Tag Archives: mtb blog

To the Next Person Who Asks About My Shins

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My shins are a mess. I get it.

Last fall, I was in my high school best friend’s wedding, and before the ceremony I spent half an hour applying concealer to my legs, because, while I’m not embarrassed by my shins, it felt like the right thing to do since weddings are supposed to be about the happy couple and not “why does bridesmaid #3 look like she was recently attacked by a hippogriff.”

Outside of formal occasions, though, I don’t spend much time thinking about my scarred and battered shins because I spend a lot of time with mountain bikers so I forget that normal people actually don’t look like they’ve recently fended off a horde of machete wielding squirrels. These scars, these bumps, these bruises, the weird crunching feeling when I run my fingers up and down my shin bone — that’s just the way it is.

Using this photo in my post three weeks ago was actually the impetus for writing this one because YIKES.

But every now and then someone will bring them to my attention and it’s a little jarring. Maybe because it’s someone completely random commenting about my body (I’m looking at you, Houston TSA agent…), or maybe it’s just the look of pain and revulsion that often accompanies these encounters. Like, “does it hurt?” Last year, after racing the first Enduro World Series race of the year and crashing my face (and shins) off, I walked into a little grocery store in rural Tasmania and the teenage boy stocking milk looked at my legs and said “what happened to you? Are you okay?”

And I was like “uuuummm you mean this? I’ve just spent the last four years falling off my bike, it’s no biggie.”

Also, kind of none of your business? Also, I’m obviously fine enough to be walking in here and buying a gallon of milk, so, like, maybe back off? Also, you’re like 14? Also, maybe I’m over-reacting?

I never know how to handle these conversations. Maybe the person really is concerned about my well-being, in which case I guess I have an obligation to assure them that, no, my husband does not beat me around the shins (or anywhere else, for the record). Then again (and I think this is more likely) maybe they are just curious. Which is okay, I guess, I’m not ashamed of these legs. But what if I were? Would comments like this send me into a tailspin of self-loathing?

Ultimately, it just feels out-of-line to be fielding questions about my body from complete strangers, even if it is just my legs and even if they are a bit of a mess.

But I have to admit that all these people who ask questions about my shins have a point. It’s true — my legs are a mess. I have tan lines from being held together by Rocktape for the past three years, scars from all the times I was too stubborn to get stitches when I probably should have (but going to the ER is really inconvenient and sometimes gets in the way of dinner), smaller scars from a million run-ins with my pedals, one particularly deep dent from a MRSA infection, and at any given time usually at least one bruise from walking into a coffee table because while I might be a professional mountain biker, I am terrible at circumnavigating coffee tables.

If every scar is a story, my shins are a goddamn anthology, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m even kind of proud of it. So, to the next person who asks me about my shins, prepare yourself, because I’m going to tell you the whole book.

I’m going to tell you about how I picked up a MRSA infection five days before my first ever Enduro World Series race and how I had to go to the ER to get the abscess drained and how it was horrible, but I still raced anyway because I’m kind of an idiot. I’m going tell you about the time in 2014 when I crashed TWICE in the same damn corner, exactly the same way, two days apart and left brake-lever shaped bruises on my shins BOTH TIMES (see above photo). I’m going to tell you about Oklahoma in 2017 when I crashed and put a gigantic hole in my shin but didn’t notice until I took my knee pads off four hours later because, like, I guess I can’t feel my shins anymore? I didn’t get stitches for that one either because the closest ER was two hours away, so that hole, it’s still there. I’m going to tell you about all the rocks that have flown up and hit me in the shins, and all the coffee tables and bath tub edges I’ve walked into, and the time I tripped trying to get back into the van and mashed my shin on the running board. I’m going to tell you about all the other little scars of unknown origins but, well, probably I crashed my bike? I’m going to tell you about green briar and prickly pears and multi-floral rose and cholla and all the other plants that have reached up and left their mark on these legs.

I guess I’m going to tell you my whole life story, because it’s written on my legs. While I’m at it, I’ll tell you about all the other strong-ass, scarred up women I ride bikes with. “This is normal where I come from,” I’ll tell you.

