I shall henceforth be known as The King of The Morons, for my stupidity knows no boundaries, my idiocy no limits, and my moronicness remains supreme above all others. I am the absolute ruler of all things absurdly stupid. You, my fellow morons, shall address me as King or as Supreme Ruler. If you’re not a moron I encourage you to just step over me as I lie in the gutter slack-jawed with sick on my shirt. BUT ALL OTHERS SHALL BOW BEFORE ME AND ADDRESS ME SO!!
I’ve always been a moron, but yesterday this man became a King.
Once my in-laws, in town for B’s 8th-grade promotion to high school, left and Wifey and B were out the door for a real day of work and school I started gathering my kit and bottles for a quick dirt road ride before catching up on stuff. Then, just as I was about to get into my kit, I was hit with a full-on wave of “I’d Rather Do Just about Anything In The World Than Ride My Bike.” I nakedly sat on the edge of the bed, bibs in hand, trying to get in the mood. But it just wasn’t going to happen. I had Velo Dysfunction (or V.D.. Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Hold on, not THAT V.D.!!) and there was no amount of fluffing that would get me to mentally stand at attention, get into my kit, and out on the bike.
Enter The King…
“I’m gonna go for another trail run,” I thought as I tossed my bibs aside and grabbed some gutchies and shorts. And by “another trail run” I mean my second trail run EVER.
I headed out to the Sylvan Preserve, did a short walk to warm up in the humid air and then set off at a pace that was somewhere in between standing still and mall walking but with all the motions of running. Have I ever mentioned that I don’t run? Well, I can run, I just don’t run well.
It was clear from the start that my body and mind were not going to cooperate at all today and I found myself running for a bit, walking for a bit, running, walking, etc.
After a mile and a half, I started to feel a little better during the running portions and even attempted to increase my near walking pace to a steady jog. This was made easier by going on a slight downhill grade of course.
I rounded the corner of the dirt path, made a mental note of how just over that tall lump of grass was where I found that deer carcass ripped to shreds by a critter a few weeks ago and then quickly hurled the gelatinousness mass of hulking flesh that I call a body onto the ground as hard as I could, landing hard on my arm and smashing my left rib cage against a series of roots.
Soaked, spent, hurting, and probably gassy at the end.
I laid there for a few moments assessing what hurt and what the fuck just happened and quickly came to the conclusion that my elbow hurt, my ribs hurt more, and that due to my crap running style I tripped over some roots on the trail. It’s been about 3 years and roughly 6,000 miles since I last crashed on my bike (knocks on wood) and it took me two weeks and 4.5 miles to fall and hurt myself running.
MORONS OF THE WORLD…
I.
AM.
YOUR.
KING!
Once I was back on my feet I slowly got moving again, choosing to walk for a bit until things got loose. Then I went back to my run a bit, walk a bit routine until I finished up the planned 3 miles.
I hurried home, mowed the grass and got as much work and chores done as I could before the ribs had a chance to stiffen up. They are by no means broke or anything, but as I type this Saturday morning deep breaths hurt and instead of a ride I’m hopped up on Advil and heading to Bundy Hill with Wifey for a short hike before we head to B’s match.
Hoping for miles in the saddle on Sunday and that my reign as King of The Morons may end. However, based on the past 46+ years I am not so sure that will end anytime soon.
Later.
UPDATE: 48 hours later and I am still King of The Morons. I’m also still in pain. Fuck.