2008 Blogs
Today was the final stage of the Tour de l'Aude, starting in the town of our base camp, Limoux. Though it was the shortest road race stage at 71km, there were still demanding aspects of the course where definite selections were to be made. Erinne had a great race, finishing just behind the leaders and moving up in overall GC. Christine's day was a bit hindered by the rain and slick descents, so she finished a strong 16th overall. I wish I could say that I finished smiling. Instead I went out kissing the pavement.
The race started in sprinkling rain with a 3km false start, before kicking up an overpass and hanging left onto smaller and windier roads through town. Feeling pretty happy with yesterday's race and finally holding some confidence in my legs I was working to stay up front in the bunch. But 18km into the race I found myself spitting blood. From what I can remember, I was following the forward rotation to the front on the left side of the road, when two riders on either side moved into me, making an amy sandwich. My bars were behind both of their bars, so I guess it was my doing. Upon sitting up, I was freaking out because so much blood was pouring into my hands, but that's just how nose blows are. The head of the race, Anne-Marie stayed by my side until the ambulance came and she provided an abundance of comfort. Thank you. I have no idea how much time passed before I was in the operating room. After 8 days of racing I had overwhelmingly no control over my body. Somehow I made it under the hospital lights through lotsa hyper-ventilation, non-stop shaking and convulsing, gallons of tweeked tears, and crazed adrenaline cracked delirium.
Minus a tiny bit of road rash, my body is in excellent condition. The bike bit some steam. But my face was the cushion. The doctor cleaned the wounds wicked well. I'd say the part that hurt the most was when she injected the local anesthesia. I'm normally good with shots and I've received anesthesia injections before, but I suppose the face is more sensitive. It felt like she was ripping my face into shreds with dull needles. I felt bad for the doctor; imagine tying intricate stitches on a squirmy and shaking fish out of water. After this drawn-out process of picking gravel out of my chin and lips, stitching my lip up, and cleaning the bejesus out of my chin and nose, Karen and Chris arrived. What a relief. I had been under the operating light for hours with dozens of french faces and jibberish bouncing around, as flies were buzzing around my dizzy head. I felt like I was caught in a terrible never-ending video game. My only escape was to shut my eyes, but they kept poking me and lifting my eye lids to see if I was still conscious. Next they began applying all sorts of creams and ointments, to which Karen exclaimed "Amy, they're putting chocolate sauce on your face!" It felt good to laugh even though it hurt. Then they bandaged it all up. I still have yet to see it, and it feels like my face is an ugly balloon, but Karen says it doesn't look too bad.
This is me smiling. I am eating pizza...pull a piece off, ball it up, and slide it in the crack they left for my mouth. Back to Boulder tomorrow morning...
The race started in sprinkling rain with a 3km false start, before kicking up an overpass and hanging left onto smaller and windier roads through town. Feeling pretty happy with yesterday's race and finally holding some confidence in my legs I was working to stay up front in the bunch. But 18km into the race I found myself spitting blood. From what I can remember, I was following the forward rotation to the front on the left side of the road, when two riders on either side moved into me, making an amy sandwich. My bars were behind both of their bars, so I guess it was my doing. Upon sitting up, I was freaking out because so much blood was pouring into my hands, but that's just how nose blows are. The head of the race, Anne-Marie stayed by my side until the ambulance came and she provided an abundance of comfort. Thank you. I have no idea how much time passed before I was in the operating room. After 8 days of racing I had overwhelmingly no control over my body. Somehow I made it under the hospital lights through lotsa hyper-ventilation, non-stop shaking and convulsing, gallons of tweeked tears, and crazed adrenaline cracked delirium.
Minus a tiny bit of road rash, my body is in excellent condition. The bike bit some steam. But my face was the cushion. The doctor cleaned the wounds wicked well. I'd say the part that hurt the most was when she injected the local anesthesia. I'm normally good with shots and I've received anesthesia injections before, but I suppose the face is more sensitive. It felt like she was ripping my face into shreds with dull needles. I felt bad for the doctor; imagine tying intricate stitches on a squirmy and shaking fish out of water. After this drawn-out process of picking gravel out of my chin and lips, stitching my lip up, and cleaning the bejesus out of my chin and nose, Karen and Chris arrived. What a relief. I had been under the operating light for hours with dozens of french faces and jibberish bouncing around, as flies were buzzing around my dizzy head. I felt like I was caught in a terrible never-ending video game. My only escape was to shut my eyes, but they kept poking me and lifting my eye lids to see if I was still conscious. Next they began applying all sorts of creams and ointments, to which Karen exclaimed "Amy, they're putting chocolate sauce on your face!" It felt good to laugh even though it hurt. Then they bandaged it all up. I still have yet to see it, and it feels like my face is an ugly balloon, but Karen says it doesn't look too bad.
This is me smiling. I am eating pizza...pull a piece off, ball it up, and slide it in the crack they left for my mouth. Back to Boulder tomorrow morning...