So, to the next person who asks me about my shins, I hope you have time. It’s a long story and I’m going to tell you the whole damn thing, because, after all, you asked.

How I Use Mindfulness To Turn Around a Bad Bike Ride

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Real talk — when I first started mountain biking, it used to make me miserable, like, more often than not. This is because mountain biking is hard, and also because I wasn’t very confident in my own abilities, so perceived failures (OMG SOMEONE SAW ME FALL OVER) would take over my mind and ruin my ride. I wasn’t very good at intercepting these feelings, so usually when something set me off, I would spiral into a pit of doom that could take days to relieve.

Fully embracing the pit of doom.

While I am no means immune to getting grumpy on a bike ride, I can now usually (no one is perfect) turn it around, reset and enjoy the rest of my ride. And I almost never carry the negative feelings with me for days afterward. So, what changed? Well, many things, but one big change was that I started to work on mindfulness. Yes, I know it’s a buzzword and you hate me now, but it’s a buzzword for a reason. I’ve realized recently that, without consciously intending to, I now use some basic mindfulness techniques to turn around even the worst of bike rides. And you know what? It works.

Here are the two major ways I use mindfulness to turn around a bad ride:

I focus on the present moment.

When I’m having a terrible ride, it usually has nothing to do with the present, and everything to do with things that happened in the (albeit recent) past, and/or things I’m worried about happening in the (near) future. I crashed and now I’m upset about it. I’m worried that I’m going to be the last person up the hill. I’m afraid the climb will hurt my knee. I’m afraid I’m annoying the people I’m riding with by going so slow. I’m not sure I can make it the rest of the way. I’m afraid I went too hard on the first climb. Blah blah blah.

But what if I actually focused on the moment in these situations? What is actually happening to me in the present that is so terrible?

Well, nothing. Usually I’m riding my bike on a beautiful trail in a beautiful place. Sometimes I’m pushing my bike up a vertical rock face, or riding on a road for miles on end, both of which are less fun, but still, in the whole scheme of things they don’t really suck. I’m still on a bike (or at least next to one). Sometimes it’s raining, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes I’m tired, but you know what? Usually the present moment is just not so bad once you let go of past and future worries and expectations and just be.

Of course, this is terribly, terribly difficult. I don’t want to discount that. People spend years studying meditation in the hopes of accessing a few minutes of “just being.” My sister-in-law Kei (hi, Kei) has done multiple 10-day silent Vapassana meditation retreats, and she told me that by the end of 10 days she can sometimes empty her mind for 30 – 40 seconds. That’s 30 – 40 seconds out of TEN DAYS of literally doing nothing but meditating.

So yeah, when you’re having a terrible day on the bike, you’re probably not going to be able to immediately access a state of meditative nirvana. But the key point is that you can try, and while you may not empty your mind, you may find yourself no longer miserable. Focus on your breath. Focus on the trail that is immediately in front of you (not the scary features or massive climbs that are coming later). If you’re climbing, embrace and accept the suffering. Stop trying to distract yourself, and come back to your breath and your pedal stroke. We are always capable of one more rotation of the pedals — always.

And sometimes extreme suffering can be a bit of fast track to a meditative state. I’ve found myself able to access a state of empty mind (in a way that I never have been able to while actually meditating, mind you) on a few occasions while riding my bike. These are extreme occasions, and I think I’ve only gotten there out of extreme desperation. Which is to say, I had to access this state or there is no way I would have finished the race, gotten myself off the mountain before dark, or [insert dramatic scenario here]. These are the moments that I look back on and think “how the eff did I do that? how did I keep going?” The only answer is that I turned my brain off and I pedaled.

Of course, you can’t conjure up near-death circumstances every time you’re grumpy on a bike ride, but you can start by focusing on the present.

Smile, it’s not so bad!

I trust the moment.

I was reading a book of Zen wisdom recently (yes, yes, I know), and one line stuck out to me in particular: “the moment knows.” What does this mean exactly? I’m no Buddha, but I think the idea is that you should try to trust what you feel in the moment, regardless of your previous plans for this particular moment. Like, say you’re planning to broach a potentially litigious topic with your significant other at a certain time, but then when that time comes around your S/O hasn’t eaten in a while and is in a terrible mood — if you’re trusting the moment, you’ll wait. If you’re focused on your previous plans, you’ll just plow ahead and it most likely won’t go end well.

