A body of tales

If only it were my left wrist
Then, my watch would help hide this ugly beast
I'm glad it's there to remind me, but don't need it to be on display

It was really warm in Emmaus today (for Oct. 10, anyway), so I wore shorts to work -- this is a chief benefit of our informal workplace, especially in summer, or summer-like weather. Also, I spent the morning running around moving and washing bikes, so shorts felt especially appropriate.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason I got caught up looking at my left shin, which bears a line of five small scars leftover from my crash at the Tour of Sommerville. These scars were caused by a chainring that bit into my skin in that pile up. At the time, and still now, the wounds, though they bled profusely into my sock, seemed minor when compared to my shattered wrist.In fact, I didn't even notice I was bleeding until a passerby pointed it out to me as I sat chatting with EMTs about my other issues. Even the scars seem relatively minor when compared with the surgical scar on my wrist, which is unfortunately located in I-tried-to-kill-myself-and-knew-what-I-was-doing position.

These wounds did eventually stop bleeding
They are now small and gray, arcing across my skin
Incidentally, a matching set on my right shin, from 2006, has mostly faded

And yet, there are my scars, slashing across the front of my leg. Cycling forges the body of all who dedicate themselves to it: Twiggish arms and sculpted legs, slouching shoulders on many of us, and boldly contrasting tan lines. Then there are the unfortunate consequences of the sport; the blemishes and imperfections that come as a result of painful encounters with the ground and machines.

While not generally considered attractive, there's no denying that a scar stands for more than just regrown dermis -- there's a story behind each one. At this point, the story behind my shin is pretty well-trod, the large, splotchy gray mess on my knee is the product of not one, but three crashes that ripped the same skin open again and again. The larger discolored patch on my hip has been similarly disturbed multiple times. The oblong splotch on the top of my wrist is, fortunately, mostly obscured by hair. And now that I'm trying to think about each time I've rent my skin, I find that I can't recall each incident -- just the truly awful crashes, the ones that I hope never to repeat.

In that way, I'm grateful for my scars -- they serve as reminders of past experiences, and hopefully of lessons learned.