I am on the ground, self-conscious of my fall so quickly jumping up and starting to jog on as nothing happened to avoid embarrasment and awkwardness. In a split second after hitting myself in the metal pillar, I start to worry about how ridiculous and uncool I must look, my only hope being that noone caught a glimpse of my misstep. Yeah, the fear of humiliation kicks in much quicker than the worry of being physically hurt. I dust myself off, still not caring if I am injured or not, I carry on with the warmup before my workout. I feel a stream of warmth on my face. It is an unfamiliar texture yet somehow comforting and soothing. It must be sweat from my forehead. Soon after I notice one drop of deep red on the green linoleum floor. And another. Perfectly round circles. With growing frequency, then overlapping. I realize what is happening and try to pool and contain the blood dripping from my eyebrow in my two palms forming a tiny cup. I walk down the stairs to the closest restroom of the stadium and enter the open door. I stare at my reflection in the rusty, cheap mirror from the Socialist regime and open my hands to absent-mindedly empty the small puddle. I miss the sink. I have no explanation why. The blood splashes on the black and white micro patterned stone tiles. I feel confused as to why I did that. I did so well at minimizing inconvenience for my teammates and coach until that unapologetic moment. I feel even more self-conscious than initially and can't think of any real excuse. I don't understand it and maybe I never will. I carry the memento on my forehead to this day, hoping one day I will crack the code.