I felt a little under the weather last Saturday while I was still in Boston for U.S. Gran Prix. It was a slight cough, but nothing bad. That night I decided to stay in the hotel and go to bed early. Sunday I felt a little better. But on the flight home to L.A.X. I thought I my head was going to explode. I guess it was the slight air pressure of being in the plane. All I could do was rub my forehead and hope to die. Now my cough had become loud and hacking, which I’m sure the people sitting next to me loved. Finally, we landed in L.A.X. and then I saw something that made me realize that I had it easy. This poor lady had a broken leg and was using crutches. Her luggage came off the carousal and thankfully the person standing next to her grabbed it off the carousal for her. But in order for her to drag it out of the terminal, she had to loop the handle of her bag around her leg. From there she hobbled out of the terminal, dragging her luggage behind her. Now this is 2:00 AM and chilly outside. I’m imagining her walking across the parking lot to her car. My luggage came next and I grabbed it quickly and went outside to see if she needed help. An airport police officer seemed to have finished talking to her, but I thought I should at least see if she needed anything. As I was beginning to ask if she needed assistance to her car, she noticed my t-shirt, which was the www.cyclocrossworld.com team shirt. She exclaimed – which was amazing because it’s 2:00 in the morning – “Cycling! That’s how I broke my ankle!” She had completed the L.A. Triathlon, was riding home, got off her bike and put her foot in a hole, twisting it. Irony! Swim, bike, run and then she hurts herself stepping off her bike. Anyways, a taxi came along and picked her up, and hopefully the driver will help her out when she gets home.
I’m at home continuing to feel like crap, but better than I was this morning. Anyone I’ve spoken to today have all said, “Damn, you sound horrible!” I talked to my publisher this morning and he doesn’t say a thing about how I sound. I tell him, “You know I’m sick and I plan to come into the office and give it to you.”
“You’d better not! We’ll talk tomorrow,” and he hangs up. Bosses, can’t live with them and can’t kill them.
To anyone who called and left a voice mail, don’t be offended if I didn’t answer. I’ve been sleeping most of the day and I’ll get back to you tomorrow…
Me and the Cannondale gang