The Art of Being Clumsy

I am, it seems, a complete clutz. I haven’t taken a tumble in quite a while but when I do something, I don’t do it by halves.

I run most mornings; I get up at 5:45am, change into normal running clothes, pop the ear buds in my ears and off I go.  In summer I am in my element, running on the Anniversary Trail and feeling at one with nature.  During the winter months, however, I have to endure the dark and lonely streets… running only the well-lit main thoroughfares because evil walks amongst us, and with my music so low it is neither a distraction to me nor does it hinder my ability to hear.  This can sometimes make me appear quite paranoid and crazy.  The fossicking of birds as they go about their breakfasts and scuttering of possums returning to their nests or dreys cause me to tense in alarm and constantly look over my shoulder and behind me. 

Running in the dark of winter comes with a separate set of challenges.  Even the well-lit streets have dark patches where I can’t see the path clearly and depth perception is almost non-existent.  In these dark places, I slow to a jog or even a walk, lest I trip over or sprain an ankle, and I find I am quite anxious during my morning runs. Autumnal leaves also hide raised pavement, sticks and other detritus that can otherwise cause a fall and make me question the sanity of these early morning jaunts.  As Spring has recently taken hold, sunrise is arriving earlier however, it’s not quite light enough to run on the track just yet so I am still running the streets and looking forward to next month when I can resume my easy lope along the Anniversary trail. 

On this, the day of my last spill, it was 6.40am and I was running in full light, on my return trip back home.  I was running on a main arterial road and the traffic lights up ahead were red, so there was a sea of taillights in the long waiting line of traffic before me.  It was quite mild for this early in Spring, but it was really windy.  Despite the blustery conditions, I felt good.  My asthma was playing nice and my allergies were settled.  I felt like I was running easily so I decided to pick up the pace and sprint as fast as I could to the traffic lights at the corner to boost my heart rate and calorie burn; something I did often.  This would have been fine had Mother Nature not been bored shitless and decided to mix shit up a little.  Whilst I was sprinting, my breath puffing in front of me like vapour and leaves swirling behind me in my slipstream, a giant gust of wind blustered against me and blew a large branch from the front garden I was passing across my path.  The branch blew between my ankles mid stride and because I was sprinting, a nanosecond later I was airborne and swimming in air. Holy Mother of Murgatroyd!!!

My memory plays the whole scenario back in slow motion; the thwack of the branch on my ankle, the realisation that I am falling, the windmilling of my arms and giant, leaping strides as I try to regain my footing and balance, followed by the inevitable landing, which caught in my own speed momentum, propelled me across the path.  I’m sure the people in their cars would have seen something quite different.  Their visual would have been a crazy woman running at pace with a face set in sheer determination, suddenly appear to fly… then actually try to fly with arms flapping and legs taking giant leaping strides, then bounce on the pavement, before sliding in a flurry of arms and legs like a fat sea lion tobogganing across ice, ending sprawled across the path.

My glasses flew off my face and bounced along the path and I felt the burn in my hands immediately but the biggest sensation warring with the physical pain was humiliation.  In one swift movement I leapt from sprawled across the pavement into a crouch, like a surfer on the crest of a wave.  I then hobbled and stumbled like a drunkard around the corner and down the street, away from the cars whose occupants were surely laughing so hard they eyes were leaking.  I retreated to the safety of a nearby park to quietly sit on a park bench for a moment to slow my breathing and calm my jangled nerves and shaking limbs. I looked at my hands and noted my left hand had two meaty, chunky pieces dangling that were full of dirt and the right hand had the skin grazed clean off.  My forearm was smarting and so was my thigh, so I hurried home like a broken lump because I can’t teleport.

In the privacy of my bathroom, I quietly removed my clothes to assess the damage.  Lordy, my right thigh was also bruised and scraped (from the bounce and slide) and my right shoulder was sending screaming messages all up my neck and down my back.  I filled a bath and climbed in against my better judgement, knowing that this was going to make my whole-body sear in pain.  Well roll me over and call me shorty, I got through those first moments without even yelping.  I did hiss my breath in through clenched teeth though; my hands throbbing and burning and my brain firing all manner of expletives at me.  I had to cut out the meaty chunks in my left palm because I couldn’t remove the dirt.  Just the thought of that should make your nether regions tingle.

Miss Marvellous ventured down the stairs and find me trying to dress for the day with fucked up hands and a very dead shoulder, looking for all intents and purposes like a nonagenarian.  It was all I could do not to sit on the ground and cry like a toddler. She bandaged my weeping hands, so they didn’t stick to everything at the office and weep blood everywhere, and I ventured into the office to explain my stupidity and the artful injury.  This is what happens when you turn 50, your usual routine throws stupid shit at you and one simple fall can result in all manner of ouches.  Imagine if I was actually 90?!?!?!!!  I would have required a hip replacement and possible organ replacement.

The last time I tried this trick was about 11 years ago and around the same time of year.  During that display of gifted calisthenics, I took a whole patch of skin off my stomach, off the V-dub bonnet (mons pubis??) and forearm and almost tore one of my nipples off so I guess I should be grateful that I contained the injuries to my extremities and not my undercarriage. Sigh!