15 + 29 points
The Callouses on Your Hands by Liz
June 6th, 2016 5:34 AM
I have a scar on my inner right thigh. It is approximately 4 inches long, perfectly straight, and you can still see the tiny dots from the 11 stitches that held the skin together after the accident. Every time I see this scar, it makes me happy, because you see, this scar is the reason I met my husband.
I had recently broken up with a boyfriend, and a roommate suggested that I try online dating. After a few bad dates, I wasn't too keen on going on more. I threw myself into training for mountain bike races and mostly ignored the messages I got online. I was busy racing all weekend every weekend, and training during the week after work, so I had no time for boys.
One day, I got a message from someone who liked my ice climbing pictures and wanted to meet up. He seemed like someone I would enjoy going on adventures with, but I was far too busy with my own adventures at the time, and kept giving him excuses for why I couldn't meet him: "Sorry, this weekend I'm in Nevada racing," or "Thursday night is bad, we have our group ride." But, he kept suggesting a new time to meet.
Then one weekend at a race, I had a horrific crash in the downhill race. I had my weight far back, and was behind my seat when my front tire went into a hole in the ground. My bike stopped dead, and my thighs slammed into the back of my bike seat as I flew over the handle bars. I did a flip in the air and somersaulted onto the soft grass for a landing. My bike was destroyed--the front tire tacoed, the seat was folded in half, and the seals in my fork all blew. Somehow, in that moment of shock, I was able to stand up, pick up my bike, and walk across the finish line while carrying it (you must finish with your bike). It wasn't until the medics grabbed me that I realised how badly I was injured--the insides of my thighs were torn open from the impact. A friend drove me to the ER, where I was stitched and drugged up for the long journey home.
At home, I found a message in my inbox from this guy asking me out once again. Vicodin says: "Sorry I was in a bike wreck and at the hospital, I can't make it." A few days later he found me through mutual friends elsewhere on the internet and struck up a conversation. After a bit of complaining about my bicycle destruction, he suggested meeting for pizza on Thursday. Well, my bike would be in the shop a minimum of two weeks, and I could barely walk, let alone ride--so group ride was out anyway. Sure, why not!
We spent the date alternating discussion between outdoor adventures and incredibly nerdy things (A Physicist and Chemical Engineer are on a date....). When I showed him my hip to knee bruises and cuts from the wreck, he didn't even flinch (ok, he flinched a little). Nearly five years later we are happily married, and whenever I see my scar, I remember that it brought us together.
I had recently broken up with a boyfriend, and a roommate suggested that I try online dating. After a few bad dates, I wasn't too keen on going on more. I threw myself into training for mountain bike races and mostly ignored the messages I got online. I was busy racing all weekend every weekend, and training during the week after work, so I had no time for boys.
One day, I got a message from someone who liked my ice climbing pictures and wanted to meet up. He seemed like someone I would enjoy going on adventures with, but I was far too busy with my own adventures at the time, and kept giving him excuses for why I couldn't meet him: "Sorry, this weekend I'm in Nevada racing," or "Thursday night is bad, we have our group ride." But, he kept suggesting a new time to meet.
Then one weekend at a race, I had a horrific crash in the downhill race. I had my weight far back, and was behind my seat when my front tire went into a hole in the ground. My bike stopped dead, and my thighs slammed into the back of my bike seat as I flew over the handle bars. I did a flip in the air and somersaulted onto the soft grass for a landing. My bike was destroyed--the front tire tacoed, the seat was folded in half, and the seals in my fork all blew. Somehow, in that moment of shock, I was able to stand up, pick up my bike, and walk across the finish line while carrying it (you must finish with your bike). It wasn't until the medics grabbed me that I realised how badly I was injured--the insides of my thighs were torn open from the impact. A friend drove me to the ER, where I was stitched and drugged up for the long journey home.
At home, I found a message in my inbox from this guy asking me out once again. Vicodin says: "Sorry I was in a bike wreck and at the hospital, I can't make it." A few days later he found me through mutual friends elsewhere on the internet and struck up a conversation. After a bit of complaining about my bicycle destruction, he suggested meeting for pizza on Thursday. Well, my bike would be in the shop a minimum of two weeks, and I could barely walk, let alone ride--so group ride was out anyway. Sure, why not!
We spent the date alternating discussion between outdoor adventures and incredibly nerdy things (A Physicist and Chemical Engineer are on a date....). When I showed him my hip to knee bruises and cuts from the wreck, he didn't even flinch (ok, he flinched a little). Nearly five years later we are happily married, and whenever I see my scar, I remember that it brought us together.
This is a nice story.