Running South
I’m coming up on five months since the accident. Five fucking months. And just when I thought I was clawing my way back, life decided to remind me that sometimes the hardest hits don’t come from the road… they come from people.
Fire, Fracture, and the Finish Line
My book is so goddamned close. And So, She Rose didn’t come together in a straight line. It came together through death, through failure, through pain, and finally, through fire. Turns out, sometimes the ending of your story doesn’t come from inspiration… it comes from impact.
The Pain You Don’t Notice
Sometimes the most dangerous pain isn’t the sharp kind that makes you scream. It’s the quiet kind that hums in the background for so long you stop noticing it. After months of recovery from a crash, I discovered just how much pain my body had quietly learned to live with.
The Moment the Anger Leaves
There’s a strange moment after betrayal when the anger finally disappears. It’s the moment you realize the person who once held your heart no longer holds your gravity.
Defiance
Some betrayals can’t be spoken aloud. Not because they don’t matter, but because telling the full truth would burn more lives than it would heal. Tonight isn’t about revenge. Tonight is about defiance, integrity, and the quiet strength it takes to walk away while still protecting someone who never protected you.
I Am Not Reckless. I Am Deliberate.
There’s a difference between recklessness and deliberation. What people see is the decision. What they don’t see is the relentless internal trial that led to it.
What Would You Say?
If I ever sat across from the woman who hit me, what would I say? I’m not sure I’d say anything at all. I think I’d just hand her the story and let her decide who she wants to be next.
Goddamned Appointments
I survived the crash. I survived the hospital. Now I’m just trying to survive the goddamned appointments long enough to get back to being me.
Don’t Fall Back Asleep
It’s easy to fall back asleep. Not literal sleep, the slow kind. The creative kind. The “I’ll do it tomorrow” kind. And one missed morning can turn into a year if you’re not careful.
I’m Making Heat Again
After my crash, my body stopped running hot. Rooms felt cold. Nights needed blankets. Riding felt different. I think my body redirected every spare ounce of energy toward survival. But tonight, in the middle of the night, one leg kicked out from under the covers, I realized something simple and powerful: I’m making heat again.
Two in the Morning, and Not Done Yet
The lawyers are done. The insurance companies ran their formulas. The paperwork closed. But four months after nearly losing my life, my body isn’t finished. Healing doesn’t move at the speed of settlements. It moves at the speed of scar tissue. In the meantime? I build.
Lawyers, Leadership, and Lips
What a fucking week. Lawyers talking numbers. Leadership finding its footing again. Surgery scheduled for the part of my face that never fully healed. Justice, it turns out, isn’t a courtroom ideal, it’s an insurance calculation. And I’m still learning how to live in the space between gratitude and anger.
Strength Training, or: How Weakness Feels Before It Feels Like Progress
Last night I lifted ten-pound dumbbells and they nearly wrecked me. This morning I’m sore, smiling, and absolutely certain of one thing: strength doesn’t come back all at once, it comes back honestly, rep by rep, when you finally decide to start.
I Had to Tighten My Left Boot Today
Recovery doesn’t always announce itself with milestones and applause. Sometimes it shows up in the smallest, most unassuming ways, like the moment you realize your left motorcycle boot is finally loose. After months of swelling, loss, replacement, and rebuilding, tightening that boot became proof that healing is still happening.
Learning the Shape of the New Me
Coming back to work after the accident taught me something I wasn’t ready to learn. The hardest part wasn’t the schedule, the exhaustion, or the logistics. It was realizing my mind doesn’t work the way it used to. This is about grief, fear, and learning what it costs to survive.
Four Months
Four months can hold a lifetime. Concerts. Bikes. A brand-new tire that never got its second chance. Hospital photos I didn’t remember taking, but my body remembers living. Trauma doesn’t change you slowly, it rewires you overnight. You wake up different. And then one day, you have to walk back into your life and see who’s still there.
Reclaiming MY Normal
After months of hospitals, recovery, and forced stillness, I finally felt like myself again, not because I was healed, but because I was seen. This isn’t a story about rushing back or pretending nothing happened. It’s about reclaiming the version of “normal” that keeps my mind alive, my sanity intact, and my life moving forward.
I’m Still Here
I survived fractures, surgeries, lost teeth, missing memories, and a body that sometimes feels like it’s held together by stubbornness and hardware. Bureaucracy tried to wear me down. Pain tried to slow me. The road reminded me who the fuck I am. I’m still here, and I’m not done moving.
The Silent Moments
People have opinions about my recovery. Strong ones. They form them from moments, snapshots, not from the hours spent in silence at two in the morning, staring at medical records, trying to understand what my body remembers even when my mind does not. This isn’t recklessness. It’s reckoning. And what you’re seeing is only a fraction of a much deeper transformation.
You Don’t Get to Be More Afraid of My Recovery Than I Am
I survived injuries that kill people outright. Every minute since has been a fight, and I fought. Two months later, I got back on my bike, not because I forgot what happened, but because I refuse to let the person who hit me define the rest of my life. What surprised me wasn’t fear. It was the judgment for getting up.