The fact they are kids and I’m not doesn’t matter, the fact
is, if you do something enough times, things are bound to happen to you. If you
enter the lottery each week for your entire life, aside from the fact you’ve
mindlessly wasted so much your hard earned cash, you have more chance to win it
than the person who buys a ticket just once in their life. If you spend an hour
a day staring at the ocean, you have more chance seeing a whale than the next
person who just glances at it (let’s not get technical with whale migration
seasons here). Hell, I’d go as far as saying that if Lady Gaga keeps releasing
songs, eventually (key word being eventually) instead of being cheesy
repetitive dribble, she might actually fluke one that is able to be listened to
without wanting to stab yourself in the ears. In my case, the fact is, if you
spend enough time running, you are bound to fall over here and there
occasionally.
Off the top of my head I can count four occasions. The
first, being the near death experience of being eaten by furious red ants near
Yarrawarrah, which I posted about previously.
The third time, was during a freezing cold February day in
Dublin, Ontario, when the ice on the road was thick and the snowy conditions
that day made it worse. As I was running, I peered through the snow thick snow
hitting me in the face and made out the headlights of an oncoming car
approaching. I attempted to cross to the other side of the road, only to sprawl
clumsily flat out on my stomach, belly sliding for a good distance before
coming to a less than elegant halt in the slush. Making matters worse was the
fact the oncoming car A) saw this embarrassment take place, B) didn’t stop or
slow down to check on me and C) sprayed a heap more icy water in my direction
as I lay there feeling cold, wet and sorry for myself. Did they think I was
just making a snow angel in the middle of the road? Jerk. Was probably Lady
Gaga driving that car.
The fourth time was just the other week, when I discovered some
nice trails running through a conservation area not far from home. This new trail cut through a grassy area
beside a cornfield. Finding it impossible to watch my every step as my feet hit
the long green grass I looked up to get my bearings. My hit-and-hope method,
was more hit than hope, and stepping into a nearly knee-deep Groundhog hole, I
was quickly turned upside and rattled, on my stomach sprawled out. At least
it wasn’t snowing this time.
The second time turned into more of a story. It was a Sunday
in September 2011 leading up to the Sydney Marathon. It was a couple of weeks
away and I knew I needed to get one more long run in at race pace, and then I
could taper my mileage until the event. I planned to do a 32-34km out-and-back
run down the Old Princes Hwy south of Sydney. Now the Princes Hwy is a major
highway running down the coast from Sydney to Melbourne (and further onto Port
Augusta, South Australia for the record), however the OLD Princes Hwy is just
as it sounds. Old. It has lost most of its use, as the newer road is faster,
straighter, and bypasses a lot of things the older version doesn’t. With a few
exceptions, the only reason people would need to drive on it, is for a scenic
drive, or if they are lost.
Anyway, enough of the highway history lesson. I was enjoying
my run along the relatively quiet, narrow and winding Old Princes Hwy and
keeping the pace I was aiming for. Things were going great guns. Until I was
nearing the 16km turn around point when all of sudden a little bump in the
gravel threw me off balance and I went hurtling forward towards the ground. I
put my hands out in front of me and the sharp gravel pieces did their worst.
Even throwing my hands out was not enough to save the harsh meeting between the
ground and my face. Yep…I faceplanted.
I sat up, inspecting my palms and noticing the dark blood
already pooling in them while the gravel-ranging in size from a grain of sand
to a small sharp marble-littered my hands and forearms. I touched my
cheek…bleeding too. “What a knob” I thought, quite correctly.
I sat there for a little longer, wondering how best to
handle the situation. No phone, no transport. Guess I just have to suck it up
and run the 16km home. As I dusted myself off and starting limping in the
direction I had come from, the blood starting circulating a little faster and
in turn, my hands started bleeding more. I tried to stop it by pressing my
palms against my shirt, turning it from a nice white colour to deep red where
my mitts where. It slowed the flow temporarily, and as I kept running, I kept
my hands on my stomach, which made me look like a chuckling Santa clutching my
belly. Well, a skinnier version of Santa, and without his costume on. And without
reindeers (otherwise I’d just ride home on them). Come to think about it, I
didn’t look much like Santa at all, but my hands were on my belly nonetheless.
To be honest the last thing I felt like doing while my palms and face was
throbbing was running another 16kms home after just doing that.
The normally low traffic on the road was even lower being a
Sunday, with cars driving past at a rate of about 1 per 5-10 minutes. When I
finally heard a car coming from behind me I wondered if this was my ticket out
of this horrid run. Continuing to jog slowly, I stuck my thumb out as a hitch
hiker would, put on a hopeful smile and twisted my head a little, to see if the
car was interested in picking me up.
The wind in my hair from the car as it passed me suggested
otherwise. A few minutes later I heard another car and tried the same method to
no avail. Same with the third attempt.
I thought about this failing strategy, and realised how
stupid it was. Of course they don’t want to pick a runner up-they’ll be
thinking “just keep going you lazy slob, you are meant to be running, man up
you baby-you’re not going to get any fitter if I pick you up”.
Hmmm. I had to change plans. I know! When I hear a car, I’ll
stop running, turn around, and look like an actual hitchhiker-that should work!
So that’s what I did. First attempt-unsuccessful. Second attempt-unsuccessful. What
the hell? It was at this point I had a good hard look at myself (both
physically and proverbially) and realised the copious amount of blood on my
shirt, arms, hands and I presumed, my face. I looked like I had just murdered a
kangaroo and eaten it’s flesh and drank it’s blood. If drivers were unsure
about picking up a hitchhiking runner, they sure as hell weren’t going to pick
up one covered in blood.
I put my head back down, and continued running home, knowing
the only way I was getting there was on my own two feet. Until, finally, luck
was on my side in the most remarkable way. Up ahead of me I noticed a car, but
not any old car-it was my Dad’s car.
My luck was finally about to change. I’ll get Dad to drop me
home-sweet! As the big fella drove towards me, I waved my hands in the air,
flagging him down. And then, my confidence turned to heartbreak…he gave me a
wave as if to say “G’day mate” and kept going on his way. I turned and watched
as his car disappeared south into the distance.
“Are you serious?” I thought to myself. Apparently so.
The good news was that my luck was about to change, just a
little later than I expected. And that came in the form of the field my Dad was
driving towards happened to be closed. Which meant that within ten minutes Dad
was heading back toward my direction, and this time he actually stopped.
“What happened to you?!” he said, as he noticed the blood
all over my clothes, arms and face.
My reply was about as extended as I could make it
considering I was so over the past two hour run “Stacked it. Tried to get you
to stop before, cheers for that.”
“Oh I thought you were just waving, I didn’t see the blood”.
I didn’t really mind about too much else at that point, I
was just happy to be in a vehicle heading home as my hands were still throbbing
in pain, and I was keen to start digging the gravel out of them. We drove up the road and I was home 10 minutes later.
Ironically, all of this happened on Father’s Day.
So there you have the four times I’ve hit the deck while
running. And considering I’m not planning on stopping running anytime soon, I’m
sure I’ll have more to come. In fact, I can almost guarantee the next one will
be before Lady Gaga finally releases a decent song.
The aftermath of the faceplant...and I wondered why no one would pick me up!
I know how ya feel buddy
Steven Bradbury and his Olympic Gold medal thinks people falling over is awesome
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