My workout this week, according to freakin' Hal Higdon, included 30 minutes of cross training on Saturday. I texted my dad on Friday morning to see if he would be up for a bike ride on Saturday morning. We had been talking about doing this for a while and now that we are both in serious training mode, now seemed as perfect a time as any.
He came over to the house and once I literally dusted off the cobwebs from my bike, we headed out. All was fine, we were strolling along really good. 30 minutes out on Leisure Town Rd., including about 10 minutes down this wonderfully cute little country road. On the way back, about 2 miles from my house, I biked over a concrete-to-asphalt change in the road. It was pretty harsh, but I just kept going.
A half mile later, I notice that my bike isn't riding the same. I look down, notice I have a flat in the front. Crap!
I start to slow down, glance back to tell my dad that we need to stop, lose control, swerve into the gutter and proceed to go face first into Leisure Town Rd. Well, I didn't really go FACE first, but I went flying over the handlebars, according to my dad, who then fell as well.
I jacked up my knee, I need new biking gloves because they ripped open (good thing I was wearing them though because my hands would've been ripped open instead), and my handlebars need some repair work as well.
I honestly don't know how I didn't get hit by a car, but good thing I didn't.
Dad fixed my tire (my hero), a nice lady stopped to see if we were OK and we biked back home, bloody knee and all.
I had to have my mommy come over and take care of my knee though because every time I looked at it, I got light headed.
I'm OK now...I ran 4 miles Sunday night (it was too hot, I should've waited three more hours) and the knee was good. It's just ugly more than anything.
Moral: Don't go four years without riding a bike.
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