This morning I'm going to have my hand x-rayed. I'm pretty sure nothing's going on that needs more attention but there's a pain in my palm that's not getting better. In fact, after going to yoga way sooner than I should have I ended my day with pain shooting up to my elbow, radiating into my fingers.
My leg still aches. Amazingly more bruises are appearing, more swelling is occurring, I still wince when I crouch down and heat sears my knee.
Yes I'm still grateful. Grateful it wasn't worse. Grateful I didn't face plant. Grateful I was able to ride home in one piece. But the longer it takes to heal the more nervous I am about riding again.
I'm afraid to go fast. To let go. To fly. To zip up the river and forget everything but the wind and the sun and the light glinting off the water. I'm scared I'll fall, that someone will clip me, that I'll hit a rock, a crack, something will slip me up.
After not being scared it hurts more to be back here. I'd let go of the fear that gripped me, held me hostage for most of my life, kept me from exploring, trying, stretching.
I don't want to be back here.
But I'm not sure I can't get out again.