The Incident

No, this isn't the big recap of the LOST season finale that you've probably been hoping for over the past week and a half. It is fitting though that the season 5 finale was titled 'The Incident,' then 2 days later I was in a major bike collision with another biker on the Olentangy bike trail a few miles north of my house. Definitely a major case of life imitating art, and no doubt ironic as well seeing how I'm a major league LOST fan. It was only fitting to name the accident for the episode. It's also fitting that after posting a picture of the Eric Idle biker character from European Vacation that got hit numerous times, the same thing should happen to me a few weeks later. I'm like a blog sage who's able to predict minor future events by posting pictures of them in advance, maybe I'll post a picture of a new Dodge Challenger and see if one shows up on my doorstep. Actually, if my powers are true, I might get hit by a Dodge Challenger. Maybe I'll hold off on that one for now and try another pic. Back to the wreck, I have to be honest by saying it was pretty spectacular. Me and the guy I collided with were going somewhat fast, not super fast, around a blind turn in a residential area of the bike path. After we saw each other, we both zigged the same way (me the right way, him the wrong way) and we absolutely DRILLED each other. I was sure I was going to break at least an arm and/or leg. I landed about 10 feet away from my bike in a guys front yard, landing on the grass was probably my saving grace, the other poor bastard landed smack dab on the concrete and severely messed up his shoulder (he seemed to think it was broken but he wasn't a doctor or anything, it probably was, it didn't look good). I only had a few scratches and felt good all things considering. Luckily the guy had his cell phone with him and was able to call his wife to come pick him up. It was a huge bummer and I felt bad, it was such a nice Friday and this definitely wasn't the way either of us envisioned our ride going. We determined we were both at fault and took the high road and didn't point any fingers, we were both travelling a little too fast through a highly populated residential area where we should have been riding more conservatively. The guy, Jim, was pretty cool about it actually, I offered to wait with him til his wife showed up but he said not to worry about it. I gave him my name and phone #, I haven't heard from him which is a good thing I guess. His bike was pretty beat up though, massively beat front wheel, broken chain, and other bent components. My bike was fairly unscathed, the front wheel was bent a little. It's presently at the bike shop getting service so we'll see on Wednesday if there was anything I missed. The rear derailler was loose but not broken, so we'll see. So, there you go Lauren, the story has been told, my conscious is clean.

And, just to show how much of a trooper I am, I ran the Komen Race for the Cure 5k the next morning. Hobbled and everything, I still made it. I was like Willis Reed at Madison Square Garden for the Knicks back in 70's or 80's or whenever that game was. I suffered in silence though as the Komen is a day for cancer victims/survivors and not for people in bike wrecks, so my story went untold so I wouldn't rain on my mom's parade. The event was pretty crazy though, I thought I was doing good by leaving the house with enough time to get in a 3 mile warmup and still have 15 minutes before race start, this turned out not to be the case. As I jogged closer to the event I was seeing people with bib #'s in the 40,000's! Holy crap, that's bigger than the Chicago Marathon! By the time I got there, I couldn't even find water so I could take my energy gel before the race, DAMMIT! Then, I went to get to where timed runners were supposed to be...uhhh no, not gonna happen. I think I started the race in about 150,000th place, not optimal starting position. The first mile was spent trying to get past people walking, holding hands, and generally trying to be in my way. At the start of mile 2, the crowd had thinned somewhat, but then this ahole kicks me in the foot as he tried to pass me. No big deal I thought, the course is crowded and there had been some arm contact and stuff up to this point so I figured he'd apologize and we'd move on. Sooooo, I look at him looking for a 'sorry man' or 'my bad' but the kid makes eye contact with me and says nothing. Hmmmm, now I'm getting kind of upset, a few more steps are taken and still nothing from my attacker. Game on dickhead! I get right behind the kid and stay about 6 inches behind him so he can hear my every breath, I even started breathing heavier than normal just to make sure he was aware of my presence. This continues until we get to the water stop at the end of mile 2 and the pussy quit. DOUBLE DAMMIT, now I can't even torture this prick for the next mile? Nothing was going my way at the Komen, except for the fact that I was one of the cancer free people I guess. So the last mile was ran in solitude, sans Komen nemesis. The last mile featured tons of bikers on High Street that were honking and reving their engines which was pretty sweet. I finished the race and figured I'd turn around and run counter-course and find my mom, who was doing the survivor walk. Uhhhhh, no chance in hell. It turns out trying to find a short person wearing a pink shirt among 1 million other people wearing pink shirts isn't exactly easy. So, it was a bummer I couldn't find her and finish the race with her, but she was understanding of the situation after the race. This race provided race shirt #5 of the year, cotton and pink, but a race shirt nonetheless.