Considering I am the klutziest (not a word; don’t care) person I know, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner. In fact, to have it happen on what my running app tells me was my 100th run since I decided to run a marathon seems almost fitting in some way.
The good news:
I was wearing capris instead of shorts, so the giant scrape on my knee only bled for a few minutes vs. being a wound that could have possibly required stiches.
I was able to catch myself with my hands before I landed face-first against the pavement.
Somehow my pace was fairly steady the entire 10 miles, despite not pausing my app for the first minute after falling.
It occurred after mile 5 so I was already in Manhattan and forced to run back (since walking to the subway on the Upper East Side would have taken as long as jogging back to the Queensboro Bridge), vs. before mile 1 when I would have just gone back home.
My knee didn’t start burning and throbbing until the last 2 miles of the run.
The bad news:
3 other runners passed me while I was sitting on the ground with a bleeding appendage and not one stopped to ask if I was okay.
I had to run another half mile before reaching the drinking fountain where I could wash off my legs and hands.
The weird news:
I typically run while looking at the ground (re: klutziest person I know), but right before I fell, I was looking out in front of me, thinking about how great it was to get a run in before work, even though it meant waking up at 5—and going to bed at 9:30. I was thinking about how great I was to be doing this while most other people were sleeping. I was thinking about how I should do this more often.
I’m obviously not going to blame my optimism on falling. That would probably be misguided. And plus, who knows whether, had I been thinking about how much running sucks and how tired I was, the fall would have been even worse.
So, I think all things considered, I should feel lucky. So I will.