So how does this relate to being in a bad mood on the bike? Well, it’s just another way to release yourself from the burden of worrying about what is about to happen. For example, sometimes I worry that a long climb will hurt my knee. I start worrying about this at the beginning and I’m often SURE that I will not make it to the top without knee pain. But, sometimes, despite all my worrying, my knee is fine. So I’ve just wasted a lot of time worrying about something that never came to pass. If I trusted that “the moment knows” I could release myself from this cycle of useless worry. If my knee hurt, I would know, and I would do something about it. Otherwise, I don’t really need to think about it.

Another example is when I’m worrying about something that is coming later down the trail. Maybe it’s a drop that I’ve done a few times but it still sketches me out. Maybe someone warned me about some “gnarly rock thing” and now I’m waiting for it to jump out at me around the next corner. Sometimes I’ll compose action plans in my head.

“I’m going to do the thing.”
“I’m not going to do the thing. I’m just not feeling it.”
“No, I HAVE TO DO THE THING. I AM WORTHLESS IF I DO NOT DO THE THING.”
“Nope, not today, definitely not today.”
And so on.

This is a massive waste of mental energy, and it never makes me feel good about myself. Nor does it change the outcome. Usually, when I get to the “thing” in question, the moment knows. I either do it, or I don’t — all previous speculation is just background noise.

The same applies to worrying that you’ve gone out too hard, or that you won’t be able to finish the race/ride/whatever. The moment will know. If you really can’t finish (unlikely), you will deal with that in the moment. You will seek the help you need, or you will just keep pedaling. Trust the moment.

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These two techniques have saved me on multiple occasions, and I hope they can help you, too. Try them out, and let me know!

Running Update #1 – Baby Steps and Toe Yoga

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A few of you have been asking for an update on my knee, and some others have inquired about how my 2018 goal of returning to running is going — so I figured I would mush both of those questions into one update post. Here goes.

To read the last installment of “wtf is wrong with Syd’s knee” — Knee Update + Advice for Anyone Dealing with Chronic Injuries — click here.

Basically, my knee is still my knee. Which is to say, I have no idea how to answer these questions. At the moment — like right now this very instant — it seems to be happy. I’m starting to ride more after a few months focused on strength work, core stability and mental health, and, well, so far so good. I’ve been riding my dirt bike more frequently, and last weekend Macky and I snow-shoe hiked 3,000 vertical feet in three miles, which was pretty insane and something that in the past would have probably meant IMMEDIATE KNEE BLOW-OUT.

Got all the way up here on my own two knees.

Or, like, maybe not because my knee is notoriously unpredictable with these things. And therein lies the problem. I have a lot of ideas about what makes my knee irritated — front squats, long drives, walking on concrete, running, hiking downhill, standing in line for extended periods of time, telling someone my knee is better — but the reality is that those things only sometimes cause me problems. This results in a lot of anxiety and fretting over “should I do this” “should I do that” blother blather blither, not to mention a lot of 20/20 hindsight. And of course, ironically, avoiding all potential triggers for my knee has made it weaker and more likely to be triggered. KIND OF A LOSE-LOSE SITUATION, AMIRITE?

The point of the above paragraph is that I haven’t been writing updates on this issue because, while I am cautiously optimistic, I have no effing clue.

But in the interest of transparency and the hopes that maybe my process can help some others, here’s what I’ve been doing to get my knee ready to try running again:

1. CORE STRENGTH, STABILITY + MOTOR CONTROL — After my flare-up in November, my physical therapist Dane (from Revo PT and Performance in Boulder) and I decided to take a big step back to the basics with my strength program. Since starting to work with Dane in 2016, I had gained a TON of strength but unfortunately beneath all that strength I had some fundamental motor control issues, largely thanks to tip-toeing around my knee and toe issues for the past nine years. So for the past two months, I’ve been doing box jumps, lateral hops, step-ups and HEAPS of core work. The jury is still out as to whether this is fixing my knee, but it isn’t hurting it (and I’m not going to lie, i had some SERIOUS doubts about what would happen when I started doing jumps and hops, so this is good progress…).

