Ouch. Wednesday night I was biking back from dinner in Wicker Park when I had a wee little crash. It's not like I wasn't paying attention, but somehow my front wheel went into one of the grooves that parallels those old abandoned train tracks, causing the bike to go one way while I continued to go the other. Then up and over and down and bounce and slide, etc., resulting in this:
I've always made fun of people who fall hard -- either on the ice or on bikes or wherever. The ones in the winter who hit the ice and do a full-on Charlie Brown when Lucy pulls the ball away. I'm not a lot of things physically, but I am fairly nimble and light-footed. So if I do stumble I usually catch myself. And when I fall I bounce right up.
I've turned falls on ski slopes into smooth, graceful somersaults that have me right back up on my skis in one fluid motion and without breaking momentum. I once hit a car broadside while biking but I still landed on my feet.
So I worry this is an age thing. That's two bloody accidents in less than a year. Am I spiraling into early dodderinghood? Gah!
Anyway, it hurt. Though not as much as I expected it would. I had some pretty bad crashes on my rollerblades before (not from clumsiness, but from doing stupid things like jumping off four-foot ledges and stairways and over curbs and medians and things) and it hurt so bad I couldn't sleep for two nights. (Is that another sign of age? Reduced sensitivity to pain?)
It was mostly just a little scary. There was a lot of blood, and in the dark I couldn't really see how bad it was. Luckily I was less than a mile from home. Once I washed off the wounds (and found some bandaids the size of pot holders) I felt a little better. How does skin tear when the clothing over it (including shoes!) doesn't? Weird.
So I'm convalescing. Pilates was a little tricky -- no forearm planks for a little while. Yoga may be a no-go. And bruises are starting to emerge in places I didn't know I hurt. At least the bike survived unharmed!