Bam!
One of the goals I set when I
started running was to do whatever it took to never, ever fall while running. I
stated this on more than one occasion to more than one person. I made my commitment
public to show I meant it. I’d heard the horror stories. Mother of two, starts
running for fitness to “be there” for her kids, trips, ends up on leave from
work making no money, having surgery and doing no housework, recovering while
her kids miss swim practice and taekwondo because she cannot drive them. Ugh. I’d
read marathon blogs recounting tales of journeys ended by a handful of
misplaced steps off the pavement in an ill-fated effort to improve run time
while passing slow walkers. I’d been given advice from experienced competitive
runners, runners who’ve had serious wipe-out experience, skids, twists, and
splats that ended their races after months of preparation. Accordingly, I took
precautions. I stayed on the path. No turf for me. I chose sidewalks that were
smooth, opting for the street if there were protruding branches or lifted
slabs. I avoided surfaces littered in tree fruits or nuts like acorns,
tamarind, and such. The bit of shade just wasn’t worth the risk. Running after dark,
I trained a flashlight on the ground on front of me to ensure I was ready for
whatever was there. I was even wary of dehydration since numerous spills have
been attributed to poor judgment and the decrease in response time that may
accompany it.
Then it happened. The weather was
beautiful. The sun was shining. No clouds. A perfect 75 degrees. My husband and
I decided to go for a 6 mile run. The first two miles were awesome. It was
starting to warm up, so the third and fourth mile we took it a little more
slowly. Even though I was thirsty, I started conserving. I took smaller swigs
of water but a little more frequently than usual. I was a little concerned I
would run out before we ran back by the corner market where we could buy more.
My husband hadn’t run distance in weeks and offered to interject longer
walk breaks any time I needed them. Still, I felt strong, happy I could keep on
going. We continued running and started down the little main street that ran
through our town. People were walking around smiling. We were passing by an
outdoor café in sight of the corner market and fresh, cold drinking water, when
the unimaginable happened. Mistaking a three-inch river rock for an oak leaf, I
kissed the pavement. It wasn’t a direct fall, more of a convulsion really. As
my foot hit the rock, my brain realized it was, in fact, a rock. The moment my
ankle shifted to twist, my brain, the primitive animal reaction part of it,
sprung into self-defense mode. To save my ankle, I shifted all of my weight
forward, too quickly to stop with the next step. Stumble, stumble, plop. I
simply could not get my body to move quickly enough to avert the fall. There I
sat, feet away from two women breakfasting in their Sunday best, hands, knees,
and shin scraped. The impact and rolling action made one of my hands
temporarily useless. Worst yet, my pride had shattered into a million pieces as
I regained my composure on a beautiful Sunday morning on the sidewalk of a
street café.
As I sat on the sidewalk that sunny
morning, in the middle of the sidewalk facing my husband who was kind enough to
have a seat with me, I looked around at the diners slowly returning their
attention to their breakfasts and previous conversations. I felt embarrassed,
both surprised and relieved that nobody came over. Still, two ladies at the
table closest me continued their discussion, never taking their eyes off of me.
I wanted to get out of there but my right hand wouldn’t cooperate in my efforts
to push myself up and I eventually I had to ask my husband to hoist my
disconcerted carcass from the walkway. In somewhat of a daze we walked the last
two blocks to the corner market and fresh, cold drinking water. Water purchased
and consumed, we headed back out. The sun was shining. A light breeze was
flitting through. Refreshed, we walked
another quarter of a mile, stopping to patronize the lemonade, cookie, and
radish stand manned by a toddler and his maybe third grade sister. Then, we resumed
our run.
