It was a tough day on the bike.
I fell and I cried. I don’t know how it happened. I was trying to start from a stop and toppled. Then Ken sort of fell on me. I was stuck under my bike, still clipped in on one side. My chain fell off. At that point I was more embarrassed for the scene I had made at this intersection full of cyclists and cars than worried about the scrape.
Once I was up I realized how bad my knee hurt and I still had to ride home ten miles. That’s when the wind kicked up and my shoulder started to hurt (the guy who did my bike fit yesterday needs a kick in the crotch).
I love to be out riding, but today was not one of those days. 31 miles. I came home and quickly went to the donut store where I got a cinnamon roll the size of my head and large coffee with extra cream. Immediately I felt better. Fulfilled. No more pain or sadness. This is what’s left:
I am loving my hair here. Don’t be jealous. Just put your hair in helmet for a couple hours and sweat, then take it off and you too can have this style:
I am mentally preparing for getting into the shower and how I will scream like the little girl that I am when the soap hits my boo boo. I may be 44, but I can still cry, wince in pain and ask for sympathy. I know we have a Mickey Mouse band aid around here somewhere.
Feel free to send sympathy cards and more donuts.
Triathletes have feelings too.