Sidewalk: 1; Me:0

Saturday I set out to run 3 miles in the morning.  I usually only run early on Sunday mornings, but due to a variety of things, I ran that morning.  I was unusually tired, but didn't think a whole lot of it.  My blood sugar was practically perfect before I left, and left my place Garminless and watch-less.  I had no idea my pace, which was surprisingly nice.

I got to the 1.5 mile turn around spot, and continued back to home.  As usual, I turned onto my street at the 2.5 mile mark.  I passed a car, thinking I have 1/2 mile left.  Then, I fell.  And it hurt.  As I went down, I thought, "make your right knee go first.  Try to avoid the left hitting the ground."  For the most part, I was successful.  My right knee has a gigantic scab and huge bruises around it, while my left has 2 small cuts.  My right hand is also bruised and has a nice cut.

After I fell, I stayed on the ground for a moment.  I have never fallen before while running.  I thought of the Morgan Uceny, who fell on the track during the 1500 at the Olympics.  Granted, I was doing a small three mile run in my neighborhood while she was running in a far more superior race, but I can say falling hurts.

I proceeded to get up, and walked a minute before running again and finishing those 3 miles.  I was happy to be done and attempted to stop the bleeding, but was unsuccessful.

Am I embarrassed that I fell?  No, not really.  It is something that was bound to happen, and it finally did.  I  just wish I wasn't quite so sore.