I enjoy training. I don't call it "working out". A "workout" is what you do when you "train". When you go to the gym, you go to train a specific group of muscles -- "I'm training legs today."

Anyway, I like going to a cheap, hot, loud, scary, dirty gym and doing battle with the force of gravity. Feel free to assume I have a variety of Napoleonic and Freudian complexes.

My training was going well until The Accident. Two years ago I was rollerblading and took a face-first spill going downhill at (for me) high speed. I landed on my hands and the wrist/palm guards did their job. My wrists and palms suffered no damage whatsoever.

The rest of me was a damn mess.

One thigh had road rash from knee to hip. The embedded chunks of gravel made it extra-yummy. Ditto road rash on my back (I rolled). My left shoulder hurt in a funny way.

I decided I was done skating for the day. I unlaced the Wheels of Death from my feet and began the long trek back to the truck so I could drive home. I must have been quite a sight walking in my socks, skates in my hand, and blood running down my leg. A couple of obviously-new unsteady skaters were coming the other way. When they got a look, their wide eyes made it clear they had newfound doubts about their latest hobby.

"Watch out for the curve at the bottom of the hill," I deadpanned in a voice reminiscent of a man with only one arm telling somebody not to feed the tiger.

After one of the longer 15-minute drives of my life, I made it back to my apartment. Several minutes with tweezers and a tub full of lukewarm water solved the gravel and bloody leg problem.

When I stood in front of the mirror to take a damage assessment, I found my problems were just starting. There was a very noticeable discoloration starting on my left bicep. The ugly bruising would definitely keep me from wearing spaghetti straps and tube tops this season, but it wasn't the worst part.

Hold your arm out to your side, perpendicular to your body. Look at where the front of your shoulder attaches to your chest. Chances are you have a little stretch of meat there. It forms the front of your armpit cavity.

I still had the meat on my right shoulder (technically, it's actually part of the pectoralis). The meat on the left side was MIA.

I eventually found the meat -- it was balled up in the center of my left chest muscle.

"Well, that's not right."

I had read about pec tears but figured my liklihood of suffering one was pretty remote. Most of the guys who have had one typically bench about twice my best. I seemed to recall reading somewhere that quick diagnosis and treatment were critical for successful recovery.

"Honey, I've got a little problem. Could you give me a ride to the emergency room?"

To Be Continued....