On Crashing Down To Earth

Man, did I come crashing down to Earth today.

My bike crash last night has left me pretty f***in’ crippled. I limped to work, dragging my left leg behind me. The abrasions are really nothing. It’s the bruised hip and twisted muscles that have me all gimped out. No amount of Advil helps. I wish I had some Vicodin, or codeine. Participation in Sunday’s triathalon is in serious doubt. As, for that matter, is August 4th’s Manhattan Half Marathon. Which sucks. But I really did a number on my body.

You forget just how good normality feels until you get sick or injured. And for all my bravado while I was riding — I was literally pondering the risks of riding too fast and too hard as I pointed my bike into the gravel-choked puddle last night and dumped — I am so human, so fallable right now.

Maybe that’s the point Someone Somewhere Other Than Here was trying to communicate to me. A slow turning battleship, indeed. I’m only listening to the Counting Crow’s ballads now, no more rockin’ for a minute. I’m moving like a 70-year-old right now. I’m layin’ on the futon, AC cranked, a bag of frozen peas on my hip, watching “The Royal Tannenbaums.”

It’s not so fun.

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