For the past few weeks I’ve been staying off the roads for running. The snowy trails have proven to be much more entertaining than boring asphalt and sidewalk. Today though, I hit the road for a few sloppy miles through Germantown and Mt. Airy.
Apparently I’d forgotten about yesterday’s ice storm. Instead of proper footwear for slush and ice I tied on a pair of marathon flats. Brilliant. Within a few feet of my front door the slipping commenced, my feet were soaked and my toes started freezing.
I worked my way down to a main road, dodging dirty snow and small sheets of ice, occasionally thinking that skis would have been more appropriate footwear. As I plugged along, the sidewalk went from regular boring cement to slate. Broken, chipped slabs for a few hundred yards.
I hadn’t run on this section of road for months, maybe even a year. I thought back to the last time I could remember running there -- last winter after the feet of snow stacked for months in Philadelphia began to melt.
The 2009-2010 winter in Philly was epic. Storm after storm pounded the area and I got most of my exercise shoveling snow. Finally, enough snow was gone that getting in an actual run became possible. I remember running along the broken sidewalk at a good clip, happy to not have to worry about leaping over snow piles, vaguely aware that I was zipping past cars stopped in rush hour traffic.
And then, suddenly, I was on the ground. Not even a flash of “(Fill in your favorite expletive here)!! I am falling!” went through my head. I banged my knee and skidded to a stop on my side. I knew right away that I had bloodied my knee. Fortunately I was freezing and couldn’t feel much and I was otherwise okay. I got up, took a moment to feel embarrassed that I had bit it in front of a line of cars and then had no other choice than to continue on my way home. Fortunately, it was only about a mile so I sucked it up and ran as fast as I could, eager to get home to survey the damage.
I stepped into the front door and rolled up the left leg of my running tights. Sure enough, a bloody knee, but it didn’t look too bad at all. Limped over to the medicine cabinet, smooshed some gauze onto the booboo and the bleeding easily stopped.
As I began to thaw I noticed that my left buttoxical region felt weird. A bit naked.
“Uh, I think I hurt my butt,” I thought and decided I’d figure it all out in the shower.
And then I walked past a mirror in our bedroom … got a glimpse of what I apparently put on display for a large chunk of Germantown for the last mile of my run.
My entire left butt was hanging out. Like, half of my entire ass, complete with a nasty cut with a few small pebbles in it.
When I fell I managed to tear my running tights but, because I was already so cold and freezing, I didn’t notice.
I thought I was pretty embarrassed when I fell. Realizing I ran home unintentionally and unknowingly nekkid wasn’t too fun, either.
As an added bonus, I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. I cleaned it, put pressure on it, laid on it, called my doctor friends who suggested a trip to the adult ER, was amazingly late for work and finally wrapped my lower half in enough gauze to make a cozy quilt for the entire Duggar family before deciding what to do next. I didn’t want to spend the day sitting in an ER while some 25-year-old resident decided whether they needed to stitch my badonkadonk (sp?). Instead I called a friend who is married to one of the attendings in the pediatric hospital where I work.
“Think your husband would mind looking at a cut I got out on a run today to see if I need stitches?”
“Nope. Just go to his clinic when you get here. Where’s the cut?”
“Ok. He’s in clinic until noon.”
The definition of a good friend is someone who doesn’t hate you when you ask their spouse to check out your butt.
The doc said I could get stitches if I wanted less of a scar but that it would soon stop bleeding on its own and would heal mostly okay. A few of the nurses I work with gave me some sort of magic tape and, sure enough, the bleeding stopped. Still have a scar that is pretty gross but knowing I ran around the ‘hood with my ass hanging out is even nastier.