I biffed it

"What are friends for?" My girlfriend encouraged me, as I wiped the blood off my leg. We had just started the Friday Noon Race to the top of Hess Hill. It's a fun but competitive 12 mile race for KOM (King of Mountain) and QOM (Queen of Mountain) recognition among a handful of women and about twenty-or-so men.

Shortly after our start, which begins at the bike shop, I biffed it (which means, I had an inconceivably clutzy moment, akin to tripping over oneself). My bike and I flew over the curb and I scraped myself, pretty badly. I was at the back of the pack, and only one person saw my accident. She stopped and picked me up and said, "C'mon, let's go back to the shop".

As we walked inside, the mechanic asked, "What happened?" He immediately took my bike and hoisted it onto his rack. He checked my trusty steed and made some necessary adjustments while I cleaned up.

As the mechanic was pronouncing the bike ready to ride, the rest of the crowd piled into the shop. They didn't know I wrecked, they just knew my girlfriend and I were missing. The race was important, but not as important as caring for a teammate. "What happened?", they shouted from across the store. I gave them a brief summary, the bike mechanic wished me luck, and we were off again.

It was a little thing, my teammates' act of returning to the shop and losing 10 minutes off the starting time. But isn't it the little things that mean the most?

I am so tremendously blessed, in a thousand ways I am blessed. This is just one of the many, many ways  ...