2. TOE YOGA, INSOLES + CALF STRENGTH — For the past two years, we have spent a lot of time focused on my hips. My hip mobility was definitely a contributing issue to my knee problems, but now that it’s gotten a lot better, it’s clear that there is more going on. The next frontier? Ankle mobility, calf strength and toe dexterity. As Dane told me, most cyclists with anterior knee pain like mine can resolve their issues by improving hip mobility, but I’m special. I guess in this case being special is not great, but one positive is that I have learned a TON about body awareness and proprioception.

So I’ve installed some new insoles in my bike shoes, I’m doing some calf strengthening exercises and I’ve started a daily toe yoga practice. This is not as exciting as it sounds (er, does it sound exciting?), and mainly involves me staring at my toes and willing them to move in ways they are not inclined to move. But, you know, baby steps. Or in this case, baby toe twitches.

3. TAPING, STRETCHING + FOAM ROLLING — Basically, just continuing what I’ve been doing with a good stretching practice, daily foam rolling of my cranky quads and keeping my knee taped with RockTape to relieve some of the pressure on the patellar tendon. None of these are fixes in and of themselves, but they are all incredibly necessary. If I’ve learned anything from this process, it’s that the little things done consistently are actually the biggest things.

New kicks and rainbow rocktape!

Sooooo…..what about the running thing? I got the go ahead from Dane to start incorporating VERY short runs (like, 30 seconds of running, 30 seconds of walking), but it’s going to be a slow process. At the moment, I’m focusing on getting back into riding, continuing with core and motor control work, and adjusting to my new bike shoes and a few other set-up tweaks. Not much good can come from rushing this process, but hopefully I’ll have a running update for you sometime in the next few months.

Six Ways to Peel a Banana (Or A Rock Garden)

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Macky’s family is a big fan of the “six ways to peel a banana” game. Meaning, if you have a problem, you get together and brainstorm six courses of action. The six usually range from ludicrously impractical (hire a troupe of circus monkeys and have THEM peel the banana for you while you stand on your head and eat an ice cream sundae) to fatalistic (don’t bother peeling the banana, we’re all going to die anyway), but somewhere in the middle there is usually a solution that makes sense to everyone. And it’s a good reminder that you have a choice — you don’t have to peel the damn banana, anyway.

While I’m not a huge fan of this game for questions such as “what should we do today” (as everyone tends to bring their own six options and it devolves into “36 ways to make this more stressful than it needs to be” which is not nearly as useful), it is a great tool for big questions, or when you hit a crossroads in life, or when you’re sitting at the top of a nasty rock garden that you’re supposed to be racing tomorrow, going “wtf…”

The truth is, no matter how bad things are, no matter how big of a rough patch you are going through, you almost always have some options. Sometimes all the options are bad except for one less-bad one, which can make it feel like not having any options, but the truth it that those options are always there. You always have a choice. And sometimes just acknowledging all the options, with no judgement, is empowering. It’s a reminder that YOU are in control and that YOU are making the choices and that YOU have agency. And feeling like you are making a conscious choice is better than feeling like you are being forced into a path, even if the outcomes are the same.

And more often than not, you will realize there IS a better option, and thinking of six ways to get through a situation will help you from automatically reverting to the easiest options, which for me are often “go around the thing” or “sit down on the side of the trail and throw a hissy fit.”

So, here’s my six ways to peel a banana, based off a rock feature I really didn’t like at a race earlier this year:

1. Don’t do the race.

This is one of those that I often dismiss right off the bat, but the truth is it IS an option. Nobody is forcing me to race at gun point. Yes I have sponsors, but they don’t follow me to the start gate with a cattle prod and they wouldn’t cut my contracts for not doing one race. And even if they would, it would still be an option.


2. Commit to going around the section and practice the go-around to try to minimize the time lost.

Go-arounds are, like, the definition of having options. If there isn’t a go around, this option would be “commit to walking/running the section, and practice that.”

3. Go around the section now, but attempt it in the race.

Certainly an option, pppppprobably not a very good one but the point of this exercise is to be non-judgemental.

