My friend said that the 4x4 motorbikes they rent at San Juan Del Sur were fun. I told her yes, up until the road decides to sporadically rise on one side and toss you off a small cliff.
Two days after my birthday I had an accident bad enough to where the few bystanders thought I was dead upon impact. Looking back on it I'm quite lucky. I walked away only sore and scratched up, nothing broken, not even the glasses I was wearing at the time, and the damage to the vehicle only amounted to $25 despite it flipping over in the air. What worries me were the thoughts right before the crash, which were nothing. They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment you're about to die, but all I remember was this feeling of apathy, like the question of my life was left to be answered by someone else and I really didn't care what the response was.
The only thing I remember being disappointed about was how these injuries would affect my travels with boxing, not so much for myself, but to be able to continue collecting and retelling the stories of these boxers. I wouldn't say that therefore I am sacrificing myself for them or even that I am doing anything important, but there is some unrecognized value in these stories. They deserve to be told.
The only thing I hope for myself is that maybe in all of this I can find something that will flash before my eyes in my final moments, something worth living for.