to take weight lifting more seriously. Luckily, I've had few bad crashes. I have seen a lot of damage done by them, mainly regarding punctured lungs, broken collarbones and scapulas, broken femurs, and broken ribs. In many cases, the cyclists aren't strength training or are doing so half-ass. Bone density becomes an issue and there is less structural integrity of all the muscle and connective tissue encasing the skeleton. So, shit breaks and, in some cases, breaks really badly. Luckily, some cracked ribs and road rash is the worst of it for me. I attribute this to a year round serious focus on weight lifting as much as dumb luck, staying relaxed while crashing, etc. Hit the weights - hard - 2-4 times a week.
2. Our bodies are more resilient than we realize. It would have been easy to take a couple weeks or more off, waiting until I felt a lot better to start testing my limits. Instead, I gave it 2 days of rest and, then, only because I could barely make it up / down a single fight of stairs. There's a difference between discomfort and pain, and between acceptable pain and bad pain. Pain is OK as long as you are not exacerbating it or it is forcing you to materially alter your form. Pain is feedback on whether what you are attempting is acceptable or not. Test your limits.
3. The body is a most excellent coach. Listen to it more. Forget all the useless data you're tracking and which governs your every moving minute. The body does a wonderful job of telling you what you should or should not attempt on any given day. That failed 12x1min bike session was a clear reminder that I was in way ready to test myself with any intensity. I kind of expected the session to fail, but it was still shocking in the moment. Athletes do themselves a disservice by chanting the "no pain, no gain" mantra and thinking it noble to destroy themselves session after session. It's not. If you turn inward more so than outward, I'll argue your results would be no worse and very well could be better.
4. Take more easy days and days off. If you don't feel fairly well refreshed heading into a high-intensity day, then you may want to push it off another day. As with Point #3, if we continually batter ourselves and don't allow the body to come out of the troughs, we'll never hit the peaks. The peaks are what we want! For key workouts and for races.
5. Be careful out there. Despite the countless times I have been up-and-down Flag and all the other Front Range climbs over 30+ years of living in Boulder, I had yet to have a close encounter with wildlife. Calamity can hit at any time, regardless of how careful we are being or how much we are aware of our surroundings. Everything can go sideways in at the snap of the fingers, even if you're doing everything right.
Well, that's about it. I hope you enjoyed the rendition. While I can't recommend it and hope you never experience it, one thing is clear -- there is always lemonade to be made out of lemons.
Happy Training,
Coach Nate
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