4. Throw a wobbler at the top of the section, chuck bike into bushes, scream and yell.

A surprisingly common choice among pro athletes.

5. Attempt the section, but do so half-assedly.

Thus insuring that you make it look extra difficult and get a boost of sympathy from your s/o. Added bonus of proving him/her wrong when they said “I’m sure you can do it.”

6. Get out of your head, take a few deep breaths and make a damn effort.

If it doesn’t work out, eat a snack and try again. If it still doesn’t work out, review options 1-5.

The reality is that when I spend the time to think through the options, when I consider what would be the most helpful and what makes the most sense, I almost always choose Options 2 or 6. I’ve never thought “hey, I think the best course of action right now is to roll around on the ground and scream at my bike.” The trouble comes when I feel trapped, when I feel like I “have to ride this thing,” when I feel like I don’t have any options at all.

So, the next time you’re standing at the top of a feature you don’t like, thinking “I either ride this or drop dead right now,” try peeling it six ways. I promise it helps.

(OH – and in case you wondering if there actually are six ways to peel a banana, according to this Youtube video, there are nine.)

Six Weeks Off the Bike and Trusting the Process

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Trust the process, I reminded myself as I labored up the climb, miles behind Macky and our new friend Gus. Trust that this will all come back. Trust that this is temporary. Trust the process. Trust trust trust.

But my ass hurt. Do you know how long it’s been since my ass hurt from riding a bicycle? Years. It’s been YEARS. Because when you ride a bike all the time, your ass doesn’t hurt. You get ass callouses or something, and now, for probably the first time in six years, my ass callouses were gone and it hurt. This shouldn’t be happening, my brain raged, f*ck the process and all that mumbo jumbo, you are just really out of shape and you need to do something about it STAT.

Here’s the thing — it’s much easier to trust the process when you’re working hard every day, when you’re picking up heavy things in the gym, going for five hour rides, or doing intervals on the road. It’s a lot harder to trust the process when you aren’t training at all. It’s a lot harder to trust the process when the process says REST. When the entire process screams “take a freaking break and decide if you even want to do this anymore” it doesn’t feel like a process. It feels like a reckoning. It feels like giving up.

But, it’s not. Or so I’ve been telling myself.

I have only ridden my bike three times in the past two months. One of those times was an hour long spin on a flat bike path. The other two times were this past week in Pisgah. Nothing like straight off the couch to riding with a bunch of pro and former pro dudes to make you question your training strategy.

Here is a photo of some cool ice crystals from one of my two real rides.

It was easy to say I needed time off in October. Here’s a blog post I wrote about taking a month off the bike. I knew I needed that time, and the rewards were quickly evident. I felt re-energized and ready to tackle the off-season and train like I had never trained before. But I was wrong. I wasn’t ready. By late November I already felt stale and I was having knee issues again. I blamed the staleness on the weather and the knee issues on a new pair of shoes, but it was more than that. My plans for the coming year weren’t exciting me. The idea of racing — or training to race — was giving me a feeling in the pit of my stomach akin to trying to digest a soccer ball. While I had some great rides, I was having a hard time motivating myself to get out the door. I just wasn’t really having fun.

To be honest, I had a slump like this last year in December, but I pushed through it. This year I didn’t. I just stopped riding. And then I went to Thailand for three weeks. When I came back it was -5 degrees in Ohio so I didn’t start riding then either. So, now it’s the end of January, and I still haven’t started riding, except those two rides in Pisgah (we are now in Boulder, where it’s still snowy and cold).

It’s harder to justify needing time off in January. This has been prime training season for me in the past, although admittedly that hasn’t worked out too well. But being unfit and feeling sketchy on the bike in January is stressful. What if it doesn’t come back? What if I screwed up and took TOO MUCH time off? What if this wasn’t part of the process at all, but just me being lazy?

