I fell off my bike the other day and I knew it was coming.
My legs were pumping, but my brain was running circuits. I saw the curb greeting me with a toothy grin. “Hello, curb”, I thought, but I did not (could not, would not?) adjust.
And then the ground was coming toward me. I wasn’t surprised. It was as if I had already watched this happen.
As fast as I hit the ground, tucked and rolled, I bounced back up, surveyed the damage, picked up my yellow bell pepper and the apples that had flown from my basket.
A couple of scrapes, a sore wrist–but no rip in my leggings! I was fine this time around. My ego wasn’t even bruised that bad since no cars had stopped to acknowledge my acrobatics.
Visions of cracked teeth, black eyes, broken bones, and concussed eyes flashed before me–but in that amusing way you entertain close calls when they weren’t really close enough to make you shit your pants or anything.
Mentally and verbally kicking myself, I couldn’t help but smile–a strange hectic grimace. My brain briefly considered crying but, instead, I laughed–just a couple short, sharp HAs.
Then I told myself, “I told you so. Slow down.”
So here I am.