epic fall

Who has two thumbs and a plane ticket to the Portland Half-Marathon in less than two weeks?


Thumbs

THIS GIRL.

Yes. That is my arm in a temporary cast. Let's rewind about 40 hours...

Yesterday was the longest run of my training schedule. 12 miles, two weeks before race day. I decided it was also about time I did a long run in the morning, since I've done most of my running in the evening.   As I was pondering routes, I had an epiphany: I could run to work. On the weekends, I work at the Kids Club in a gym in West Hollywood. For four hours Saturday and Sunday mornings, I color, watch Yo Gabba Gabba, and make pirate eye patches out of construction paper. My brilliant plan was to leave an extra set of clothes at work on Saturday, then run to the gym on Sunday.  I could shower in the locker room, and get a ride home with a friend after work.


Route

I mapped out my route.  My apartment and the gym are a little less than 11 miles apart, so I'd just need to circle a few blocks somewhere in the middle to hit 12. Since I start work at 8 am, I figured I should leave my apartment at 5am. Easy breezy. Nothing could go wrong with this plan.

The run started out great. It was cool and quiet and dark. For about an hour, I enjoyed the most solitary time I have ever spent in LA. The city was asleep.  The only other people I saw were  sleeping bums and Starbucks baristas and the creepy mannequins in the window of Forever 21.

Mannis

I ran through Los Feliz, and over the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. I ran and ran and ran and ran. Nine miles in, I tripped while crossing Sunset Boulevard, and my running came to an abrupt halt.  To say I fell would be an understatement. You know those commercials with the crash test dummies and the slow-motion impact?  My body met the pavement with something resembling that amount of force. Elbow first.

There was only one witness to my utter humiliation. As I scraped myself off the pavement and took out my ear buds, he said "I'm so sorry." "Me too," I replied. I hobbled across the street, realizing I still had three miles to go, and a job to get to. So I started to run again. My dubious mantra became, "This is faster than walking."

Back to the present. I'm typing this post one-handed. (BTW - I have also become adept at driving, changing my clothes, and making photocopies one-handed.) I'm seeing an orthopedic surgeon this week about my broken elbow. He will decide whether or not I can still manage the half-marathon. But as I sit here with my left arm in a semi-permanent high-five, I'm not super concerned about it. I ran 12 miles. And it was awesome. And my fall was spectacular. I haven't fallen like that in decades, possibly because I haven't moved with that sort of speed or freedom in that long. My fall felt like the epic falls of my childhood, when I would slam into the ground, cry a few tears, then pick myself up and throw myself right back into life. Yesterday, I fell like a champ. And as soon as I can move my arm again, I'm throwing myself right back into running.  Next time, I'll just try a bit harder to watch my step.

 

Xray
Wtf

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