FALL RISK.

Those are the words on the band around my wrist. I’m not exactly sure where I am. I’m in a bed in a dimly lit room. My left leg hurts. My hands are bandaged, and I can see the fingers of my left hand, swollen and discolored, protruding slightly. I have IV tubes in my right arm. My head is throbbing with pain. The slight light coming through the crack in the curtain hurts my eyes. I look down and read the words again:

FALL RISK.

But where am I and how did I end up here? And why am I in so much pain?

Well it turns out I’d been in a serious accident while cycling to work two weeks previously. I had a bunch of broken bones, blood clots in my lungs, and a traumatic brain injury that had kept me in a coma for 10 days. When I came to, I was moved to a rehab hospital where I was to spend the next two months.

That is where I am now, and why I wearing the FALL RISK label. Which essentially means don’t try and move or you’ll fall down and hurt yourself again. What I quickly realized was that to recover from my injuries I needed to do the opposite. I needed to Risk Falling. And with the help and encouragement of an excellent team I did just that. From sitting up in bed, to moving to a wheelchair, from there to a walker, then crutches, then a cane, and finally (although that was a full 6 months away) to walk unaided, I had to risk falling every day.

I could have sat comfortably in bed and looked out the window. After all, I was 62-years-old, my shot at the Tour de France was long past. And while that would have kept me safe from physical harm, the mental toll would have been damaging in a different way. And of course, a sedentary life doesn’t help keep our essential gear running; heart, lungs, etc. And I had plans that included using those puppies.

My FALL RISK bracelet became a motivational tool. A good luck charm, a talisman. I kept wearing it long after I was out of the hospital, and I have it to this day, framed and on the wall next to my desk.

You see, no matter who you are, what you do, how cautious you are - you face risk. Everything we do - even the most harmless and innocuous things - are filled with potential danger. There is no way to avoid risk - but nor should we even try. And the fact is, our fear of falling is often way worse than the fall itself. We imagine the worst, and then talk ourselves out of trying.

Now it isn’t easy. And it is hard to do alone. I had great support, from occupational and physical therapists, speech pathologists who challenged and encouraged me. They completed the work started by the ER docs who probably saved my life. Those talented folks fixed me, but the healing, both physical and spiritual, was a longer project. And that FALL RISK wristband was there every day as a reminder.

So risk falling. Make that call to a prospect. Learn to play the ukulele. Ask that interesting person to lunch. Enter a 10K. Go for that promotion. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like you’re going to get hit by a truck!