On Monday I took a spinning class. On Monday, I injured myself at said spinning class. Let this full gravity of this sink in. I injured myself. On a stationary bike. I'll wait while you finishing laughing.
So there I am sweaty, cursing profusely and doing the part of class where you stand up on the bike and pedal real fast like. (For those of you who have never taken a spinning class, close your eyes and imagine hell. It's kind of like that except sweatier. ) Suddenly my right shoe comes unclipped and my whole body flings forward at warp speed right into the handle bar. It hurt. A lot. But because at my core I am the most competitive person in the history of the world I clipped my shoe back in and went back to pedaling. It was only after class that I was able to check out my leg and discover a welt the size of a baby's head. Well, a small baby, but still. The welt is now purple and green and I think really adds a certain touch of class to all of my outfits.
But let's really look at this. I got injured when dancing in Vegas. I got injured during physical therapy. I got injured on a motherfucking stationary bike. And yet? Next weekend I am still planning on going skydiving.
I mean, when else am I going to get the chance to weep and urinate on another human who is strapped to me at 12,500 feet?