The numbers had been a recurring theme in my life for about nine months. The amount of times I looked at my watch or phone and saw 1:11 or 11:11 had reached a point that I was joking with my workmate that the world was going to end on November 11 2011, and, like an idiot, I went out to work on 11-11-11 without a care in the world.
I was released from hospital, a basket case, a couple of days before Christmas having gained 1/2 a kilo in hardware and with a new set of wheels in the form of a chair. My lower leg was broken in about fifteen places and my ankle was literally mush, requiring 14 screws and some major plating to get it back together, all soft tissue in the ankle was destroyed.
My arm, particularly my elbow, was also a mess, half the joint had to be replaced and another 14 screws and major plating was required. My pelvis was also fractured in about eight places. I'll attempt to put the ex rays up at some point, in a perverse way I'm kind of proud of them. When I do things I do them well.
I'd always intended to get back into road cycling but just hadn't gotten around to it. There was a real necessity to find silver linings in all of this in order to maintain my sanity so I decided to rake the opportunity to get a few things done hat I'd been putting offer some time.