In 2005 I was training for my first Ironman, and got hit by a car while out for a ride. I was in aero position, going about 28 mph on a gradual downhill in the bike lane, and a guy in an opposite left hand turn lane decided to gun it and try to beat me across. He misjudged. Before I could even come out of aero position to make a grab for my brakes, I t-boned his passenger door and flew, bike still attached, over the top of his car.
It was a rather spectacular-looking crash (according to the horrified onlookers). I was wearing a Road ID, and when the ambulance came, I didn’t have to scour my dazed brain for a phone number. My husband was called and I got carted off for x-rays.
Three months later, when my body had healed and my new bike had arrived, I went out again. I was admittedly white-knuckled, but had to get back in the saddle, literally. I told my husband I would stay close to home and do laps in a low-traffic area with a very wide bike lane.