Janice and I had a side competition between us. Given my do or die attitude towards all things competitive, I was right there. I even went out and purchased a trophy that was claimed by the week’s weight loss winner.
The realization that my strategy of eating everything with no exercise wasn’t helping my weight loss campaign, I decided to step up my game. I figured actually getting sweaty through prolonged vigorous activity would help my cause.
Early morning exercising doesn’t work for me. I have to have coffee to start my day, check on clients and get work out the door. I started walking in the evenings, leaving my house and following my usual routes. Given that I have done this on and off over the years (I’ve lived in my house for 20 years) I know every possible street within a five mile radius of my house. I thought I would try something new. Each afternoon I would drive into the city and drop the car off for Mark and then walk home.
After the first couple of days I realized a direct route was too short. I started finding circuitous ways home. This worked! I usually arrived home just after Mark so I knew I was onto something.
On this particular day, everything was going well. I had found a new route, some steps to run up and down (had to increase my heart rate) and was making good time. I was seven minutes from home, enjoying the feel of my muscles, listening to some slamming tunes and soaking in the fresh air. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a car had slowed down and it was Mark. I couldn’t hear his comments but he was smiling at me. In turn, I waved widely and wildly as he drove by. Next thing I knew I was sliding across the side walk.
What. Just. Happened? How was I laid flat out on my stomach in the middle of the street? I lay there for a few moments, stunned. I took stock of my position. I began searching around frantically for my glasses. I couldn’t find them. I had to make sure I didn’t tread on them as I stood. All this while traffic whizzed by. One lady stopped to ask if I was okay. Gathering my dignity, I replied in the affirmative. As I looked across the street at her, I realized I could see her clearly. I put my hand to my face and found my glasses. With my glasses no longer in danger, I gingerly rose to my feet.
As I took stock of my injuries, I found a huge gash on my left hand where it had glided gracelessly over the surface of the pavement. I considered looking around for the lost skin but thought better of it and started the injured woman’s hobble home.
I walked in the kitchen door calling for Mark to provide me with medical attention. He came down to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough he ran off to gather the antibiotic and band aids. I have no idea where these items came from, I didn’t even know we owned such things.
Wounds and pride bandaged, I went to lie down to recover from the trauma of my unexpected trip. Over the following few days I was asked repeatedly about the damage to my hand. Not wanting to provide embarrassing details of my publicly humiliating fall, I would look the person in the eye and answer with a shrug, “it’s a sports related injury.” End of discussion.