Last summer, after a long day of working hung over as hell under a hot beating sun, I was coming home on my bike. I was excited about getting off work and I was pedaling really quickly. My bike is fixed, and at the time, although I had breaks, I didn't use them. Also, my left toe clip was missing. I was going about 30/35 mph when I lost control. I tried to regain composure and get my foot onto the quickly rotating pedal but it was to no avail. My foot hit the handle bars that were already wiggling.
First my head broke my fall. Luckily, I wasn't wearing a helmet. Next my shoulder. The tangled mess of bike and legs flew over my head; I proceeded to skid for several feet down the hill in the middle of the road. As I stood, I felt like my shoulder was out of socket so I tried to pop it back in. Bad idea. I dragged myself out of the road without getting hit by any cars and then I started screaming for help. Two Samford professors, with names I unfortunately don't remember, helped me out and took me to my house. Ashley got a voicemail of me screaming because I thought I had pressed end but the phone was still on.
In the emergency room with Ashley I cried like a little bitch. Not because of the pain, but because I thought I would lose my job coaching swimming. Ashley kept going off to help me with stuff and when she wasn't next to me I had time to notice the children. All of the kids were pointing at me, horrified because I was bleeding from my head, arms, legs, shoulders, and back. My clothes were destroyed and they had to take me back immediately because the kids were starting to cry and point at the sight of me.
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