I have never felt so sorry for myself! Gather ’round, I will tell you my tale of much woe. Sooooooo much woe! Brace yourselves.
So there I was, cycling straight (down a hill so gathering a good bit of pesky speed!) when a big-haired woman in a big stupid silver car pulled out from a little road in front of me. I tried to swerve and break to give myself more time to stop but the thin layer of ice on the road left me skidding and before I knew it I was sprawled indecently across the road like starfish roadkill, face-down, limbs akimbo, right beside her car.
I hadn’t even opened my eyes before three lovely men were shaking my shoulders and picking up my bike, they pulled me up by the arms and walked me off the road while big-haired woman sat in traffic (that’s right -she was in such a rush to pull out onto a main road TO SIT IN TRAFFIC!!!), eyes dead ahead, afraid to look at me. After a minute she drove off and I was busy being fussed over by a little bunch of heroes and fighting back tears I didn’t want to cry in front of them (be a big girl, Jenny).
I spent five minutes assuring them I was absolutely fine, thanking them profusely and getting myself together before I turned away, inspected my stingy wounds and cried (loads!), My bike was jammed somehow and the wheels wouldn’t turn so I limped off across the road to lock it to something, called my boyfriend to cry at him for a little bit and hobbled off towards the DART station feeling mighty sorry for myself. Good thing I’m a trooper.
So here I am now, nursing my injuries and assessing the fallout (real bike damage is yet to be determined, she’s in with the doctors as we speak). I’m compelled to tell you, this process has been quite cathartic and now after making four sobbing phonecalls to loved ones and having written this I am starting to feel a good bit better about my ordeal.