It was the morning of the marathon, and though thirty miles was pretty much a piece of cake for me—as it would be for most serious cyclists—this was for charity. Besides, these types of races had their advantages. They helped me learn to pace myself or beat my own individual time, which spilled over into the longer, century marathons I participated in the other months of the year.

I arrived in the parking lot near the starting line with plenty of time to spare, so I checked my tires and drank a Gatorade for energy. Afterward, I paid my registration fee and received my number to pin to my shirt.

My legs felt tight, so I did a few quick stretches to try and loosen up. I hadn’t slept well the night before, but that was nothing new; excitement and nerves always plagued me before every race.

I made small talk with a few other competitors I had gotten to know over the years from marathons, the shop, or the trails in the Metroparks. The biking community was a small one, and even though this city was divided into east side and west side residents, we still participated in the same types of events in and around the area.

“Break a leg,” I heard Elijah shout as we lined up at the starting point. I spotted him a few yards ahead, near the entrance to the park. He was with Tristan, West, Brin, and Nick. I knew Jerome would be somewhere along the route as well, and it was nice to know I had faithful friends who would show up so early on a weekend morning.

“You shouldn’t say that to someone who’s about to rely solely on his legs!” I shouted back, and the riders around me snickered.

Elijah chuckled and threw me a wink. “We’ll see you at the finish line.”

The idea of my closest friend waiting for me at the end of the race made my stomach flood with warmth. I made eye contact with Tristan and motioned to my number, and Tristan thumped his fist to his heart in a thank-you gesture for doing the race in Chris’s name. I noticed how West squeezed his hand, and I felt a pang in my chest. Maybe someday I’d have that with somebody decent again, someone who fit into my life just right this time.

But I had enough support in my life. My mom had called last night to wish me luck as she always did. Olivia did as well after Samantha passed her the phone. But to expect any of them to be at all my events would be overkill. I participated in these races for me. Because if I couldn’t ride, I didn’t know what I’d do with all my energy—drive someone crazy, I supposed. Somehow being on my bike with the wind at my back grounded me. Gave me purpose.

My thoughts flashed briefly to John, who would complain I was like a rat trapped in a maze, especially during the winter. I liked to keep moving. We didn’t share the same interests, but that wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker in relationships. It helped if you could communicate when things got tough. He seemed jealous of sharing my time with my riding club and weekends with my daughter. And that was how I knew it was time to end our relationship. It hurt, but it was the best decision I’d made in a long time.

I adjusted the chin strap on my helmet, slipped my shades over my eyes, and placed my foot on the pedal. Gripping the handlebars, I got in the right headspace I needed to compete, blotting out the world around me.

As soon as the starting whistle blew, I put the pedal to the metal. Marathons were always glutted with riders at the beginning of a race, but as cyclists set their own pace, they created distance on the road away from each other.

On the first leg of the marathon I felt good and my pace was good. I made sure to stay hydrated and kept my focus on the road ahead of me, which could be rocky terrain in several places. I had broken from the initial pack and was ahead of my own time.

The weather conditions started out dry but changed to wet in spotty areas by the middle of the race. It actually felt refreshing but also made me use more caution around the curves as I passed through downtown on Columbus Avenue.

I had crossed over to the east side and was rounding one of the bends on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard just as the rain picked up. Fat drops splattered across my shades, momentarily obscuring my vision. As I lifted my hand to wipe the rain away, a gray cat suddenly came bounding from a bush on a grassy area and went scurrying across the road. A fucking cat. I narrowly avoided hitting him by swerving my front tire toward the shoulder. But that only caused my bike to pitch at a strange angle, and it began skidding toward the ditch. Fuck. I tried to straighten out the tire and drag my feet, but the slick surface made it impossible.

Instead, my front tire was violently introduced to a thick tree branch that had most likely fallen during the last storm. I felt my body sailing into a ditch like I was in some nightmare. Thankfully I was wearing a helmet, but that meant my shoulder and knee took the brunt of the fall.

When I heard the crack, I knew something was very wrong and quite possibly broken. My legs felt like lead, and I couldn’t move my right arm. Fuck. The pain was immediate and so excruciating, I turned my head and vomited on the grass.

Some cyclists stopped to help, but my brain was so foggy, I couldn’t tell how many there were. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

“I’ll definitely live; you should finish the race,” I mumbled with a thick tongue. I didn’t want them to blow the race.

Some volunteers—most likely the ones I’d seen handing out cups of water on the route—rushed up, and I heard one of them mention that an ambulance was on its way.

“Ambulance?” I garbled. Why did I sound that way? My lip wasn’t busted, was it? “No, I just need help getting up.”

“I think you should stay put in case there’s damage to your neck.”

“My neck?” I tried to crane it, but the man had a hand on my shoulder and kept me firmly in place.

“Keep still,” the man said in a soothing voice. “I’ve witnessed other accidents, and the paramedics will want you stabilized until they can assess your injuries.”

I’d certainly wiped out on my bike over the years and had skinned knees and elbows to prove it. But this was something altogether different. And for the first time I felt a stab of fear in my gut.

The rest of the details were fuzzy, as if I was in and out of consciousness until the ambulance arrived. They lifted me to a stretcher, and I winced at the extreme pressure on my shoulder. “Fuck.”

I nearly vomited again as they strapped me in to keep me immobile. One of the men angled my head to the side in case I puked. Instead, I dry-heaved and then groaned as the contents of my stomach sloshed around violently.

“My…my bike,” I mumbled.

“They assured me it would be taken care of,” the EMT said as they loaded me into the ambulance.

On the ride to the hospital, the paramedic who stayed in the back with me checked my vitals again and asked me questions about previous conditions and allergies to meds.

As they wheeled me into the ER, I heard the paramedic pass the information to the triage nurse. “Looks like a shoulder injury.”

“Is there somebody we can call?” the nurse asked as they got me transferred to a gurney.

The first person to pop into my head was Elijah, mostly because I knew he was on the marathon route, then Jerome too. Damn, would they wonder what happened to me?

“Mae,” I gasped out and rambled off my mother’s cell number. Fuck, they’d call her and she’d be so worried about me. But what else could I do? Maybe my injuries weren’t that bad and they’d release me in a couple of hours.

But I could feel my shoulder throbbing, and I just knew something was seriously wrong. It hurt so much, it brought tears to my eyes.

“The attending will probably order an X-ray, and we’ll wait to see what he says about other testing,” one of the nurses said as she got me settled behind a curtain.

“What caused the accident?” a male nurse asked.

“A freaking cat,” I garbled, vividly remembering its striped tail. Thankfully he wasn’t a casualty of the accident, even though he most likely caused it.

“Ran onto the road?” the guy asked, and I could feel myself trying to nod but was probably unsuccessful because my entire body felt encased in fire.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the nurse replied as I adjusted my throbbing neck. “Try not to move; we’re going to give you something to help with the pain.”

I didn’t remember much after the pain meds were given except blissful relief. The only other thought in my head was that my riding days were more than likely over for a good long while.