The Hand of Fate

Knocked me right down

No joke. The first version of this newsletter post began with the following paragraph:

Right around the time this newsletter hits your inbox, I’ll be putting the finishing touches on marathon training with my final long run. It’s going to be a challenge, but I’m not overly concerned about getting it done. Short of suffering a catastrophic injury (knocks on world’s largest block of wood), there aren’t many outcomes that could derail such an incredibly successful training cycle.  

Turns out, it’s a really bad idea to tempt fate. It also appears that the world’s largest block of wood didn’t do anything to cushion my fall after slipping on the world’s smallest patch of mud barely a third of the way into that 21-mile run.  

So, there I was, completely airborne yet oddly perpendicular like Daffy Duck slipping on a banana peel. When I landed, the entire left side of my body from ankle to shoulder came crashing back to earth with a brutalist thud. All of my training and hard work flashed before my eyes. As Daffy would say, “Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” 

First, I stopped my watch because of course I did. Then I picked myself off the unforgiving asphalt, yelled an expletive or two, and realized pretty quickly that my legs were basically fine despite being caked in mud and blood. I may have looked like a mess, but I was seven miles from home and needed to get back somehow. 

‘Tis only a flesh wound.

What the hell, I figured, let’s see what happens. What happened is that I finished the run, all 21 miles with 14 of those at marathon race pace, and never looked back. You can say that’s insane and I wouldn't argue with you. I’m willing to bet many of you reading this are thinking you would have done the exact same thing because you’re a runner too. 

Anyway, at some point it further dawned on me that A) my left elbow had taken the brunt of the fall and B) it was gonna hurt like crazy when the adrenaline wore off and I stopped running. Both of those predictions turned out to be true, by the way. 

I’m going to see the doctor this morning and I won’t tempt fate again by hazarding a diagnosis. All I can say is that my race is in nine days and I don’t intend to miss it. The bummer is that I had a couple of solid training pieces under development that will have to wait until after I figure out what’s wrong with my elbow. (I’m basically a one-armed typist at the moment.) 

For all of you who have been following this newsletter’s journey from the beginning, I want you to know that I’ll be fine. I’m battered, bruised, and annoyed with myself, but this too shall pass. For those of you who are new to these parts, this isn’t the first time I’ve crash landed in pursuit of athletic nirvana, and it probably won’t be the last. 

You can do anything with reusable bags.

Let’s close with one of my favorite Hunter S. Thompson quotes. 

“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion.”