So I really wasn’t feeling like going for a run yesterday. I had already procrastinated about it for a day so I pulled on the runners and headed out. Felt awful and totally without energy but at least holier than thou about actually getting out there.

And though I felt awful and unenthused it was a pretty nice morning for it. I noticed a young guy on the actual road itself practicing exercises with a soccer ball. So I waited until I drew up almost level with him to display my incredible ineptitude by catching my toe on a raised bit of concrete and falling spectacularly to the ground. Splat.

My first impulse when sprawled on the ground was to see if I could right myself casually so that it would appear to anyone happening to see this spectacle that *I meant it* and that I had fully intended to fall over in that way. Amazingly enough the guy with soccer ball didn’t seem to notice (or was embarrassed enough to pretend not to have noticed), so I think I got away with it.

Needless to say, with a bleeding leg and sore hands from breaking my fall, I decided that karma had decreed that the run should finish. So I limped pitifully back home to drown my sorrows in the shower. The leg is fine, with just some brusing, cuts and gravel rash, but hurts enough for me to feel sorry for myself and vaguely sheepish for managing to be so unco.

Loser. I don’t know why I am allowed out of the house without full crash gear and all the trimmings.