If you're happy and you know it...or a tale of grave bodily harm and much Sunday joy riding.

You can tell a wealth of stuff from a person's hands. These hands for instance tell a sad Saturday tale of woe and horror and later, a triumphant Sunday.

*** If you are at all uncomfortable with injurious tales, you should likely turn away now and come back next post.***

Saturday dawned warm if a bit on the grayish side. I would like to report that I lept from bed, clapped my hands and declared the day ripe for a good pre-swim clinic run. I would like to, but it would be a flagrant lie, and I do try to be truthful with you.

Instead, I pulled the pillow over my head at the alarm, blindly slapped at the snooze button and slept another 20 minutes before rising and donning last season's tri shorts and a brand spankin' new pair of sneakers.

I had planned on getting in a good forty minutes of a run before swim clinic at 9 o'clock. I'd been sort of remiss in the weeks workouts and thought a little extra credit would be wise. I got in about 25 before I went into the College Center to meet the group.

The locker rooms were closed due to spring break, so I suited up in the restroom and dashed across the hall to the pool room. The group was already in the team circle, so I hustled to join. After, I scuttled across the deck to my swim bag and rummaged blindly within its depths for my swim cap and goggles.

I found my cap easily enough, but imagine my surprise when my "goggles" turned out to be the blades of my uncovered razor!

Some of you... (ahem... unsympathetic tri coaches Joe and Bob) will chide that razors have caps...you will lecture about sharp objects in the swim duffel. I am not listening to this drivel however, and intend, instead, to gain your sympathy by regaling you with the gory details.

I really bled. Lots. Turns out, I actually shaved OFF the corner of my finger!!! I didn't even know that a regular old razor could do that, and I am not looking forward to seeing the razor post incident. I may just pitch the whole bag and start anew.

Fear not though, the regenerative power of skin never ceases to amaze me and I am so fully on the mend that I exchanged the hugely conspicuous white gauze and tape for a much muted band aid version. It doesn't even throb anymore. (sympathetic yet?) I did miss the whole of the swim clinic and left feeling sad and deprived and though I am embarrassed to admit it, lightheaded and a wee bit nauseous.

After these sad reportings (which will, henceforth, be referred to as Sanguine Saturday), I met Sunday's gray warmth with newfound determination. The hands tell this story as well. Note the grease and dirt.

I pumped up tires and strapped on helmet and set off for my very first outside ride!

You will be pleased to hear, I am certain, that no blood was shed on this ride. It was, in fact, lovely for the most part. (the less lovely part came after mile twenty when my sit bones and girl parts began to feel rather um... abused.) It felt so good to get off the bike at mile 24 that I ran about for an extra mile or so before hijacking my sweet friend Caryn from her Sunday brunch and making her finish the last 2 by my side.

That brings me back here, in the dark of the eve, sore and dirty and sporting an oddly shaped right ring finger but happily humming "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands".