I didn't want to ruin your weekend, so I waited to post this. (I hope I don't ruin your breakfast either.)
So last Wednesday, after my 13.1 mile victory in Philadelphia, I headed out for a little 3-mile run. I thought I'd try something new, having just read this article in Runner's World about dissociation and association. I thought I'd try to associate—tune in to my body, and try to reach a meditative state while running by practicing meditative techniques. Something like that. So I ran without music or watch.
So there I was, running along, no idea how slow or fast (I'm sure I was flying), trying hard not to think of anything (try that sometime, it's basically impossible, btw), and all of a sudden, at mile 2, I found myself face down, eating dirt.
It was mid-day and the path was packed with runners and bikers. I sat there somewhat sheepishly, already planning my response to the inevitable good Samaritans who would soon be smothering me with attention: "No, no I'm fine, thanks."
No one stopped. I fell, and apparently skidded, on the pebbly verge of the path, but I think if I'd fallen smack in the middle, people would have stepped right over me. That's how much concern I generated. WTF?
I got up and ran the rest of the way back to work, blood now streaming down my leg, cause that's the way I roll, people. Back at work I entertained everyone by showing them my bloodied leg and watching their horrified expressions. So at least that part was good. Because my leg was so bloodied, I couldn't change back into my work clothes. So I interviewed a prospective intern in a nice business-y top and jacket, and my running shorts.
He didn't say a word.