Brent was relying on me to lead the way. However, I hadn't run there since my race. Apparently, I don't think about where I am at all when I race. It was tough; I didn't recognize anything! The map I had printed didn't show all the alternative trails criss-crossing every which way. It was a fun, exploratory run. We ran down one way, then back-tracked. Finally found a tiny little sign that read "Trail". Maybe that's a clue? Headed down the for a bit, winding over a narrow dirt path littered with rocks. Turned down another wrong path and ran that way for a bit until the grass grew so long and thick, I felt like were bush-wacking our way in the outback. When I finally reached a dry creekbed, I knew we had gone the wrong way. Back again and finally spotted another "Trail" sign. It was like a treasure hunt!
We managed to stay on the designated trail after that. Up one hill, then down the next. I thought Black Mountain Park was supposed to be kind of flat? Nothing but! After 3 miles, we turned and headed back. I felt much more relaxed now that we knew where we were going. I chatted easily, huffing and puffing up yet another hill.
"You're kind of quiet," I commented to Brent.
"The trail. You have to be careful."
"But we're not going that fast!"
"Well, you also happen to talk a lot more than me." Ha ha. Touche! I have been known to talk to myself when no one is around. I can carry a conversation with myself. You could leave the room, and I wouldn't even take a breath (or realize you had left). But I diverge....
Brent headed up ahead. I knew the final turn towards the car was near; we were about a mile from the start. Like horses smelling the stable, we started to pick up the pace. Suddenly, Brent heard a kerbloop! I tripped on a rock, and in slow motion, realized I was going to fall. I stopped trying not to fall and began preparing to fall. I relaxed and dove forward, doing the Superman belly flop onto the trail. Of course, all of this complex planning happened in milliseconds. I groaned and rolled over to assess the damage. Although it was a dirt path, apparently there were a lot of rocks. I had scrapes all over my wrists, forearms, and left hip. Both knees were badly scratched and bloody. Luckily, my knees broke my fall.
I got up and brushed myself off. The urge was to keep running but Brent convinced me I should walk for a few minutes, at least, to make sure I was okay. I was a bit shaken, bruised, battered, and bloody, but otherwise okay. I had been lucky. My knees didn't feel too great when I ran. I guess I banged 'em pretty hard. Within 5 minutes, I was able to jog without any pain. I knew I hadn't done any major damage.
Once back at home, I cleaned up (after lifting weights first, of course) and took an ice bath to dampen any swelling. The knees look much better today but are a little sore and swollen. It hurts to kneel, making it very hard to pet the bunnies! Some ibuprofen and ice should make me right as rain. I usually take one fall a year (always from running; guess I'm kind of a klutz). I hope this was my one fall!
On that note, remember when we were kids? We used to fall down ALL THE TIME! It was never a big deal. We would get up like nothing happened and keep on playing. We never got HURT! Now, when we fall down, it hurts a lot more. What's up with that?