Rolling With The Punches

... and I do mean punches. Tuesday night, just 11 days before my A race for the season (read about the race here), I was taken down by an errant soccer ball while bicycling home. The damage: Whiplash, small bits of road rash on my left leg and left elbow, and a significant patch on my left hip. In the meantime, what I thought were allergies blossomed into an upper respiratory infection. Yesterday, soreness and respiratory issues kept me home from work. Now I know that the most important thing for me to do over the next eight days is to heal, both the infection and the injuries. So rest is paramount. Wednesday was a pre-planned day off. Yesterday I decided to take off to assist in the recovery from the upper respiratory infection, and I'm pretty sure I'll take today off also. The only thing that panics me a bit is that I have a freshly glued tire on a new front wheel, and I need to get that out on the road a bit before I'll be confident. In addition, I do need to be practicing bicycle handling, since the race will include 11 180-degree turnarounds. Rain appears to be moving in for a few days starting Sunday, so I'm crossing my fingers that I'll feel OK tomorrow for an easy spin and some turnaround practice.

Updated

It could be worse. Reading this report from Powerman Zofingen makes me feel a little bit better about my current status. To wit

The bike course of Powerman Zofingen is a 50 km loop that we have to do 3 times. The normal training day leading up to Sunday for most everyone is a lap of the course. Friday was no different for me and after rolling around most of the course I couldn't help but wonder how I would do. In fact, I was so nervous I had a hard time handling my bike! As I flew past a field at 30 mph I found my daydream suddenly interrupted by a curb scraping my wheel! In a few milliseconds I was catapulted over the bars, on my side, and slid to a stop use my own skin. In what seemed like seconds later my bike finally landed beside me in a heap. I guess I made quite a sound because the farmer in the field nearby shouted to me in German. I just waved my hand and inspected the damage, which was pretty bad. I managed to climb aboard my bike, which was surprisingly in good shape, and drag my sorry butt, or half my butt as it turned out, the remaining 10 miles to the house.

End of the story? The writer in question finished third overall.