So, the Toronto Small Press Book Fair came and went, and apparently it was a resounding success. From what the Grand Master Kelp Queen, the almighty Sandra Kasturi, tells me, Major Karnage 3: Karnage Behind Bars was very well received. Hooray for me! And for the good Major.
I, on the other hand, spent the Saturday performing Best Man duties for Michael's wedding. It was a good day and I don't think it could have gone better for anyone.
The follow-up to that little adventure was a full-on adventure race just two weeks later with the aforementioned Michael. This was the second adventure race I had ever partaken in. It was also destined to be my last. Why? Because I don't like pain. Hate it, actually. And apparently activities such as adventure racing can be dangerous. Which is fine, if you're a sucker. I am not. (Not anymore, anyway.) Regrettably, my natural aversion to pain did not kick in soon enough for me on that fateful Saturday, and when I wasn't looking, Pain delivered a set of high velocity handlebars directly into my ribs. When I hit the dirt face first mere milliseconds later, it apparently looked as if a grenade had gone off.
As I said to Michael later that day, "Mike, while I concede that I am perhaps not exactly in the right state of mind to be making sweeping generalizations right now, I am learning heavily towards never doing this again."
"I don't blame you," Michael said.
To reiterate: never again.
Adventure racing sucks. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
So, after a very bad spill on "some of the best mountain biking trails in southern Ontario," I now report back to you with bruised and/or broken ribs. It doesn't really matter which, because either way it basically hurts like hell just to breathe, which makes life in general kind of suck. I find myself pining for a pain-free existence in ways I'd never imagined possible before.
I also now understand why some old people are so damn cranky. It's because all their patience is taken up trying to manage the pain in their aging, aching bodies. As such, they have no patience for the folly of youth.
Get the hell off my lawn, indeed.
In my current condition, I admit I am borderline insufferable. I feel much pity for my poor wife, though nowhere near as much pity as she feels for herself. Though I can't fault her for that. She is now stuck with job of maintaining our acreage all by herself. And as she has been more than happy to point out to me on many an occasion, I did this to my own damn self.
Fair enough. I'll concede that. It doesn't change the fact I've been housebound for weeks, going stir crazy, unable to do anything except contort myself into awkward yet pain-free positions while I watch Lars Von Trier's Kingdom mini-series on DVD (which reminds me of Lost, except it doesn't suck.)
Where was I? Right. In the middle of a long-winded explanation for why I haven't been on my blog much this month.
It's because I have been in pain. But don't let the past tense of that sentence fool you. I am very much in pain. Hiccups, coughs, and sneezes are my nemesi.* But the pain has abated enough at this juncture that more proper activities (such as writing) can be partaken of without too much discomfort. I am glad to be back and look forward to eventually being pain-free once again.
So, if anyone's interested in purchasing a slightly mangled mountain bike, let me know. Best offer takes it.
*I don't care if that's the wrong pluralization of nemesis. It sounds cool to me right now and I'm too pre-octupied with pain to worry about proper spelling and grammar--Canadian, British, or otherwise! Now get the hell off my lawn!
