Editor's Note: Evan Cooper is a rising junior, a sports editor for the Daily and an aspiring professional cyclist. He races for the Tufts Cycling Team and for the elite amateur squad Team Ora presented by Independent Fabrication. This series will chronicle his season as he tries to make racing into more than just a hobby.
One of my favorite authors once said, "I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind. Some come from ahead and some come from behind. But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!"
I'll bet few of you will be able to guess who that author was, so I'm just going to tell you, especially because I would guess he is one of your favorites, too: Dr. Seuss.
And what a time for that piece of insight. This is the time of year when job applications and interviews loom, and the ominous future stares us right in the face. Even when things are going totally right, the end of the semester just isn't easy. So when things go wrong, they tend to go wrong fast. Despite our most carefully laid plans and our determination to get through and see ourselves out to the other side of this final push, things don't always go as we had hoped.
You could sort of say that this is what happened to me.
Despite a mediocre start to the season, I managed to secure a spot at the U.S. Collegiate Cycling Nationals in Madison, Wisc., which were held over the weekend right in the middle of finals. Though I knew it would not be easy to balance traveling, racing and finishing all my work, I decided that it was worth it. The chance to do something great and the experience of a national championship were impossible to pass up, so I booked my ticket for Madison and began to prepare. I trained, rested and worked out a schedule for myself that would allow me to get through all my finals. I was ready.
Then it happened. On Sunday, May 2, out on an afternoon ride after a much-needed night's sleep following Spring Fling, I set out for my last long day before heading to Nationals. Only an hour into my ride, though, I suffered the first major accident of my cycling career. I was hit head-on by a car, sending me sprawling onto the asphalt and wrecking my bike. The collision sent me to the hospital, where I was lucky enough to learn that I had suffered no major injuries. My trip to Nationals, though, was not going to happen.
But I could accept that. The idea of traveling to Wisconsin to race and still getting all my work done was pretty daunting, so I figured that I might be better off anyway. After a day's rest, I was back out on the road on a spare bike, trying to heal up and go on with my training. Then it happened. Again.
No more than 10 minutes into another easy ride that Thursday, I was hit by another car. The last thing I remember was the grill of a pick-up truck appearing out of nowhere and me thinking, "Not again." Then I was back on the ground.
Incredibly, I suffered no major injuries once again. That's not to say that my encounter with yet another car and yet another strip of pavement tickled, but I once again walked away relatively unscathed. My bike wasn't as lucky. But bikes are replaceable; limbs are not.
As fortunate as I felt to be alive and healthy, I couldn't help but freak out a little. One time was acceptable. These things happen, especially as you log more and more miles in the saddle. It's simply a statistical reality: The more time you spend on the road, the more likely it is that you're going to be hit by a car. But for it to happen twice in less than a week just didn't register. The odds seemed impossible, the reason incomprehensible.
What did I do to deserve this? What is the meaning of it? As I sat in a dark corner of my house later that morning, back against the wall and head tilted skyward, I had a bit of an existential crisis, to say the least. None of this was part of my plan, and I couldn't imagine it being part of any greater plan that someone else had for me. If it were, I would have to say that it is one cruel plan.
As much as it hurt to think about, I couldn't just let it go. I wanted to find some explanation for all of this, some reason why this was happening to me. All I want to do is get through the rest of the year, do well on my finals and go home to ride and race my bike all summer long. That never seemed like much to ask, but now it seemed that someone or something was trying to stop me. So I looked for a reason. And then it occurred to me.
Maybe there is no reason, no explanation. To quote the good doctor once more, "I'm sorry to say so but, sadly, it's true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you." That's right, Dr. Seuss, s--t happens, and there isn't always a reason why. But that doesn't mean we can't try to take some meaning from it. That is why I turned to another writer to help me out. This time, it was Nietzsche — not quite like Dr. Seuss, but stick with me here.
Following Nietzsche's advice, I didn't search for some deeper meaning in all that had happened to me. Instead, I imposed my own idea onto it. I took this awful series of events that rocked my world and crumbled my foundations and made it a meaningful experience for me — something that had simply happened but something that I could learn from nonetheless.
It enabled me to realize that I just needed to let go. I need to stop gripping so tightly to what I have and striving so desperately for what I want, and instead just let them come to me as they will. If there is such a thing as wanting it too much, I am guilty of it. Like a racehorse wearing blinders, my focus on the finish line has been so singular and so intense that I have forgotten to enjoy the ride I am on right now. I have forgotten why I love what I do, and why I want to get where I do. There is nothing wrong with setting your sights on a goal, but when you let that goal consume your life at the expense of all else, you miss out on the pleasure of getting there. You miss out on the ride and, often times, you lose the race.
This isn't behind me yet, and it may take a little time to feel totally normal again, but I'm not going to let it hold me back. If the saying "two steps forward, one step back" is true, I guess I just have four steps forward to take now. But I'm going to take them one at a time. I suggest you do too.
