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Sunday, June 05, 2011

Because apparently running 12 miles isn’t enough of a challenge for me, a root was strategically placed on the path and after successfully avoiding said-root for 9 miles I managed to at long last trip over it. This was no graceful trip, however. (Is there such a thing, really?) This was a ‘hmmm, maybe I’ll try running on my face instead of my feet and then since that doesn’t seem to work will skid to a stop on my hands and knees and chest but will REALLY come to rest with the use of my chin-brake.’ I managed to pull myself up and dust myself off muttering, “SH*^! Are you kidding me?!” I’m very sad to say that I forgot to stop my watch (in order to not count this little detour against my pace). I was maybe a little distracted by the blood and dirt and dust. (Dirt doesn’t taste good, fyi). I noticed a few runners on the path below looking at me dust myself off but notta-one asked if I was OK. After a quick scan I realized that I’d bloodied both my knees, my left one, in particular had some pretty deep gravel pits a-happenin’. Both hands were scraped and then there was this little minor detail of my chin throbbing something fierce. I pulled a Kleenex out of my water bottle holder and held it to my chin. I thought that maybe I wasn’t that bad and gore-y since no runners had looked at me with anything other than mild interest. But after soaking through the Kleenex, I decided to find out just how bad it was. I stopped a girl who was running towards me and asked, “Um, hi. Sorry. Can you just tell me if I need a band-aid?” and lifted my chin. Her eyes got wide and she stated the obvious, “Yeah, you definitely need a band-aid and probably some stitches.”

I walked to the restrooms which – thankfully – weren’t that far away. Ouch. Definitely needed some band-aids. I woundedly waddled to the boat house office and requested a few. The office guy asked if I was alright. I mumbled, “Yeah, I just totally bit it, and I’m just pissed. What am I five?!” (No offense, Zachary).

Back in the restroom, I went about somewhat cleaning myself up and applying band-aids. A couple of the women were awesome. One looked me up and down and said, “Well, the good news is: your legs still look great!”

Another gal and I started chatting a bit. She asked how long I’d been running and how much I left to do. I told her that I’d completed nine but still had three miles left.

“Are you going to finish?”

“Totally,” I said.

“That a girl. And when you get home, you get your Bad Ass crown on and wear it all day.”

But I don’t have a Bad Ass crown!
Maybe I should get one.

I’m proud to say that I completed my 12 miles (though I may have been a bit under…my pacing/mileage got all messed up with my fall and walk to the restroom). And thanks to adrenaline and the desire to live up to my (imaginary) crowned persona, I finished the last 5K faster than any of the previous three 5K's I’d already run. It was actually very probably my fastest 5K ever.

Dude. I’m so hard core. I’m so tough…until I called Mike in the car and told him that I’d fallen down and got banged up pretty badly. Hearing his concerned voice quickly worked the Bad Ass right on outta me. No wonder kids cry hard when they get skinned knees – it HURTS. Once home, I had a SERIOUS cry in the shower when I attempted to scrub some of the gravel outta my wounds. To be honest I was too much of a wuss to do a good job; I just hoped that my body would eventually expel the foreign objects (and not, ya know, grow over all of it).

Within thirty minutes of getting home, I was dressed, bandaged and we were walking out the door to the boys’ Tball game where almost instantly Zach got hit in the head with a ball and hit in the hand with a flying bat. He was tougher than me with his injuries and was totally fine. And later, Mike got a terrible Migraine and had to lie down for a while. What was our damage that day?! Seriously.

When we got home from the game I attempted to eat (something that one really ought to do after a long run on a hot day). Opening my mouth even the littlest bit sent all sorts of pain to my chin-wound. I ate tiny bites and after a while decided that I should (again) go access the damage. Blood had nearly soaked through the standard-size band-aid, and I determined that I better go visit the little Urgent Care Center (conveniently located just a few blocks away).

When the doctor first looked at my chin I felt like the biggest lame-o ever, like I’d totally wasted their time.

“You know, with face injuries you really need to get stitches right away. At this point you’ll probably have the same scar if we stitch you up and it doesn’t seem to be that deep of a cut. It just all needs to get cleaned up.”

So, the nurse went about the TORTUREOUS process of removing all the dirt and gravel and dust that I was too scared to. She reassured me that plenty of people come in to get ‘cleaned up’ after a big spill and that it was a good idea since she would completely sterilize everything to avoid infections, blahblahblah. At one point she used a rough brush to scrub my deepest cut. I’m pretty sure I grumbled about wanting an epidural for my knee. It's official: I'm the hugest wuss ever.

After mutilating my chin a bit (at least that’s how it felt), the doctor was brought back in for inspection.

“Oh, well, now that that’s cleaner, I see that you’ve got a decent gaping wound there. It’s quite deep. You will need a couple of stitches afterall. Would you like us to use the numbing agent?”

Um, are you kidding? Of course! Now, the nurse prepped me that the numbing stuff goes in with a needle and stings and really “almost hurts more than the stitches themselves.” Awesome.

Thankfully, I didn’t find it to be all that bad. I was numbed and then she began to scrub and clean a little more vigorously and wait, uh, hold on, I thought I was supposed to be numb there, and I can totally feel that and it hurts!! She assured me that it can take a bit to set in and she’d have the doctor give me some more….but she didn’t!! I couldn’t see what was happening (he literally draped a paper sheet across my face) so when he started in I thought maybe he was doing the numbing action, but no!!

Notcing my cringing he said, “Oh, can you feel that? Well, can you handle it? Really the stitches will probably be done before the numbing stuff would even take effect and it hurts about the same.”

Whatever. Fine. I’m a Bad Ass, right?

He continued sewing my chin closed. “Oh!” he exclaimed sounding a little too happy. “There’s a piece of fat here hanging out. I’m just going to go ahead and remove that for you. There's some complimentary lipo for ya!”

Great. My lucky day. I thought about asking for a complimentary tummy tuck while he was at it but my mouth hurt too much to talk.

So, in conclusion, I’ve got my nice battle wound and story, and I will say that am VERY grateful that things weren’t worse – that I didn’t injure myself in a way that would inable me to run (like even a spraned ankle would’ve been way lamer). I didn’t knock at my teeth or break my nose or lose an eyeball or die...let's face it, all much worse options. I’m definitely all sorts of sore in all sorts of places today. The twelve miles alone would’ve done that but my shoulders hurt from trying to stop the fall, my knees are bruised, all of my scrapes hurt when bumped and holy crap my stupid little stitches hurt whenever they get nudged in any way (i.e. when Kayliana flails when I’m holding her, etc.). Thursday, I get to go back for stitch-removal. Yippee.

Matthew probably summed it all up the best tonight. “I’m sorry you got hurt, Mom. But I really don’t like to see your stitches. You look really freaky.”


Julia said...

Ow ow ow ouch! Poor you! Does wine help? I can assist in that arena...

Lynn A. said...

I am personally going to make you that crown!