Was it the strength workouts at a gym, a new routine for me at age 60?
Was it the judo class I took so long ago, in high school — my father’s hopeful but feckless plan for me to fend off a pair of bus-stop bullies? I had little talent for judo, my father never gave me the needed lecture on persistence, and I quit after a few weeks. I did learn how to break a fall by slapping my hands on the mat.
Was it the bicycling gloves? That part is for sure.
So, last night, I was following my bicycle’s headlamp beam out to the street at my church. The front wheel went off the edge of a narrow sidewalk, slid along and wouldn’t climb back up. Faster than thought, I toppled over. The technical term is “diversion fall.”
But also faster than thought, my hands flew off handlebars and the palms of both gloves judo-slapped the pavement.
I slowly picked myself up.
In 1975 I broke a collarbone in a fall like this. Now I must be hurt somehow too. There often isn’t pain right away.
Knee, hip, shoulder, elbow, wrists, hands? No, no, no no, no and no. Not a single scratch or bruise or scrape.
I picked up the bicycle and slid the bicycle computer back into its bracket on the handlebar. I popped the front fender stay clips back into place. I spun the wheel and the computer still worked. I started for home slowly in case the bicycle might have other complaints. The gear shifting was a little bit odd but I wasn’t going to try to fix it in the dark.
Today I take the bike out of the garage to adjust the gears.
This time I was lucky, but it wasn’t only luck.
