Move that body: 3.28-mile run
My run, it just wasn’t meant to be today.
This morning, just before heading out, Miles swung his arm and knocked a glass from the counter and straight to the floor. On the way down … BAM!
I was worried for a moment that it would be broken or I’d forever walk with a limp but it’s barely bruised. Good thing for Mark, I was going to blame him. (You don’t think I’d blame the baby, do you?)
Then there was Denali.
Sweet old Denali. I bet you think I’ve forgotten about him. Yeah, he probably thinks the same thing, too.
Anyway … we could barely get started before he had to go to the bathroom. This happened three times. THREE.
And then there was the fall. And I’m not talking about the glorious event that turns my street into a beautiful show of gold and red. Nope. I’m talking about somebody – I’m not naming names … because there are no names to name – making me trip about a half-mile in. I’m not quite sure what happened but I think my left ankle turned, causing me to fall on the right side of my body at which point I flipped onto my back.
I paused my Garmin (duh) and laid there on the sidewalk for a minute … or three. It was funny – a number of cars drove by and not one stopped to see if I was OK. I don’t know – it just seemed sad to me.
I managed to get up, walk a bit and realized I could run home to clean up before finishing up my run.
My only real injuries were some road rash and a knock to my pride.
Good news, though, my BIC band didn’t budge through out the ordeal. I’m not sure they will want to use that as a marketing strategy but couldn’t hurt. Ha! Couldn’t hurt. Get it?
OK. I’m going to go watch “Dexter” now and keep my bad jokes to myself.
How is your weekend shaping up.