As I mentioned before, I am training for a 10-mile race. Notice that I don’t commit to anything as definite as “I am planning to run a 10-mile race.” The race in question is in early August and is infamous for really hot, humid weather. Last year I ran the 5K with the heat index in the hundreds. The previous year there was a little rainstorm just before the start, and then the sun came out and it all turned to clouds of steam. I walked to the corner with Dog to cheer on a friend who was running the 10-mile, and after 10 minutes standing in the tropical atmosphere I couldn’t wait to get back in the air conditioning. I never saw my friend, because she was too far back. Later she told me in all seriousness it was the worst day of her life.

So, racing is optional, but training proceeds. This morning, I had planned to run at 6:30 to avoid the heat. Before I woke up I had a dream that I woke up and it was still dark outside, and I was worried about running in the dark. But when I actually woke up I was shocked to see that 6:30 in these parts already features full sun.

I had planned a route of mostly back roads, hoping to avoid the stress of running alongside a lot of cars. Like most runners, I usually run on the left side so I can see traffic coming, even if they can’t see me. Mid-mile 2 I saw a pick-up truck gunning pretty fast around a curve toward me. I stepped onto the shoulder to give as much clearance as possible, and my left ankle twisted and I went down. I must have done a kind of barrel roll, because I managed to scrape the hell out of my right knee AND my left elbow. The truck never stopped to see if I was OK. I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he didn’t see me fall.

Then I got up and finished my run, dripping AB negative over four miles of country road, because that’s the kind of badass I am. Also, because it didn’t hurt that much. At least, until I stopped. Then the cuts really began to sting. I ended my run downtown (because the run I had originally planned was 1/4 mile short of six miles, and I figured out that from my house to Starbucks was a quarter mile, all downhill), and when I went into the coffeeshop a woman looked at my wounds and said, “Did you have a wipeout?” And I totally lost a golden opportunity to use the comeback, “You should see the other guy!”