Little rates as more messily inconvenient than a bloody nose. That was the reminder I took away from the few pre-dawn minutes I spent splayed on the bedroom floor today, a tissue wadded into my right nostril, fingers pinching my crooked bridge.
Lying there, I also had enough time to recall the gusher that plagued me on a powder day a few winters ago: the snow spattered like a crime scene, a friend's favorite bandanna sacrificed to stop the bleeding, literally.
And any time I think of that moment, I can't forget (get this!) the time at the national championship tournament for Ultimate Frisbee, my team playing in the quarterfinals, me grumpily prone on the sideline leaking more nose blood, the game slipping out of reach.
Makes me wonder if my Achilles' heel might actually be a nose.