It never fails. On every run that I do in the city, I always think about how painful it would be at various intersections if I got ran over by a car. I think about where I would feel the impact first. Like if it was just a regular car, then it would probably hit me right in the thigh and knock me down where I would be ran over by the tire, crushing my thigh and/or knee and/or skull. Maybe a couple of ribs, too. It just depends. Now, if it’s an SUV, then it’s a whole other set of outcomes. Likely, I will feel the impact in my arm/torso and immediately fall to the ground where the tire would crush my sternum and I’d die in the middle of the street and hopefully someone would emphatically point at the walk sign to the driver to make them feel bad.
Now, it was this unrealistic (hopefully) scenario that I was contemplating when I actually injured myself. I’ve mentioned before on this blog that I’m not what you would call graceful. When I was a kid and I would fall (which was like a twice a week occurrence), my dad would always say… “ohhhh you were trying to fly” or “what were you doing? Trying to fly?” I hated those phrases. Obviously, dad, I’m retarded and can’t stay on my two feet for an entire week, I know this, but do you have to make me feel like more of an idiot by pointing out the fact that all I was trying to do was walk and I ended up falling anyway? Jeez, thanks for the double shot of embarrassment and self-loathing. Awesome.
Over the summer, I fell on a trail in percy warner park. This fall was particularly interesting because the trail was dirty and dusty and I still had about a mile to run back to my car. During the course of that mile, I passed like 6 hikers and runners with dirt stuck all over my sweaty body. Ohhh the looks I got.
Just a touch of blood, but a ton of dirt.
Yesterday, I fell on the sidewalk. As three cars drove past. It hurt when it happened. I fell on my knee, hip, and elbow (yeah, imagine passing that while driving up 17th avenue yesterday), but I got up as quickly as possible, slowed down a little to let those cars get through the red light at the end of the street and continued my run. When I got back inside and in the bathroom, I noticed that I had blood on my shirt. And after stripping down… this is what I found.
Do you feel sorry for me, yet? It looks even more gross today.
My poor legs. Another scar, another less than entertaining story.
At least I didn't get ran over by a car...