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.