I’m sitting at my computer gazing mournfully out of the window at the glorious Summer sunshine, daydreaming of cycling. Nothing new there, I hear you say? That’s true, but the major difference at the moment is that I’ve not been out on my bike for six weeks, one day and three and a half hours. Not that I’m counting or anything. This flagrant and unacceptable abuse of my bicycle is not simply down to laziness, however, I can assure you. I have a broken ankle.
Other than a small break in an even tinier bone in my hand some years ago, I’ve never broken a bone. Until what could, under different circumstances, have been a beautifully poetic textbook example of irony.
You see, at this point, I could tell you that I broke my ankle riding a particularly challenging stretch of North Shore in Vancouver, or during a bunch sprint in a criterium, and at least some of you might actually believe me. At least my fellow blogger Adele has a bike accident to blame for her elbow injury!
But the cause of my current misery was a far cry from an exciting cycling accident. This is where the irony kicks in. I was in London, on my way to staying at a friend’s house, the night before an early flight to Cuba, where I would be cycle touring. I fell off the curb while getting onto a bus. And no, I hadn’t been drinking, since I know you’re almost certainly wondering.
Such a minor mishap, with such far-reaching ramifications.
Instead of an evening at the pub, it was an evening at A&E, instead of cycling in the sunshine in Cuba, it was a trip to the fracture clinic. Instead of cycling in the sunshine at home, it’s now a plastic and memory foam boot with the world’s loudest Velcro strapping.
It’s probably safe to say at this point that I was somewhat miffed.
So, what’s a girl to do when seven weeks of non-cycling looms on the horizon? Spending hours scouring cycling websites, group pages and blogs was just making me acutely aware of what I was missing out on for the foreseeable. I rejoiced in others' amazing rides, but there was a very real chance of me grinding my own teeth down to stumps in frustration.
A solution to my cabin fever and impotence? Go shopping of course! This is where the world of internet shopping becomes simultaneously both best friend and worst enemy. With no access to actual physical riding of my bike, surely planning for when I could ride it by buying a “few” bits and pieces to cheer me up has to be a good idea right?
It’s all there, laid out before me, in glorious high definition: beautiful cycling clothes and accessories, in a myriad of colours, and ooh look, that’s in my size and it’s reduced. And money spent online isn’t real money anyway is it? Everybody knows that. Oh.
Parcels arriving thick and fast, my lack of walking ability makes those free returns slightly less convenient than normal but I’m coping bravely. The fracture specialist told me quite clearly he wants me to walk on the boot, so a trip to the local post office is ideal!
I’ve just a week left to go now until my next appointment at the fracture clinic, and from there hopefully on to cycling gently back to recovery. I’m grateful it’s passed relatively quickly, with my teeth markedly more intact than my bank balance. On the plus side, I’ll now look AMAZING as I pedal those five slow miles to the café!
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