Last night I made plans with the Italian son to go to the track at the more reasonable hour of 6:15am. He is a sprinter and needs a track to train on, I didn't think initially that R was going to ride. The reason I didn't think he was going to ride is that he's going to ride 100 miles tomorrow, in the mountains. This would have caused me to decide to take a break the day before, but not R, he's tough (crazy). So last night I'm practically falling into a coma waiting for the broadcast of the Tour to be over. I went into our bedroom to pet the cat, and instantly fell asleep. I could still hear sounds from the TV and willed myself back up to go watch the exciting conclusion. Swung my legs over the bed and cracked my toe on the metal rail. My baby toe. The unnecessary one. I thought to myself, after I finished swearing, self, you've broken your toe this time. I stated this to my concerned family back out in the living room. They said "I think he's going to do it, look, he's on the back of so and so's wheel, he's going to win the sprint, you can't win the sprint unless you can get on the wheel of the guy in front of you, the guy in second always wins." They were clearly horrified by my statement.
I woke this morning at 6, got up and went to the track. My toe is indeed broken, and I'm such a badass I still did seven laps, 4 running. But now I fear that I will be punished for my wanton disregard of the toe. Could somebody please call John Goodman and see if he can get me a toe.