One Of Those Days (OR Wherein I Do a 9 Minute 500 And Fall Off My Trainer)

Swim Day

1 x 200- Warm-up

5 x 100- 1, 2, 3, Swim
5 x 200- 3:00
1 x 500- 9:00

Bike Day- Trainer
3 x 15min w/ 5min rest

Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day workout-wise. And I wish I could move to Australia.
This morning's swim started out alright. I had planned for the 5 x 100 set to be a breath drill (5, 7, 9) but at the last minute decided I could use some practice getting a feel for the water so I switched it up. Good call, that. And the 200s set went rather well too, up until the last one. I can't understand why I'm not making all of these on the 3:00. I should be. And then the 500 happened. I must have floated away. I was nowhere near my head. This 500 was the walking version of swimming. 9:00. 9:00! Nine Freaking Minutes! What the hell was I doing, stopping for a snack each lap? Did I take a nap? Whatever.
And the weather is less than stellar (read: raining canines and felines) so it was another trainer session for the Dirtbag. I loaded the bike on, tightened everything down, through of the Big 4 dvd again, this time with Anthrax cued up, and got on it. The initial plan was to do 90 minutes.
The initial plan was wrong.
The first set of 5/15/5 went well. DSQ was high, sweat was pouring, muscles were working. Then a mystery happened. Here's what I remember:
At 33:15 I was riding hard, head down, listening to Indians.
At 33:17 I was sideways on my living room floor, still half clipped in, watching my wife's mug shatter as it fell off the giant Tupperwear storage thing which doubles as our coffee table.
So I had to get Sherlockian on it (BBC Sherlock, not RDJ Sherlock. Difference? No fistfights and actual, you know, detective work). Let me think...I was there, and now I am here. Hmmmmm....there...here. Oh, a clue! My back tire is no longer locked in to the trainer! Ahhh, I see. I must have wiggled or cranked or something, wrenching the bike off the trainer and, therefor, allowing gravity to be the nasty bitch she is. Elementary, my dear Dirtbag. What the hell? I swear it was all tight and good. There was no lateral movement.
So, like any hardcore Dirtbag would do, I cleaned up my mess, set the bike back up, cranked that bad boy down tight as a *inappropriate joke about a nun here*, and got back to it.
Sort of.
You see, now I feel like I'm listing slightly right all the time. So much time is spent thinking, "Am I leaning again? I think I'm leaning. No, it's ok. Waitaminute! No, no I'm fine." Every single subtle shift became a precursor to The Fall 2: The Sequel. So I cut my ride 30 minutes short. And initially I felt fine. No injuries. But in the shower I discovered small lacerations on the back of my calves from the teeth of my big ring. Thank you for pointing that out, jets of hot water. I owe you. And, as I sit here, my right knee feels a little sore. Some overreacting, hypochondriatic ice may be in order after dinner.

Oh yeah, one more thing: When I fell, I landed on my laptop which was also on top of the giant Tupperwear-cum-coffee table. And I cracked the crap out of the screen with the most powerful move in sports entertainment, The People's Elbow.

So at least it was old and we wanted a new one eventually anyway, right?