I may have helmet head, but at least I still have a head

by julie on May 12, 2012

It was bound to happen. My first bike wreck since high school.

I was out on the trail, over halfway through my planned 45 mile ride. There was nobody else around. I wasn’t cornering or dodging a snake or fiddling with my phone. I was going fast, but I was paying attention. Most importantly, I was wearing a helmet. I was doing everything I was supposed to do, and yet I suddenly found myself airborne.

Then my right side hit the ground. Then my head hit the ground. Then my bike hit me. Boom, boom, pow.

I lifted the bike off me (yay for super light road bikes) and assessed the damage. The back of my helmet was cracked and the visor had broken off. It was lying in the grass with my sunglasses. My chain had come off, but I could fix that. There appeared to be no other damage to my bike.

I, on the other hand, was a little banged up. My head hurt, both from hitting the ground and being hit by a bike. My right hip hurt from landing on it. My ankle — one of the few areas of skin that were exposed — was bleeding.

Since my helmet was damaged, I was unsure about riding home safely. So I called home, and fortunately Kyle was there and able to come get me.

“Where are you?” he asked.

I looked around. “Um.” The problem wasn’t that I didn’t know where I was, but that I was pretty far from the nearest street. After a few seconds of calculating what would entail the shortest ride for me, I told him to pick me up at the park where Tacy played soccer.

“But give me 15 minutes or so,” I cautioned. “I’m still feeling shaky, and I’ve got to put my chain back on.”

A few minutes later, I started again — only for my back tire to blow out a tenth of a mile later. I took off my useless helmet, my socks and my bike shoes, and I walked my bike along the trail, barefoot. (Walking in bike shoes is not only uncomfortable, it’s not good for the cleats.)

Kyle picked me up, took me to the bike store where they replaced both my tube and my tire, and took me home where I headed straight for the tub.

Near as I can tell, my back wheel got wedged between the ground and the concrete. I don’t know how or why. It was just an accident.

I’m hurting (and I’ll probably hurt worse tomorrow), but I’m feeling fortunate too. Nobody else was involved — no cyclists, runners, or cars. It happened on the trail, fairly close to home — not on a two lane road in the next county. I was wearing long sleeves and long tights, and I fell on grass/dirt — not a tank and bike shorts, with a spill on asphalt or gravel. I was probably going 20mph max — not 35-40mph on a screaming downhill.

And I was wearing a helmet. I always wear a helmet, but more out of habit than out of concern for what might happen — like how we put on our seatbelt every time we get in the car. But damn, I’m glad that helmet was there.

Time Magazine, Dr. Sears, and breastfeeding

by julie on May 11, 2012

This week’s cover photo on Time Magazine shows a child perched on a stool, nursing. It’s intentionally sensational and not representative of the article’s content. It doesn’t do anybody any good, least of all mothers — whether they breastfeed and/or follow Dr. Sears’ guidance or not.

Pretty sad considering Sunday is Mother’s Day.

In spite of all the medical documentation and promotional campaigns in support of breastfeeding (and the quibbling that goes on among privileged mothers regarding each others’ choices and circumstances), it’s still primarily upper income, college-educated mothers who breastfeed — at all, let alone more than a year. A magazine cover implying that extended breastfeeding is the norm even among adherents of attachment parenting is disingenuous.

Moreover, given the propensity of the masses to jump to conclusions (helped along by sensational imagery and headlines — “Are you mom enough [to breastfeed until your kid can deftly unhook your bra]?”), thoughtful consideration of the pros and cons of both breastfeeding and attachment parenting goes out the window.

Why are we simultaneously so desperate for guidance ourselves and yet so convinced that others need our input?

Why can’t we have sufficient confidence in our ability to assess our individual circumstances, decide what works best for us, and leave others to do the same?

Maybe if we could get over our own insecurities and see media coverage like this as the distraction it is, we could focus on advocating for those who don’t have mothers. Both those kids and our own kids would be better off for it.

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