I don't think of myself as a klutz. I'm not especially clumsy. And I've tripped many times while running, but it's always been just a momentary stutter in my gait, perhaps a short flight into the air and a two point landing on my feet, barely perceptible, probably not even noticeable by an onlooker. I thank the years of ballet lessons for this ability to gain a harmless recovery and move on.
But this morning my sense of balance departed, my gracefulness flew the coop. A heave in the path of my running route threw me...literally.
I set out this morning to get a 4 mile run in. It was my usual route, staying within my neighborhood and running on streets that I'm well-familiar with. The weather was nice for a change: Moderate temps in the low 70's and very low humidity. If I hadn't just done an 8-miler two days ago, I would have considered extending this run to get more miles in. But sanity prevailed and I stuck to my original plan.
After mile 2, I stopped by the Carriage House in our gated community to use the bathroom. As I departed the building, I considered sticking with my usual route back to the main road, but for reasons beyond me I decided to run down the sidewalk that would take me past the Lakeview Lodge and connect to the main road a few yards further west.
"Coulda, woulda, shoulda." A mantra well familiar to folks who participate in events and sports that require some strategy and therefore leave them vulnerable to second-guessing their decisions.
Had I taken my usual route...had I not decided to deviate from my usual routine...
As I exited the building, my chosen route took me over a little bridge that spans part of our waterway network in the neighborhood. Then it took me along a sidewalk that passes in front of our lovely Lakeview Lodge, well-named for its position sitting right on the lake, its large wrap-around deck overlooking the gazebo, boardwalks, and lake beyond.
Next thing I knew, I was flying forward through the air. It all took place in slow motion! My left knee hit the ground first, followed by my right knee, and then I just knew that my hands would be next. Sure enough, the heels of both my palms hit next and I became aware that the forward momentum was such that my face was going to hit the ground last. A "face-plant!"
Sure enough, my chin hit the ground but, with some effort, I managed to use my arms to stop the forward roll at that point. I lay there flat on my stomach, not moving, as I assessed the damage and feeling incredibly stupid and clumsy.
The pain in my left knee was the most noticeable. Slowly I stood up and assessed the damage. Huge red patch of "road rash" on my left knee, some smaller and much less significant patches on my right knee; "scuff marks" on the heels of my palms and a couple of skinned knuckles on my left hand. Nothing on my chin, just soreness.
With blood running down my left leg, I returned to the Carriage House and did some immediate first aid in the ladies' room. Washed the wound on my left knee, applied some pressure for a few minutes and then ran to my house for some official "patch up." Wound washed, alcohol applied, a couple of totally indadequate bandaids in place, I headed back out the door to finish my run. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
It really didn't hurt that much, but I definitely knew that my left knee had taken a hit. When I finished my run, I immediately jumped in my car and headed for Walgreen's. My "first aid" supplies were woefully inadequate to handle an abrasion of this size. A package of 4x4's, tape, and some 4x4 adhesive bandages will take care of this far better than the package of little dinky Bandaids I found lurking under my bathroom sink.
Having had "skinned" knees plenty of times growing up, I know what I'm in for, as this heals. I sure hope it gets past that "dry, cracked" stage before the half marathon in Milwaukee!! That's just two weeks away! Keeping my fingers crossed and keeping that abrasion moist and loosely covered. Wish me "fast healing!"
Signing off for now!