It’s a strange feeling.

Standing in front of my road bike – an elegant machine built for speed and suffering – and for the first time in almost six years of daily, quasi religious training, I don’t feel the pull.

The burnout at the end of last season was the final blow. I was physically and mentally drained. I told coach I wanted to quit.

Now, without a race on the calendar, training sort of lost its meaning. The sofa seems a lot more inviting than the tarmac as there’s no one to beat and no finish line waiting for me.

The cracks

It started eighteen months ago when I had a serious accident. Five broken bones in a single crash is a violent way to learn the risks of road cycling.

I followed the doctor’s orders, did the 3-month hiatus, and came back hungrier than ever.

I was highly motivated and confident, wanted to prove everyone – mostly myself – that the crash belonged to the past.

It worked for a while

You know the usual comeback narrative. I felt strong. I was performing. There were podium finishes in every race thereafter. It was clear I got over the trauma of the crash.

But then, with time, I learned otherwise. I learned that trauma isn’t a linear thing. It doesn’t just vanish once you get over it. It comes back, it goes, it comes back again. It lingers in the psyche, surfacing every now and then.

Ultimately, it stays afloat more than you would have expected.

That intrusive thought during my rides that a crash could happen at any moment – could be right now! – became a constant, undesired companion.

Then came the 2nd crash

No broken bones this time, just the indignity of road rash in my back, a bruised knee.

And my wife’s serious concerns.

It forced me to have a hard look at the long-term cost to my body in the unfortunate event of another incident. As I nudge closer to 50, the math of risk versus reward has shifted. The equation just doesn’t balance the way it used to.

Surgery again

Recently I had the titanium plate and its six accompanying bolts removed from my collarbone. They were housed inside my body for over a year, after my first crash. Closing that chapter felt like a physical shedding of the past.

Finito.

Yet even with the metal gone, the ghosts remain. The scar is there forever. There’s pain in the bones every so often. The muscles in the injured area no longer feel the same.

Doctor says it takes time.

Hence I’m riding differently now. I’m not chasing the limit. I’m rediscovering things from a different angle: enjoying the excellent quality of my exquisite gear, the scenery, the challenge of a slow and effortful climb up a steep mountain. The peace of an easy, solo ride. With just enough effort to keep myself fit and healthy.

It’s no longer about watts and PRs.

And yet

Once a racer, always a racer. I still enjoy the occasional high-octane training with the team. The thrill of the speed, feeling the slipstream, pulling the train, putting in the occasional nuisance attack just to mess with my team mates.

And to check if I still have it in me.

We end the ride with coffee, camaraderie and the usual bullshit. Laughing about who got dropped, who had the best legs.

I’m still in the game. I’ve just changed the rules. No more crashes.

Just the ride.