Distance: 14 miles (Saturday), 8 miles (Monday)
Beers: Lost track (Sunday, at baseball game. Beers are
patriotic.)
Bruises and cuts: Two really bruised knees, scrapes on hands
and elbow, giant abrasion on left knee
Waka waka lyrics: One, in title
I’m lying on my back in the middle of the sidewalk on
Central. A minute ago, I was jogging along, thinking how after 11.5 miles, we
were getting to the end. Now I’m looking at the sky in some shock. I sit up
cautiously and look at my knees, which are scraped and bleeding. I try to brush
some of the gray concrete dust off my legs.
Coach trots up, concerned. “What happened?” We both look at
the offending sidewalk, where an uneven crack has left a small ledge for a unaware
jogger to catch a toe.
I had fallen—spectacularly fallen. I caught my foot on the
small ledge and saw the sidewalk rushing up to meet me. I remember a fleeting
thought about needing to save the iPhone I had in my hand as my knees and hands
hit the pavement, and then I hit my left shoulder and flipped over onto my back. It hurt. I
seem to remember falling all the time as a kid, but I don’t recall having the
distinct feeling I might not get up again. I will blame it on being taller now
and not on being way older.
“Tired legs,” explains Coach. He hoists me up by my elbows,
and we walk a little while as I examine my wounds and feel more than a little embarrassed.
But eventually I am ready to go again. It hurts, but I’m fine. I want to finish
the run.
(Oww. Oww. Oww. Oww. Owwwww.)
I learn later that day that a friend running an
ultramarathon fell that day, too—only his fall was much worse. Only five miles
in to his 100-mile trail run, he fell so badly that it took him three hours to
limp to the aid station six miles away. I hope it is just bad bruises and
nothing more serious. I was at least able to get moving again, and felt lucky
that nothing had been broken.
After the run, I went home, picked gravel out of my skin,
and jumped in the car to drive to LA. I’m going to say running 14 miles plus a bad fall
plus sitting in a car for six hours did absolutely nothing for sore muscles or
swollen knees, and when I arrived, my poor friend E had to listen to me groan every time I
moved. She had booked us massages that evening as a birthday present (my birthday just keeps on going! Yay!), and the masseuse was appalled at my knee,
which had swollen to the size of a grapefruit.
After icing my knees, I felt better on Sunday. We took the
train to San Diego and went to watch the Padres play the stupid Dodgers.
Dodgers fan in San Diego bar:
D: Yeah, we already won! And we pissed in the Diamondbacks’
pool!
Me: That was uncool. I’m from Phoenix. Not sportsmanlike.
D: I hope they SHIT in it, too!
Stay classy, Dodgers’ fans. Stay classy.
In any event, I think all the Bud Lights at the game helped my run
today. I spent a little time on the couch feeling sorry for myself because my
legs ached from the 14-miler and my knees still hurt, but then I reminded
myself I was half a mile from the ocean and I liked running by the ocean. It
was 64 degrees, so I wore a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. No one else in
California appeared to think it was the middle of winter, and they were right.
It was quite warm in the sun. I felt like I was part of some religious sect
that required me to cover all parts of my body.
(Santa Monica pier. Of course I was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Who wouldn't in this weather?)
I ran on the Strand past the Santa Monica pier and up to
Will Rogers State Beach, which was about four miles. My legs started off tired,
and my knees hurt enough that I was wondering if I still had swelling and
whether running was a good idea. But then something really good happened—much better
than falling with alarming speed on my face. After I turned around, I started
running…faster. I felt like I could just go! I would look at my Nike sports
watch (suck it, Garmin) and it told me I was running around 10 minute miles.
For me, this is JUST remarkable, and especially after having run four already.
I kept it up, thinking I could always walk if it got too hard. It didn’t. I
just flew those last four miles. I didn’t feel any pain in my knees. I just
felt like a runner. An overdressed runner, but a runner. And that felt good.
No comments:
Post a Comment