So, it was one of those gorgeous Winter Gift days--68*, bright sunshine--when I feel a compulsion to spend some quality time with my Sauconys, pounding the pavement...alas, little did I suspect just how shockingly literal this phrase would turn out to be. I decided to run an unfamiliar route through a nearby neighborhood, for a change of scenery. As I set off with my usual stride, I found myself having to compose a bit of a mental pep-talk to encourage the legs; walking with my new Saturday morning fitness friends had helped me accumulate 20,000 steps the previous day...which was making my muscles a bit sluggish. ("Hiking Hangover"? Yep, it's a thing--I'm calling it...) Furthermore, I knew I was due for a fresh pair of sneakers, but hadn't yet gone out shopping to purchase them. Thus I was doing my best to focus on the spectacular weather...and not the fact that I was starting a 4-ish mile run with 2 strikes against me.
And really, I was doing okay. The wind was a tad strong, but so were the rays, so I couldn't complain...yet. There I was, after reaching the halfway point and turning around to head back toward home, running along a fairly narrow paved path. Suddenly I spotted something downright alarming: a youngster (Best guess, maybe kindergarten?) careening toward me on a bike. He was wearing a gleeful expression...while swerving somewhat wildly back and forth on the trail. With thoughts that included equal parts "self preservation" and "pedestrian courtesy", I decided the best course of action might be to move as far to the side as possible, allowing the wee crazy-driving-gremlin a wide berth.
However, the best of intentions went awry....as the edge of my shoe caught the uneven boundary between the path and the grass...my ankle turned, and down I went (with quite a ruckus, if I do say so myself). My left knee scraped across the jagged lip of the asphalt, my left hand went out to try and keep my face from smacking the ground, and my right shoulder banged down pretty hard--because, you know, I was holding my phone on that side while listening to music, and no way was I dropping that sucker if I could help it. While I was lying in a heap, stunned and confused as to what the HECK had just happened, the little boy's companions hurried over and asked if I was all right. The oldest one even asked if I needed him to call someone to come get me--even in my somewhat woozy state, I was impressed by the very mannerly behavior of the kids (except the madcap cyclist--he just kept right on plowing ahead...but he gets a Munchkin Pass on this one, due to his tender years...)
Honestly, I couldn't have been that bad off...I had the presence of mind to pause the timer on my watch...because "minutes on the ground" do NOT count toward your workout, you know? (No, I'm not making that part up...and yes, I realize it's ridiculous, what can I say?) It didn't take long for me to determine that nothing felt broken, or even sprained. Heck, my pants weren't even ripped (and let me just say: thank you, Under Armour). My song hadn't even been interrupted--clearly I was just fine! So of course I did what any normal person would: I got back up and continued my run...somewhat more slowly than before, but whatever.
But...I'd been slogging along for maybe 2 minutes when I could no longer ignore that my left knee felt...weird. With a sigh of resignation, I slowed to a halt (yep, pausing the stopwatch again), pulled up my pants leg, and was greeted by...a whole lotta blood. Well...that certainly explains it. After gazing at the situation in mild consternation for a short period--noting that it was in no way...gushing...or anything gross like that--I resumed my forward progress...at a walking pace. I knew there were 2 hills coming up that I just didn't feel like dealing with right at that moment, so I gave myself permission to wait until I was past that point to pick it up to a jog once more.
Aaannnd....I made it home under my own power...a wounded road warrior, perhaps...but with a pretty good story for my troubles. Oh, and I believe that definitely counts as Strike Three for my doomed Sunday excursion. On the upside, at least I got some fresh air and was able to commune with nature (and some of her creatures), right? Now if you'll pardon me, I need a clean bandage...and several more Ibuprofens...