A couple of days ago, I made a comment on Twitter that I had a story, and that I would blog about it as soon as I could.

So, here we go.

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My Wednesday proceeded as most other Wednesdays in my life proceed: an odd mix of equal parts hectic and equal parts calm. At work -- I'm the associate editor of Dave Campbell's Texas Football, if you didn't know -- we're in the middle of one of our busy seasons, putting together our Winter Edition (which hits shelves on February 1 and is available for pre-order on TexasFootball.com, OK, I'm done shamelessly promoting my product).

So, on Wednesday, after a few days off for the holidays, we were in full-go production mode. 5 p.m. came and went, and it wasn't until 5:30 that I got out of the office. I was really, really looking forward to my workout; that's always been a great stress relief for me on long days.

I drove the 1/4 mile to 24-Hour Fitness, changed, and hopped on the treadmill. Did my cardio, did my weights, did my usual workout -- maybe about 10% harder than I normally do -- and walked back to the locker room thinking, "You know what? That was a really good workout."

I got to the locker room and started feeling...strange. Out-of-breath. A little lightheaded.

I sat down on a bench in front of my locker and tried to catch my breath. I couldn't. I put my hands on my head while sitting down and breathed deep -- to no avail. I couldn't catch my breath or regain my equilibrium.

Before we continue, a note: I have a specific eating regimen that I've followed for the past few years, ever since I dropped a bunch of weight (or, as I call it, ever since I killed Fat Greg). I eat breatfast around 8am, an apple around 10:30am, a light lunch around 12:30, a snack around 2:30, then dinner. It helps me control what I eat, as my biggest fear is Fat Greg coming back from the dead. So, yes: I hadn't eaten since 2:30pm, and it is currently about 6:15pm.

So: back to the locker room. I decide that I need to go splash some water on my face. I stand up, and whoaaaaa, now I'm really lightheaded. And dizzy.

I stumble over to the bathroom portion of the locker room. I just need to splash some water on my face. I know that'll fix it. I approach the sink. I lean forward with my arms outstretched to lean on the sink counter.

I...well, I miss.

I go falling -- fainting, really -- into the sink counter, face-first. Well, that's not quite accurate. Call it mouth-first.

When I get my wits about me, I'm sitting on the floor of the bathroom. My mouth tastes like pennies, which I recognize as the taste of blood. I run my tongue along my teeth...and they're not all there.

A couple of 24-Hour Fitness employees come in to help me, asking me questions, bringing me water, taking down an incident report. A few minutes go by before I call my fiancee, whom I inform that she needs to come pick me up.

I stand up after a few minutes and look in the mirror. Oh man.

Three of my front teeth have parts that...aren't there. My left incisor (I've spent a lot of time in a dentist's chair lately; I've learned this) is 3/4 gone; my left front tooth is half gone; my right front tooth is missing a chunk. I have a huge gash on my top lip, another one on the inside of my bottom lip, and my chin really, really hurts.

I take a swig of water, wash out my mouth, and spit it out. Not only does it hurt like hell, but when I spit out the water...well, it doesn't look like water. It looks like Kool-Aid.

The 24-Hour Fitness folks took great care of me until my fiancee picked me up. In the meantime, I called my mom (who is not a fan of these types of phone calls, let me tell you), who called my dentist, Dr. Mike Hardcastle. After my fiancee picks me up, my phone rings. It's my dentist.

"Hey man, how you doing?"

Well, not great, doc.

Dr. Hardcastle agrees to meet me at his office, which has been closed for two hours now. When I get there, he gets to work, with my mom and fiancee sitting in the waiting room.

I'll spare you the lengthy details of my evening, but suffice to say that x-rays were involved, a plan was developed, and well...OK, I'll tell you this one part.

Right now, as you're reading this, take your tongue and run it front of your bottom teeth. Feel where your lip meets your gum?

Yeah, mine wasn't there.

Instead, Dr. Hardcastle gave me 15 stitches along that area to seal up what was a huge laceration inside my mouth. But not before taking photos of it before he sewed it up, you know, for dental journals.

I went home, and the next morning, I was back in Dr. Hardcastle's chair, my mouth completely numb. Over the course of four hours, I get my broken teeth smoothed over and temporary crowns put on. I have another date with Dr. Hardcastle (who, by the way, is an absolute saint) on Tuesday to get two permanent crowns and one dental implant for my three teeth.

So, what have I learned?

1) I have the best dentist, mother and fiancee in the world.

2) Eat before you work out.

3) In the absence of No. 2, don't try to eat a sink.