Cover photo courtesy of Lisa Laughlin
I’ve had a good run of fortune in my outdoor adventures, but I got the call this summer that no spouse wants to get when their partner is in an endurance race. It was the sheriff, an hour into the Ironman 70.3 Boise, telling me that my husband had crashed on the bike course. He was down hard.
I stepped into the terrible floating space of not knowing how bad the damage was for a few moments. We were fortunate; he had an obliterated collarbone, five broken ribs, and a partially collapsed lung. His Smith MIPS helmet had saved him from head or spine trauma. When I met him at the ER, two young kids in tow, he was smiling above a neck brace.
The experience brought up a lot of thoughts for me about the risks and rewards that define the outdoor pursuits we love. Even when we’re trained, and competent, and are having a great day, accidents happen. It’s a risk we accept in varying degrees of awareness whenever we set out on the trail.
Whether or not that risk is worth it is up to every athlete to decide (and a good conversation to have with one’s family). But what shone through for my family during this incident was the incredible humanity at the edges of the accident. When my husband crashed, an athlete behind him stopped her race to call 911. She held his hand until the paramedics came. Two spectators stepped onto the course to flag oncoming cyclists, who were bombing down Lucky Peak around the crash site. One of them put his jacket over my husband, who was shivering with shock. I wish I could reach across time and space to say thank you to those people who stepped in without hesitation to help.
That community — call it the cycling community, the Ironman community, or our greater humanity — is what was left glimmering as we waded through the days of post-accident surgery, the long drive back to Spokane, and the rearranging of our life as my husband started healing. We were filled with gratitude.
Are endurance sports and their unique communities worth the risks we take? In part, that’s the wrong question. The risks and rewards are tightly braided. Together, they make a complex strand that’s something we hold onto. A reason for living. Hard to parse.
My husband is already shopping for another helmet, another triathlon suit, and eyeing his next Ironman race. And I’m surprised at how okay I am with that. While I’ll still spend a lot of time analyzing that risk-reward strand, I can see how the community is a lifeline.
This issue of Out There Outdoors covers all sorts of fall adventures and ways to get out in our region doing the things you love. But at the core of all that content is how to connect with this outdoors community. With people who adventure to live, who share stories and gear recommendations, who work together to protect our public lands and waterways. My hope is that you find a way to lean in, find a shared love, and do some good with it. I think that’s part of what all this adventuring is about.
Lisa Laughlin, managing editor
