May 8th

May 8th is a day that will be forever be marked by the scars on my face, hand and thigh. One year ago this past weekend I was on my way to Beloit on my motorcycle when an older gentleman pulled out in front of me. I was lucky. Because I saw the accident coming I was able to slow down enough to be able to walk away. I was one of the lucky ones that weekend.

May 8th 2009, Mother's Day weekend 2009, there were 4 motorcycle accidents. only 2 of us lived to tell our stories.
April 8th 2010, 11 months to the day I buy a new bike. One more step in the healing process. My body is mostly healed, I will never be 100% but unless you knew, you would not guess that I had been in an accident. The hardest step of the healing process however is mental. Many people who are involved in a motorcycle accident do not ride again. The most common question I was asked after the fact was "Are you gonna ride again." To which I always answered, Yes. Deep in my subconscious however was a needle of doubt. I buried that needle when I bought my bike. I rode it home in the snow. I have taken 2 rides with friends, I have ridden to school twice. None of these short trips, however compare to this past weekend.May 8th, 2010. One year later. Jake has to work, but I need to continue to heal. I need to be on my bike. A friend and I take off around 7:45am and head south. We rode to Davenport to help support an injured Marine. It was a good day, but it was also a scary day.

The first stop was at the Greenville/Colona American Legion. We had been at the hall for about 20 minutes, standing outside in the parking lot just chatting. A group of bikes were coming down the road a block away, and started to make the turn to come our direction. I saw the lead bikes then heard the squealing tires. It happend so fast, yet in slow motion. I watched helplessly as a red bike tipped over spilling the rider. I watched him hit the ground and roll. When he came to a stop he didn't move. Some of us ran to the intersection while others went inside telling the people in the bar to dial 911.

As I went towards the intersection, I felt sick to my stomach, not today, why today. Then the shakes started as I relived my own accident.

After the cops and ambulance arrived we found out that everyone was fine. The rider who went down limped away, got on his bike and finished the run.

I did the same. I got on my bike and finished my run. I put over 250 miles on my bike. I am still not completely recovered. Even just driving down the road in a car, truck, jeep, and especially a motorcycle, if I come to an intersection where another vehicle is supposed to come to a stop, I cringe, I hesitate. Are they going to stop this time? Each time they do stop, but that doesn't stop my heart from jumping every time.

I will heal. I will not give up. I am stronger than that truck.

Who moved my cheese

Or was the title of the book, Someone moved my cheese. I really don't recall. All I know is it was on the recommended reading list from a former employer. When all was said and read, the story boiled down to change. Even if it is not what you want you must be ready for change.

After 3 wonderful years I am making a major change in my life. I, sadly, am leaving roller derby. My heart is breaking just thinking about it. I have grown so much because of this sport. Three years ago my life was spent going to work and coming home, half of the time Jake was here, the other half he was at work. My days melted into one another, the sides of the rut I was in stretched above my head for what seemed like an eternity.

Roller derby was the ramp to the light. I rearranged my work schedule so I could learn this sport, so I could make friends that had nothing to do with my husband or work. Within a year it consumed me. I was having a blast and taking names. Heck, I even gave myself a new one.

The team is in it's third season now, only four of the girls are still there from when I started back in 2007. I have seen so many women leave, some relocated, others just left. Now it is my turn to step away. My life is now turning toward a new direction. I need to focus on school, finding a new source of income, and finding a place where I do not feel the need to explain myself, or defend myself.

I wish I was the type of person who didn't care what others thought of me. I wish I was strong enough to let the hurt run off my back like water on a duck. I'm not. And so I will be the smart mouse who has her sneakers tied and draped over her shoulders. I will be the bigger person and embrace the change. I will move on with my life and leave. Know this though, when the cheese disappears, or becomes moldy, I will have found a new plate to dine from.

Not quite a year

11 months to the day after my accident, I was able to pay for the replacement for my bike. I was lucky enough to find a very reasonably priced Heritage Softail.

I am very proud to say I have ridden my new bike 3 times, including through the intersection where I had my collision. With the floor boards I am a little iffy on the corners I have already drug the left side once, but I am slowly getting used to the wider set up of my new wheels.