But, to be honest, I know that’s not the case. I know can trust this process.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve taken some steps to get myself headed in the right direction. I took a long hard look at my goals and realized that my racing goals weren’t really squared with my priorities — they just didn’t feel authentic and they didn’t excite me. I realized that even if I were able to win such and such race, it wouldn’t be that satisfying if I was still limping around dealing with knee issues and not able to run, or even walk, around the block. The truth is that my motivation for riding and racing has always been more intrinsic than I’ve been willing to admit. While it would be nice to get better results than I have, winning has never been my primary motivation (obviously or I probably wouldn’t have made it this far). I think for some people the idea of winning a race is motivation enough to train through the winter — it’s what gets them out of bed in the morning and out on the bike when it’s -5. But, honestly, I don’t care nearly enough about winning a bike race in a discipline that 99% of the world doesn’t even know about it. I just don’t.

Trying to be better — working on ankle and toe mobility with Dane at Revo PT

The good news is that I care enough about being better that I don’t need winning as a motivation — in fact, if anything, it just stresses me out and makes me feel stagnated and confused. But I care enough about improving and being a better athlete to do just about anything. Even not ride my bike for two months.

This is why I’ve set some goals outside of riding bikes – like this one that challenges and scares me more than any race related goal I’ve ever committed to — and changed up my schedule to focus on races that will be challenging or fun (or both).

And when the time is right, I will start training seriously again. Until then, even though my ass is sore, I’m trusting the process.

10 New Year’s Resolutions For Mountain Bikers

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I resolve to never ever put my bike away like this again…

Just in case you don’t already have 10,000 New Year’s Resolutions, here are 10 more.

1. Learn a totally pointless trick.

Mountain biking is not only about going fast down sweet single track. It’s also about showing off. So spend a little time learning how to do one dumb thing really, really well.

2. Stop putting your bike away dirty.

I do this all the time but I really wish I didn’t. You’re probably just like me. Let’s say goodbye to dried mud and rusty chains in 2018.

3. Do at least one day of trail work.

Help build a trail, or clear out an existing trail after a storm. It will give you a solid appreciation for the work that goes into the trails you love to ride.

4. Finally figure out what all the knobs on your suspension do.

I mean, SRSLY BIKE INDUSTRY WHY SO MANY BUTTONS.

5. Tackle the feature that has been bothering you for years.

We all have one of these. Make 2018 the year you turn that scary rock garden into “just a little pile of rocks,” or the year your nightmare drop becomes “oh, THAT little thing pssssh.”

6. Laugh when you crash.

Unless you seriously hurt yourself. Then, it’s okay to cry. But most mountain biking crashes are just embarrassing. So, try to remember to laugh at yourself. We all fall over at 0mph sometimes. It’s cool. In fact, it’s better than cool, it’s freaking hilarious.

7. Spend more time on a pump track.

Pump tracks are the bomb dot com. They improve your skills. They make you STRONG. Do enough laps in a row and you’ll get an aerobic workout, too. Plus, pump tracks are just plain fun. There is literally no downside to this resolution.

8. Get a new rider stoked on mountain biking.

Take a total beginner out for a ride. Be encouraging and patient and remind them all the time that THIS SHIT IS HARD AND NONE OF US GOT IT ON THE FIRST TIME OR EVEN THE 100 BILLIONTH. Most of all, get them stoked on bikes and trails and being outside playing bikes on trails. Build our community, one person at a time.

9. Go for a ride with your local NICA team or youth riding program.

I promise you, you will learn something, even if it’s just another reminder of how “look where you want to go, NOT at the cactus” is the most important life advice ever.

10. Start putting your phone on silent when you ride.

And leave it your pack. Or better yet, leave it at home entirely. But if you want it for emergency purposes (not a bad idea), make sure it’s not going to interrupt you a billion times with totally non-emergent bleeps and bloops. Mountain biking (and maybe just life in general) is better when you’re thinking about what you’re doing, and not about how many likes your latest Instagram post is getting.

staring into 2018 like

Knee Update + Some Words for Anyone Dealing With Chronic Injuries

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Pay attention. Keep paying attention.

That has been my mantra for the past few days…

When you’re struggling, PAY ATTENTION.

We all have different coping mechanisms when faced with injuries or a bad race or basically life not working out perfectly. Some people get angry. Some get mean. Others get depressed. Still others stick their heads in the sand and pretend it isn’t happening. No wait, those are ostriches.

