Pain from the past

Now that it's been nearly a month since I shattered my wrist on the streets of Somerville, I've finally been able to start parsing the experience. A lot of people have asked if it hurt, and the truth of that matter is that, while it was a very painful, I think it was less painful than other injuries I've suffered, especially any time I've injured my ribs.

In any event, I don't remember this crash for being particularly painful, as much as I remember it for the odd sensation of trying to pull on my handlebar, and not being able to tighten my grip at all. My fingers just wouldn't tighten around the right lever hood, as they have done so often. That was minutes after crashing -- fleeting moments in which I still thought the crash was little more than a momentary setback that would send me to the pit, and then back into the race.

Not being able to grip the bar, was what made me realize that I was done racing. The swelling that followed shortly was a hint that I'd managed to injure myself pretty badly.

I've been thinking about the crash more and more, as my wrist continues to heal, and I've remembered an entirely different sensation: The raw feeling of my palm on pavement.

Crashes are funny that way; I have no memory of another racer's chainring biting my ankle during the crash, even though the punctures bled for hours afterwards; and although I thought I'd hit my head on the ground, there's no evidence of that on my helmet. I know why I broke my wrist, though: The side of my right glove was shredded, completely pulverized by the asphalt. I'm glad I was wearing gloves, as the skin on my hand survived with only a minor abrasion.

When I was a kid, I remember skinning my knees from time to time. Some of those injuries were caused by a collision with the ground, in which a palm smacked against the road. The feeling of that collision is very specific, it's a combination of the sting caused by a baseball caught in a bare hand and rubbing your skin with fine grit sandpaper.

I always came away trying to shake the sting out my hand, amazed that a blood-less injury could be so painful -- even if the pain was fleeting.

This sensation, or the memory of it, came to me the other night when I was getting ready for bed. I'm not sure exactly why, as I can't remember hitting my hand in that manner any time recently. And yet, there it was, a real as the scar on my forearm -- the pain of which now feels much less real to me.