Flatlining
Finding joy beyond biking when life throws curveballs

Flatlining
Jennaye Derge - 01/25/2024

During the summer of 2022, I rode bikes a bunch. Mostly big days in the mountains, long stretches of gravel roads or singletrack in town. I rode hard until the fall of 2022, when I participated in a cyclocross race where there was alcohol, drugs and adrenaline. Whether or not those were to blame, I decidedly got overzealous and while coming down a weird hill, around a strange turn, I crashed, head over the front wheel, chest contacting the handlebars. 

Apparently there was a “cracking” noise that “came from me,” but I thought not much of it. I was surprised when a race attendant came running up to me with that “holy shit” face that you never want anyone to make at you, but  I just lifted my mangled bike, assessed myself, assured him I was fine, readjusted my crooked seatpost and handlebars, and jumped back on for another handful of chaotic miles. 

The next day I tried to go for a short mountain bike ride with my friends. About a quarter of the way in, I found myself rubbing a pain in my chest and trying to stretch out my arms to relieve it. By the time we got near the end of the trail, I was steering my bike with one hand and trying not to breathe too much while I made a harrowing effort to ride home.

After not being able to lay on my side, reach for things or laugh, it was pretty obvious I had broken a rib. As a result, besides some attempts at riding my bike to work with one hand, my bikes sat untouched in my garage for a while.

I eventually recovered from that injury, but one by one, and as time went on, my friends were also needing to step off their bikes for one reason or another: illnesses, injuries, jobs and big life changes like having babies. All kinds of curve balls have popped up, and because of it, we’ve all started to slow our rolls; what I’ve recently started to refer to as “flatlining.”

In other words, our activity statuses have steadily been calculated at zero. Zero miles, zero elevation gain, zero QOM’s, and zero likes, medals or trophies on our Strava accounts. Just a flat, orange line across the graphs showing that we were not being that athletic person that we used to be. We are privately and publicly out of the game. 

I say “we,” but I predominantly speak of me because as of this winter, I’ve flatlined again. 

It’s not because of a broken rib. This time I had some weird health stuff going on that seemed to only get worse the more I rode my bike (or partook in any athletic activity). So for the sake of my body, I stopped recreating. The big miles have been put to bed, and all I can muster are my short in-town commutes. I had to bow out of Durango’s bonus dry spell in December, when trails were still rideable, and any attempts at getting my slice of the hero dirt pie was punished. I stuck with walking around my neighborhood while my dog dragged me by his leash and peed on everything. 

Flatlining is nothing new, but it knocks us off our axis nonetheless. It doesn’t have to be bike riding, it could be skiing, running, lacrosse, bowling or pickleball. Maybe you hurt your hand, and you can no longer paint, play the piano or throw pottery. Maybe you deal with headaches so you can’t read your favorite books or scroll Instagram. Maybe you had knee surgery and can’t walk your dog. No matter what, we’ve all dealt with not being able to do what we love and not getting those little drops of dopamine that we so heavily rely on. And when it’s not in our control, it sucks even more. We have to figure out a new way to function outside of our Old Faithfuls that always makes us feel good. We need to pivot.

I myself have gone 100% in on reading books again. No fiction novel is off limits. No author is safe. I also started decorating my previously empty house. In the process, I found my old knitting needles, so I picked up knitting again. Does anyone want a hat? I can make hats. 

I’ve had energy that would normally be put toward pedaling up big hills and then coming home and crashing on the couch with a piece of bread and peanut butter. So I tried this thing called “cooking.” Turns out, without riding 2,000 feet up mountains or 40 miles on gravel roads, I am a full-on, domesticated Martha freaking Stewart. I even signed up for a Pinterest account. 

I already see a therapist, so losing biking as my “therapy” wasn’t a huge deal. However, I do find much more joy in walking my dog these days. His leash-pulling is only mildly annoying now, where it used to make me want to unhook him and tell him to “be free like your ancestors!” Now, if I don’t take the time to let my dog sniff the entire neighborhood while I listen to podcasts, then I genuinely feel a little bummed. 

I spend time with my friends where we can sit, laugh and talk instead of pedaling uphill heaving and ho-ing. Dating looks a lot different these days. Turns out, you can really get to know someone over a meal rather than chasing them down singletrack. Is it better to get to know someone over a meal and a conversation? I don’t know yet. Chasing someone is also really fun. But for now, I’ll take what I can get. 

And yes, I still ride my bike around town to commute, so I have that, my saving grace. But until I get an “all clear” from my doctor to do the big miles – or anything athletic that makes me happy – I’ll have to pivot by having conversations over good meals, talking everyone’s ear off about a book I just read and knitting you a truly terrible hat. ?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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