My breath caught in my throat, I was headed for the wire fence that overlooked a valley.
I turned the wheel and gripped the handlebars as my slight road bike thudded down a steep grass berm. I screamed as I hit a road sign. My bike flipped into the air, I somersaulted once, maybe twice before I hit the ground.
A second later, the bike landed on top of me.
Everything was still. I stared at the sky, not daring to move.
Other Ramblers Cycling Club riders appeared, lifted the bike off me and threw a flurry of questions at me. Was I all right? Could I move?
A car pulled over and I was soon covered in baby blankets while someone else was on the phone saying: "Twenty-five minutes!" I closed my eyes.
"Tracey, Tracey, you need to stay awake," someone said.
I opened my eyes: "I need to ring my mum," I said. "It's her birthday."
Puzzled faces looked down at me but they obliged and held a phone to my ear.
I wished her a happy birthday while I lay on the side of the road waiting for the ambulance.
I was new to cycling. I'd bought a bike after being inspired by a woman who had given her life and health an overhaul by entering and training for IronMaori.
I'd decided that I, too, wanted to try to complete the Half Ironman event.
Now the doctor was telling me I'd shattered my right elbow, with five breaks in the joint. A steel plate was put in my arm during surgery to help the bones heal.
Once it was determined that the knock on my head hadn't done any harm and the pain in my arm was under control, I was allowed home to Napier.
I had only just moved in with my partner and now he was having to help me dress and shower.
He also learnt new skills like tying a ponytail, although it was often sideways.
I was soon back at work - writing stories on my iPhone as it was easier to type with one arm. Have you ever tried to do Ctrl-Alt-Delete with one hand? The trick is to use your nose.
I had colleagues bring coffee to my desk, took taxis to assignments and relied on medication to manage the pain.
Despite physio appointments, my arm was not straightening.
Two months after the accident a surgeon dished up some stern words: If I didn't make fast progress, there was a chance it would never straighten.
Sitting at a desk typing at a computer (still mostly with one hand) was doing more harm than good. The doctors cut back my working hours so I could spend more time on rehabilitation.
As a bit of a workaholic, I really struggled with that. I would finish work and physio at 2pm and wonder what to do.
I had always been active. I had been a Highland dancer for 12 years and had since spent my time swimming, cycling or running. I started to get restless, bored and angry because I couldn't do anything.
As the weeks went on, my mood spiralled and I ended up at the doctors in tears. I was in pain and becoming depressed. I had to see pain specialists, who discussed the possibility of complex regional pain syndrome and a psychiatrist who confirmed that yes, I was depressed.
After months of struggling I was written off work over Christmas in a bid to get on top of the pain. An enforced holiday sounds nice, but I was still restless and grumpy.
A friend suggested I try painting and, in a bid to get me out of my slump, texted me an object to paint each day.
My first attempt at an apple looked like a red orange. I got books out from the library, started to get enthused and progressed to painting basic landscapes - it was lucky I was left-handed.
Two weeks off proved to be all I needed. As I started back at work, I had cut down my pain medication and was feeling good. I had also returned to Bikram yoga, which helped release tension in my shoulder and back.
All was going well until the plate in my arm started to push through the skin. I could almost count the number of screws in the plate by the bumps in my forearm.
That also brought back the pain, so I upped my medication.
One day the pain was particularly bad so I popped an extra Tramadol. As I hadn't eaten much that day, I was soon as high as a kite. I was again put off work to await surgery to remove the plate.
Once that happened in May 2014, the pain almost disappeared overnight. It took 10 months, but I felt like my old self.
The first few times getting back on the bike ended in tears. As soon as I approached a sharp bend or downhill stretch I would freak out. My swimming was lopsided and I'd get pain creeping up my neck when I ran - but I persevered.
With the help of my physio, I made it to the starting line of IronMaori 2014 - just seven months after my second surgery.
I surprised myself, crossing the line in 5 hours, 37 minutes. Despite the washing machine-type swim, and the highs and lows that came as I made my way around the course, I was hooked.
On a whim, I entered another Half Ironman, just eight weeks later, this time in New Plymouth. The Wells New Plymouth event was small yet competitive. I improved my time, coming home in 5 hours, 34 minutes, and realised my first race wasn't a fluke.
A few months later I received the Most Improved trophy at the Triathlon Hawke's Bay awards for taking 13 minutes off my sprint time over the season - not bad for my first season.
I resolved to train harder and aim higher next season. While my determination was there, my methods weren't always the best. Midway through winter I found myself burnt out and battling bronchitis.
Fellow Triathlon Hawke's Bay member Emma Mackie took one look at me and knew what was wrong.
I had devoured books, magazines and podcasts and drawn bits together to form my own training plan. I was overly eager and over-training. Emma took me under her wing and wrote up a programme but, more importantly, listened to me and offered support.
Funnily enough, I needed more pulling back than pushing forward and that helped me get to the startling line of three Half Ironmans this season - Port Macquarie, Taupo and Tauranga.
Each time I improved, cutting my time from 5 hours, 36 minutes in Port Macquarie to 5 hours, 10 minutes at Tauranga, earning me seventh place in my 30-34 age group and selection for the New Zealand age group team.
When I first hopped on a road bike in 2013, I never dreamed that three years later I would be off to compete at the ITU Long Distance Triathlon World Championships in Oklahoma City.
A few weeks later I had a crack at a shorter standard distance race in Wellington: 1500m swim, 40km bike, 10km run.. As the fourth 30-34 age group woman home, I earned a second selection to compete on the world stage in Mexico. I was now in the fortunate position of choosing my race.
Despite the daunting prospect of a 30km run, I am more of a tortoise than a hare, so Oklahoma here I come.
