The kids spent last night with Chip's parents, so in a moment of sheer craziness—promptly followed by a silent hope that he would say no—I suggested to Chip that we get up this morning and go for a bike ride in Tower Grove Park, sans bike trailer.
Of course, he agreed, and when the alarm went off this morning, I wasn't even too big of a baby about getting up. It was truly a beautiful morning in the park, even though I swear the hills grew since we rode through there with the kids last week. Nevertheless, we survived the lap around the park, and as I weaved in between a planter and a parking post in front of the Piper Palm House, I thought to myself, "Hey, when I did this years ago, I fell. Yea, me." I continued to pat myself on the back for the next five minutes as we made our way to the park exit.
And then, within sight of the exit, I hit a huge sidewalk crack all wrong and went flying off of my bike. In true Debbie fashion, it was an epic fall, one Chip congratulated me on as soon as he reached me. After assuring him that yes, I totally did wait until I hit the grass to fall off my bike, and that yes, I really was fine, we made our way the block or so home.
When I got home, I confirmed that I am, in fact, going to be sporting a large and colorful bruise on my right lower thigh for the next few weeks. Currently, the red scrapes are highlighted by rings of blue and purple bruises, with a sprinkling of greenish-red bruises thrown in for good measure. I'm telling you, it's going to be a beaut.
I'm also telling you, when in doubt, stay in bed.