Falling down + brushing it off

I was out for a run this morning. 10 minutes into my stride, I hit a sidewalk rut, fell forward, and summersaulted quite accidentally, quickly, and painfully into the middle of a downhill street. In hindsight, it was probably fairly hilarious to see. The stuff that slapstick comedies are made of. But bystanders are few and far between at 5:30 on a dark, dank morning in Vancouver. And the humour was lost on me.

I was stunned.
I sat in the middle of the street for a moment.
Wondering what to do.
Go home?
Carry on?
Am I hurt?
How's my back?

I stood up.
Looked around.
My legs were a bit shaky.
My pants skinned in the knees.
My gloves ripped.

I was either a sorry sight, or one bad ass running chick.

I rubbed my legs. Walked around. Took a deep breath.
And carried on. Slowly. A little unsure. But I carried on.

As the pain dwindled and my natural stride came back, I realized that had anyone seen me fall and asked "are you ok?", I would have cried on the spot. In truth, I was terrified. And it hurt. And for a few moments I wanted a hug and a safe place.

But just like a little kid bonks his head on the coffee table and whose parents don't make a fuss, all those shaky little insecurities inside that told me I was hurt and needed help faded. And it turns out I was ok. Save for a skinned knee and a litlte road rash on my butt.

A small price to pay for being Bad Ass, I guess.