Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 9 (Part 2): The Crash

OK, yesterday I was at the end of my longest ride yet (5.83 miles), and as I approached my house I reached into my pocket to pull my iPhone out. I thought I felt something fall out of my pocket, so I turned my head to look behind me....

I didn't see anything behind me, but when I faced forward I did see something in front of me: a motorcycle trailer parked on the street. But this wasn't some ordinary, garden-variety motorcycle trailer. This one happened to be right in my path, and it was closing on me fast. All I had time to do was slam on the brakes, veer hard to the right and let out an I-know-what's-about-to-happen "Fuck!"

I missed the trailer, but I swear I heard it snickering as I went ass over tea kettle, taking a shot to the left ribs from my handlebars and using -- well, I don't know the technical term for it, so I'll just say my right aftarm (opposite of forearm) and shoulder as landing gear. And no, my right aftarm and shoulder do NOT have wheels on them.

For the first time in my life, I had gone endo, but thankfully my only audience was the motorcycle trailer. I had to protect my rep, so I quickly hopped up, picked up my bike and casually walked up my driveway and into the garage.

Before I continue, there's something you need to know about my wife, Liz: she can't look at blood. Actually, she can't even be in the same room as blood. One time, when Dash was about 6 months old, I got home from work first and was starting to get dinner ready. I sliced my finger on a chef's knife and was bleeding profusely, but I couldn't drive myself to the ER because I wasn't able to load Dash's car seat into my car. So I stood there and bled, holding my finger under cold, running water until Liz got home. She wrapped my finger in some gauze, took me to the ER, sat with me in the waiting room and drove me home 3 hours (and 5 stitches) later -- without ever seeing the wound.

So you can see, I had a dilemma. I knew I needed to tend to my wounds (I also had a little road rash on my right hand and right knee), but I also knew she'd want to know how my ride went. I decided full disclosure was the best policy and showed her my injuries. Despite her feelings about blood, she cleaned up the aftarm, knee and hand, greased my scrapes with Neosporin and dressed my wounds like she had been doing it her whole life. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything she could do for the bruise that developed on my outer thigh a few days later.

Oh yeah, my ride. I ended up with a new distance record (by .03 miles), but my pace was skewed by my spill and subsequent delay in stopping the timer. Speaking of which, after thinking back and recreating the crash in my head, I came to realize I had used my body as a human shield, protecting my precious iPhone from damage and preserving my riding metrics. How's that for commitment?!