A few days after we got home from our honeymoon, I fell down the stairs outside our apartment. Just a couple of stairs, but I skinned my knee pretty badly.
When I was 11 weeks pregnant with Katie, I tripped over a mat at the Mall and fell, skinning my knees.
When I was in grad school, I tripped one night leaving a friend's house and busted up my knee really badly. I probably should have gone to the doctor, but I didn't.
And so on and so forth. I've probably fallen and skinned my knees 30 times in the past 16 years. So it was inevitable that one night, while running, I'd fall.
That was tonight.
I had completed one lap; I was feeling great, thinking about what I was going to wear tomorrow, what I was going to do tomorrow. I tripped over this bump in the street. I've almost tripped over it a couple of times before, but I caught myself. Not this time.
I walked back to the house to clean myself up and bandage my knees.
And then I went back out to run.
Russ thought I was crazy, and he might be right. But I wanted to get back out there. I wanted to test my knees to make sure it wasn't anything more. I wanted to run.
Everything felt great, but one of my knees -- the one that's taken a beating over the years -- was bleeding pretty badly, so I stopped after two miles and went into the house. I went to Wal-Mart to buy big Band-Aids.
Once I showered and everything, one knee isn't that bad, but the other one is pretty awful. I'm going to run tomorrow night -- my usual Wesnesday-night five miles.
My only problem is what am I going to wear while my knees are gross and messy? I don't like to wear blue jeans during the week, and I don't have any nice pants that fit me still. My skirts and dresses will show my Band-Aid-covered knees.
So there it is. I'm a klutz. A klutz who's still hell-bent on running, but a klutz nevertheless.
No comments:
Post a Comment