I love to share stories of my trials and tribulations because, well, sometimes they make me laugh. And it's good to be able to laugh at yourself. It's even better to be able to make someone else laugh.
So, if you've followed this blog for a while, you've probably realized that I'm not the most graceful of people. I fall. Usually on flat ground. I get road rash (or trail rash) in places that shouldn't come in contact with the dirt. Like the front of my shoulder the last time I fell. I trip over my own feet. I'm a klutz. What can I say?
As you've probably figured out, this story will involve my lack of coordination and latest insult to my no-longer-perfect skin. So here's how it all went down...
It was a beautiful Thursday morning. The only thing ugly about the day was my mood. Having worked the overnight shift, I was going on about 5 hours of sleep (4 less than my minimum requirement) and I was not happy. I had just finished a 3700 meter swim in which I was supposed to execute anaerobic threshold intervals. Didn't happen. I struggled to keep up with my husband as he cruised through the water like a fish. I wanted to get out of the pool at 3500 to allow me time to suit up for my run. He made me finish the workout.
I get grouchy when I don't get my way and have not had any sleep or caffeine. I wriggle into my running gear, pulling my clothes and shoes on over wet skin. My mood was foul. I head out front to meet up with my friend and running partner for the day, the MPS. He asked me how I was doing. Grouchy, I growled.
We started our watches and headed out of the parking lot. Not even 30 seconds later, as we are crossing the street, he gets stung by a bee. He starts yelling. The bee comes back for more. I observe the bee swarming around his head and I freak out. I'm shrieking, and in an effort to escape I am backing away sort of running, I half turn and immediately trip over the curb. I hit the dirt with my left hand, left thigh, and then proceed to skid about 3 feet on my back. All while MPS is flailing in the middle of the road. I sit up and there's nothing I can do but laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
He accuses me of fleeing rather than trying to save him from the bee. I rinse off my scrapes and bruises. I landed just right on my back and practically tore a mole off my skin so I now have blood running down my back. I have about 6-8 inches of road rash. And I can't stop laughing. I pull the stinger from the back of his head. And we run.
Generally injury is not a laughing matter, but this scenario was too comical and it immediately pulled me out of my funk. I would have loved to see the faces of anyone who drove by when this happened. MPS dancing around in the middle of the street while I'm tripping over my own feet and the curb to land in a heap. Grace. Definitely not my middle name.
Some people pay lots of money to have beautiful skin. My skin is a reminder of my adventures. Little scars and bruises and scrapes to remind me that I'm alive and well. It's not perfect, but it's still a beautiful thing.