after this, no more scars, i promise (?)

there it sits on my left shoulder, bulging, seemingly breathing, pulsating, even talking on its own -- my very own keloid scar. this particular and rather noticeable addition to my body arrived in spectacular fashion, in a spectacular place, on a spectacular day.

there we were, several of us, mostly friends of nochd's Michael, racing the 2004 ralph's 1/2 ironman in oceanside, ca. i was having an okay day, after an extremely cold swim in the pacific ocean. (i was one of the only morons using a sleeveless wetsuit.) i was on the bike, and had just passed the extremely difficult climb and survived the extremely dangerous downhill descent. i was nearly at mile 49 of the 56-mile bike leg.

and then, i don't really know what happened: i blanked, or my tire got caught in a rut in the pavement, or a strong gust of wind pushed me to one side. but, as i was going fast, and in my aero bars, my reaction to the wiggle was too slow, and there i was on the ground, covered in dust and blood, and half in what appeared to be a rhinoceros-sized yucca plant. was my bike okay?? it seemed to be. . . was i okay? well, i had a huge gash on my left shoulder, another couple of huge gashes on my right hand, another huge gash on my left hip, right knee, and an awful case of roadrash on my entire left leg. so, hell yeah, i was ready to finish the race, no problems.

(now, you have to understand something about me. although as a rule i tend to overthink every step of my life, when i'm racing or training, my mind becomes the equivalent of a hamster running on a squeaky wheel: i have a goal, and i may never get there, but damned if i won't keep going until i can't anymore. this contrast with my usual way of doing things usually keeps me pretty balanced, overall.

to top off the control over my brain that the hamster wheel had exerted, i was also going through what you might call a pre-mid life crisis. the end of my first year as a lawyer was approaching, and i needed to prove to myself that i wouldn't ever let myself be overwhelmed and nearly killed by my profession, as my dad had lived his life. so yeah, at the point of the fall i was a bit crazy. but determined nonetheless.)

i only had 6-7 miles to go, right? that is, until the 13.1 miles running. . . and that would go just fine, right?

so, i hopped back on the bike, after straightening out the handle bars, and continued on -- dripping blood the whole time. needless to say, it was painful. i stayed on the bike for a whole mile before hitting a large bump in the road that flattened both tires at once.

now, i don't know if any of you have ever changed bike tires in a race, or if you've ever changed those tires with half the skin on your dominant hand missing. but, let me tell you, when the adrenaline is pumping, you feel little pain. so, i changed those two tubes, and hopped back on. now, only 5-6 miles left! so, i go literally 100 yards or so, and proceed to get another flat.

at that point, i had no remaining spare tubes. i was forced to stop. quite a lesson. it turns out that my skin wasn't the only damage i sustained that day: i had two cracked ribs and some torn muscle in my abdomen/rib cage. but, who can feel any of that with all that blood all over their hands? if i had tried to run that day, it would have most likely exacerbated my injuries.

as it was, i could do nearly nothing for almost 3 months waiting for all that to heal. by that point, there was really no point in continuing the triathlon season.

i guess, if anything, i learned that day that even four months of careful, exhausting and exhaustive preparations cannot prepare you fully for life. we're all so lucky just to be alive, with all that can go wrong everywhere. so, i guess, when i look at the monster that now lives on my shoulder, i should recognize it as the face of death, ever-present, taunting me, daring me to be alive.