Guys, I’m an ostrich. When things go to shit, I bury my head six inches deep and keep up a resounding chorus of LA LA LA LA LA CAN’T HEAR YOU LA LA LA to keep the demons at bay. And then, when I finally get over myself and decide to face up to things — retroactively, of course — I write a dramatic blog post. (Do ostriches blog?)

It’s not the worst of coping mechanisms, but it’s still pretty bad. And this strategy has already failed me a few times with my current struggle — my knee. I know, I know. You’re really tired of hearing about my left knee. Believe me, I am also tired of hearing/thinking/talking/writing about my damn left knee.

That’s why this post isn’t entirely about that — it’s also about paying attention, even (ESPECIALLY) when paying attention sucks.

This is a metaphorical photo from last year, because rainbow.

Let me tell you a little story about last winter. I was in Scotland, having basically the best time ever. I was training a lot. Going to the gym. Writing regularly. Being really diligent with just about everything in my life. And then I blew up my knee with some dastardly combination of front squats and steep Scottish fire road climbs. It was not terribly surprising, nor was it the end of the world, although it rather felt like it at the time. But here’s the worst of it — I shut down. Completely. For like three weeks.

I was really upset, sure, and in a fair bit of pain (serious tendinitis is really underrated — I would rather break bones) but that’s no excuse. I just stopped doing EVERYTHING because it was too emotionally painful to think about my goals. I felt like I was going backwards and that my life was over and blah blah blah, so I spent my days reading novels and turning my brain completely off. I stopped communicating with my coach. I stopped writing on this blog. I buried my head in the proverbial sand, which in this case looked a lot more like $40 worth of mystery novels on Kindle.

I realized recently, now that I’m dealing with my knee again, that I have no records of that time. I have a vague idea of how long it took for the acute inflammation to die down, but I don’t really know for sure, because I didn’t deem that as important information to record. But damn, it would be really helpful to know right about now.

I have come a long way since last February. The 2016-17 off-season was a difficult one for me in a lot of ways, and most of my issues originated between my ears. I’m in a better place now, and I no longer see my knee pain as a harbinger of doom. While I’m fairly frustrated on a short-term level (as it’s ruining some fun plans for this week, for example), I’m not having an existential crisis, so that’s a step in the right direction. And, as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve gotten better at acknowledging when a flare is coming on and taking steps to mitigate it — so I’m cautiously optimistic that I won’t be sidelined for quite as long this time.

But, despite all that, I’m still really struggling to pay attention, to not check out. There is still a part of me that feels like if I ignore the problem that it will go away. And then there’s the fatalistic part of me that feels like acknowledging the extent to which my knee is bothering me — recording pain levels in my training journal, emailing my poor physical therapist for like the 40th time this week — is giving it too much power. I know that’s a little ridiculous, but there it is.

Here’s the problem — as athletes (and as human beings), we do ourselves a disservice when we check out the moment things aren’t going our way. I’ve been guilty of this many, many times and the irony is that that checked-outed-ness (#sorrynotsorry) usually ends up making me more unhappy than whatever the bad situation was in the first place. Because there is really nothing I hate worse than that feeling of not progressing, not growing, not caring.

Not caring is a coping mechanism — a shield for when caring is painful — but ultimately it ends up being a double whammy of negativity because, for better or for worse, I do care, and no amount of pretending otherwise will change that.

Recently, when I’ve been frustrated or sad or angry about my knee, I’ve been forcing myself to acknowledge those emotions instead of blocking out everything, and to get to the root of WHY I am feeling that way, and how I can use that as fuel, instead of an excuse to give up. In truth, there are plenty of things I can do right now that don’t involve riding but that will still contribute to making me a better athlete — and a big one is to try to use this time to figure out as much as I can about what’s going on with my injury, as frustrating and discouraging as that process is. Reminding myself that this time is not wasted, but rather, a necessary, if inconvenient, part of my growth as an athlete, has helped immensely.

So, the next time you’re struggling with an injury, try reminding yourself to pay attention. Take notes on how you’re feeling, both mentally and physically. It will help you put things into perspective — and be a helpful resource for the next time you find yourself in a similar situation. Then you’ll be able to tell yourself “hey, I always get massively grumpy on the third day of sitting around resting and doing nothing, this too shall pass.” I promise you, just knowing that will help.