When Falling Flat on Your Face is Not a Cliche

2008 is going down as the year of the cursed runner. 

That would be me.

Starting out in fine fashion, on the first run of the first day of the new year, I tanked in a measly 5K road race called the Resolution Run. So my resolution was to finish the rest of them in 08.

Last weekend, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I managed to complete a spectacular swan dive .  

Trouble was, I was not anywhere near a pool, lake or any other body of water or absorbent material.  For no apparent reason, I dove nose first into the sidewalk just four miles into a 10-mile run.  

splat1.jpg

 

 Concrete. Breakfast of Champions!

Of course, when you complete a spectacular trip-and-fall stunt in public, the first thing you do after you check to make sure you are not dead or paralyzed, is look around to see if anybody saw you.

In my case one person did.  A tall, perfectly chiseled greek-running-godlike creature, who swooped down, and, I would like to say, carried me off to nurse me back to health and live happily ever after.

But noooo….I guess all the blood turned him off.

Oh yeah…there was blood.  Lots of it. 

I thought my nose was broken.  And half of my face was scraped off.

My would-be rescuer examined the damage and declared my injuries “not too bad,” neither life-threatening nor permanent, with only temporary disfigurement. “You’re a warrior,” he declared.

I was still six miles from where my car was parked, so having no choice, bleeding and bruised, I ran along, as a strong warrior would.  It took some doing, but I finished the run, therefore keeping my New Year’s Resolution at least into February. 

I suppose I could blame it on the bad sidewalk.  Nah…it was smooth. I could blame it on my shoes.  Nah…they were practically new and perfectly broken in.

I could say I got hit by a car, but that might be bad luck and a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I am a warrior.  You oughta see the other guy….yeah. that’s the ticket!

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One thought on “When Falling Flat on Your Face is Not a Cliche

  1. You’re just lucky the guy didn’t offer the usual retort: Run much?
    But I suspect you’re not alone in the occasionally-unable-to-get-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other club. I remember one winter, being the brave sort of runner, I headed out into the frigid wilderness (OK, it was a golf course. Heck, with all that snow and ice on the ground it wasn’t being used by anyone else.) Bundled up with a towel around my face to prevent the artic air from freezing my lungs I shot down the nearest golf cart path. About half a mile into the run I went down—hard. I picked up my bruised backside and took off again (a little slower of course), not wanting to let a little snow and ice get the better of me. About 100 yards later I went down again. Expecting trouble, I was able to break my fall with my arm. Not a wise thing to do. I was luckily I didn’t break my arm with my fall. I should have dropped and rolled. Shaking off this latest tumble, I took off again (just a little slower). There’s slipping and falling and then there’s SLIPPING AND FALLING. When your legs shoot out from under you and the first thing to impact the ground is your shoulders, snapping your head back into the unforgiving ice, mother nature is trying to tell you something—like find a gym with a treadmill idiot. I swear, lying their on that path looking up, those trees actually seemed to be laughing at me. Walking carefully, I made my way back to the starting point. Mother nature 3, me 0.

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