JJ: Releasing Our Death Grips

I had only one wreck in my first 10,000 miles of cycling as an adult. That crash occurred one January morning in my basement—on my trainer. One moment Coach Troy Jacobson was urging me to "get in a high gear and spin, spin, spin!" and the next I was sprawled across the concrete floor in front of the TV, stunned and taking inventory of body parts. Last summer, after tacking on another 5,000 miles of crash-free riding, I experienced number two. A quick glance up at a home for sale, a slight miscalculation of where the curb was, and in what felt like a nanosecond I was airborne and then scraping across the asphalt.

My road rash healed but left an impression. We can attempt to map each step of our lives and take every precaution, but we can't control what happens on an innocent-feeling Tuesday afternoon in August. Love may punch us in the gut. A devastating sickness may cripple our healthiest, most vibrant friend. When this happens, there's only one thing to do: Peel ourselves off the ground, climb back onto the saddle, release our death grips on the handlebars, and savor every second of what's left of the ride.