Some Say I'm an Idiot

Some people said I’m an idiot and deserved what I got. Others said, “It was inevitable, you should have known that was going to happen.”

Well, I don’t think it was inevitable and I certainly don’t consider myself an idiot. The jerk who almost killed me the other night is definitely an idiot, though. Here’s what happened:

I was scheduled to run seven miles and the Manakin - Hermitage loop was an easy choice. In order to keep things interesting, I decided to run it by starting out south instead of the usual northbound direction -- see, we play these silly games to keep from getting in a rut.

It was after 6:30 but I probably should have gone out a little bit later. It was still rush hour-ish. There were more cars on the road than I like, and they were acting odder than usual.

I am hard to miss when running in the night. There is reflecting material on my waist pack, my vest and my shoes. I think some of those drivers thought all that reflective stuff was a target to aim for because they came awfully close. Several found me interesting enough that they blasted me with high beams to get a closer look. More than once I got so totally high-beam blinded that I had to step off the road and wait for them to go by.   

Plenty of those drivers weren’t paying any attention at all. I don’t know if they were racing to get home in time for Entertainment Tonight, or just arguing with their wives over what to have for dinner. I do know they were not looking for runners on the road. You can see me fifty yards away with all that reflective stuff, but a lot of those cars would come right at me then suddenly see me and swerve in a panic.

You can run the same route a dozen times, but if you go the opposite direction it’s like being on a completely different road. The up-hills and the down-hills are all in unexpected places. On the opposite side of the street the footing isn't the same, and the terrain off the side of the road is unfamiliar too. It probably would have been prudent to have run that opposite direction once in the light.

Well over five miles into the run, I had passed the golf courses, passed the gas pipeline and was coming up on the little house with the doggie obstacle course in the side yard. The road was straight out in front of me with a slight hill crest. I could tell a vehicle was coming when its lights lit up the treetops. As it topped the hill it looked like a big SUV and didn’t seem to have high beams on.

In spite of all the traffic I felt really good. I was moving at a decent pace. In the zone, I didn't want to stop. As the SUV approached, I put my head down so the visor of my cap could block the glare from its headlights.

After running a few times in the dark facing traffic, you get so that you can read the headlight shadows. You can tell where a vehicle is without having to actually look directly at it. This monster was coming right at me. He had plenty of time to see me. There was no traffic from the opposite direction so nothing prevented him from sliding over into the other lane. But he just kept coming.

In a few seconds, It became clear the truck was not going to give me any room. I was right up on the edge of the pavement and the headlights were now so bright that I couldn’t see anything. All along that road, there’s about an eight inch shoulder of granite dust and crushed gravel between the edge of the blacktop and the ditch.

I stepped off the pavement and brought my left foot down onto the shoulder, but it wasn’t there. Instead, my foot landed on a jagged softball sized rock. The ankle immediately rolled to the outside. I tried to recover and hop off it, but my center of gravity was already over the ditch. I went down on hands and knees. I had gloves on, and much of my weight went onto my hands which was fine. My right knee and shin hit those rocks though and got all banged up.

Bear in mind this ridiculous ballet unrolled right there in the dazzling brilliance of that SUV’s headlights. As I bounced around in the rocks, its brake lights flashed red; then the driver hit the gas and was gone. I know the shithead saw me go down.

If I’d stepped off the road five feet sooner, I’d probably be fine. But the spot I picked was right near a driveway. In order to keep weeds down, the homeowner lined the ditch with grapefruit-sized rip rap as it approached the culvert that passes under the drive. Lucky me.

I popped back up right away. My left ankle and right knee were both barking pretty loudly. I couldn’t put any weight on the left leg, so there I was hopping around on my right foot at the end of these people’s driveway cursing, “Son-of-a-bitch, son-of-a-bitch, son-of-a-bitch.” Someone looked out the front door then switched off the porch light. Southern hospitality, I guess.

It wasn’t the first time I rolled that ankle, so I knew what to expect, but the immediate instantaneous pain is so bad when it first happens that it always feels like someone cut your leg off. I bent over with hands on knees, caught my breath and tried to walk on it. That was not going to work. I also happened to notice the bloody wetness on my right knee. “Shit,” I said. This is going to screw up the training, I thought.

I really did not feel like trying to hop and gimp home under my own power, so I pried my mobile phone out of the arm holster and called Kim. Hoped she’d answer. Girl’s notorious for not answering her phone. I got lucky; she answered right away. I told her some dope ran me into a ditch and I couldn’t walk. Could she come and get me? Told her where I was. She said she’d come right away.

Kim really is the best person on Earth. She showed up in about ten minutes – I was that close to home. As I climbed into the truck, she hands me a fistful of Advil and a Diet Coke. How can you beat that? She dropped me at the back door and went down to the indoor riding ring to finish her lesson.

Nice Foot, Eh?

I hopped in the backdoor on one leg and found Stephen in the kitchen, crushing ice cubes on the counter in a zip-lock bag. What a great team I have. I stumbled down to the family room, piled some pillows on the ottoman, tied the ice bag to my foot with a dish towel and swallowed an old pain pill left over from the last time Kim got beat up by a horse. Stephen poured me a glass of wine.

I know, I know, you’re not supposed to mix alcohol and pain killers but I believe in moderation. One pain pill, one glass of wine. Definition of moderation.  

This vignette played out on Thursday night. Today’s Saturday. The ankle is still petty swollen and discolored, but I’ve been icing it and elevating it. When I wrap it in an ace bandage and wear a good shoe, I can walk pain-free, as long as I concentrate on going only straight forward and don’t pivot or twist.

I figure I’ll have to quit running for a week. I found a cross-train exercise I can do though. It’s called Man-makers. Google it; it’s a lot tougher than it looks. 

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