Not my best two months ever

The last two months, basically since the Cheyenne Mountain 50k, have been, in a word, forgettable.  It has been one of those stretches of time where seemingly everything that could go poorly did, personally, professionally, athletically.  Not fun.
Rather than whine here about all of that, I'm just going to discuss the most running-relevant of those events, which were a series of absurd injuries.

Following the Cheyenne 50k, I had every intention of getting in another race before my wife and I went to Mexico as planned for the second half of June.  After a few days off, I got training again, but things just weren’t clicking (see all the other things that were not working out well). So I threw in the towel, and took an actual break, intending to get life together, and start up a new cycle and race during the summer instead. 
As planned, I get started, and put in a week of good running.  Then, the Monday morning of that second week (June 13th), I’m running late for a doctor’s appointment, so I leap onto my primary mode of transportation, which is my fixed gear road bicycle.  With a normal commute of about 2 miles from my house to my office on campus, this has served me well all year, even amidst some heavy snow and stupidly cold temperatures this winter.  On this day however, as I took off quickly and quite aggressively (on account of being late), I did not pay much attention to the seed pods/flowers from the trees that were generously strewn all over the path through my housing complex. 
What happened next happened very, very quickly.  Moving at high speed about 15 feet from my back gate, I’m throwing my handlebars side to side to pick up speed, and I twist my wrist to peek at my watch.  In the same instant, my front wheel, now slung at a steep angle, hits a clump of that plant-matter, and I completely, utterly and totally eat it, crashing down and tumbling with my bike still between my legs.  After the shock of the crash wore off, I got up, and painfully continued my ride to the CU health center for my doctor’s appointment.
Long story short:  I cracked the scaphoid bone in my left wrist (as well as tearing up my right hand and right knee), and being confined to the below pictured sweet cast for 6 to 8 weeks:

This color was among the more palatable options offered.

Obviously unfortunate, but it actually turned out to be lucky that I was on my way to health center, because I got attention for the break, abrasions, and shock (oh yes, I passed out upon arrival at the health center) right away.  On the other hand, this, and the week off it required weren’t helpful to my return to training.

Now, as noted again, I said ‘Injuries’ as in plural, as in multiple.  I fell on Monday.  I got put in a cast Thursday.  I got running again Friday, and by the next Wednesday (June 22nd), I felt well enough to go for my mid-week long run, which I took from Chautauqua Park, up Gregory Canyon, Flagstaff road, Green Mtn. West ridge, the Ranger trail and then back down Gregory Canyon.  I had gotten through almost all of this, was on the Gregory Canyon trail, about 2 miles from the Chautauqua parking lot, on a sedate part of the trail, and moving well downhill, when, off balance because of my cast, I trip.   Now, I know I’ve got a broken arm, so, in the hopes of protecting this, I pull that arm up into my chest, and get ready to take the fall on my still tender right hand and left knee. 
So I hit the ground, and just go skidding for probably 20 meters on the wonderfully textured decomposed granite trail surface.  When I finally came to a stop, I just lay there for a moment, until a hiker (right behind me when I tripped, adding embarrassment to my injury) asks if I am OK.  Standing up, I was covered in blood and scrapes (I was running shirtless and in split-shorts), but, though in considerable discomfort, I was brushed off, thanks to the kindly hiker for helping with that, and able to get back to my car.
I drove home, made a panicked phone call to my wife to get some First aid supplies, and start to wash off the various cuts, scrapes and abrasions.  For the most part, they are just pretty bad scrapes, fairly deep and chocked full of gravel, but otherwise run of the mill.  One however, is not so OK.  Right on the head of my tibia, about 4” below my knee, I’ve got a nasty cut.  Now, I’ve hurt myself a lot in my life, but never anything like this, and each time I wash it out, the skin on either side of the cut looks almost fake, then it rapidly fills back up with blood.  Not cool.  So we jump in the car and head to the ER, where we learn I’ve cut myself down to the bone, that area being not otherwise protected.  So, in addition to cleaning up my other scrapes, I end up with the beautiful handiwork pictured below:  5 stitches (plus a few internally), and some more forced time off running. 

This is after a good 10 days of healing.  Hence the scabs.

So there you have it.  Monday, break arm.  Thursday, get put in cast.  Wednesday, fall again, go the ER, get stitches.
Needless to say, I've been on some down time after that stretch of 10 days, and I have made it a new primary goal for the remainder of my season to simply stay vertical.