So earlier today, I was bitching that I don't have anything to write about; well, tonight I got something to write about. I was on my evening run, about a tenth of a mile from home when I first tripped, then kinda stumbled, and finally smacked not only into the pavement, but went headlong into a puddle. I'm sure the whole scene was quite comical: Arms windwilling in an attempt to first slow, then break my fall; face splashing into the two inches of puddle that met me at the end of the sidewalk (where the smooth cement of the sidewalk meets rough asphalt, by the way).
As the pictures depict, I scraped up and muddied my knees, my palms and even the side of my head (the side of which splashed right into that damn puddle! my left ear was immersed for a few seconds!). I scraped my left shoulder on the asphalt, and right now it is throbbing slightly. Right after my face plant, I popped right back up because I was so paranoid that somone saw me fall, but to my relief no one was around (I usually don't pass many people in the late evening -- part of why I like running at that time); plus, with the semi-darkness closing in, I was able to hobble home in shame without anyone noticing the mud, the dripping puddle water, and the exposed scrapes. (The bruised ego is, thankfully, invisible to the naked eye.)
When I got home, I whined to my husband who immediately took the appropriate amount of pity on me and asked if I was alright before he dubbed me "crash" and started joking that perhaps I should wear a helmet and knee pads when I run. He took a little too much joy in snapping the photos submitted here for evidence.
In the end, I guess I should have seen it coming. I have always been notoriously clumsy, and it's been a long time since I last fell, so I guess I was due for a digger. And with all the miles I log, it was just a matter of time before that path jumped up and bit me.
I suppose it gave me something to blog about.