My run this morning was pretty typical - out the door, up the hill, gosh it's chilly today, past the CVS, ouch - wind in the face, hey there's Starbucks..wish I could run and drink coffee at the same time, wave at the night security guard at the Apple Store, turn the corner back to the main road, hello to the random guy running in the opposite direction who I always pass at this exact point in my run, any new cars in the used car dealership?, look behind me to see if anyone is coming, SPLAT...and I'm on the ground.
I barely ever fall when I walk - I can ride a bike without tipping over - I can't remember the last time I tripped on stairs - I convincingly balance my way through 2 or 3 weekly yoga sessions (even when I have to stand next to that guy who makes distracting grunting noises and smells funny) but when I run, any of the following could happen (have happened):
*Falling - I fall mid-run probably once a month on average - no, I don't trip on anything, I just fall. It's a little embarrassing but it doesn't usually hurt.
*Getting hit by random objects - I was once hit by a flying trashcan as the trashcarrier was throwing it back after dumping the contents into the garbage truck. It didn't hurt....much. At least it was empty.
*Getting caught - One time I ran too close to a gate in front of a row house and my sweatshirt sleeve got caught on the gate door. The door swung open and hit me in the face. (I know it doesn't make sense logistically but, to be honest, the whole thing is a blur and this was the only way I could account for finding myself standing in a daze in the middle of the sidewalk with a hole in the sleeve of my sweatshirt and a face full of gate). That did hurt.
It's not a matter of balance or lack of coordination - I fall, get hit by trashcans, get caught on fences, and tend to lack coordination in general when I run merely because I'm constantly looking behind me. That's right, I live in a constant fear of being passed.
How would one develop such a strange and irrational fear? Take a step back with me to the fall/almost winter of 1995.
It's an early Saturday morning in a high school natatorium (aka indoor swimming pool). Can you smell the chlorine in the air? It's the Wabash River Conference (WRC) swimming tournament and the 200 freestyle is about to begin.
Being a swimmer was part of my identity in high school (and we all know how important identity is in high school) but I had a love/hate relationship with the sport.
I loved the practices and the hours spent swimming laps with my teammates - swim swim swim (turn) swim swim swim (turn) swim swim swim (turn). We were a small but dedicated group of girls, most of whom had been swimming together since we were 4 or 5 years old - bonding over pre-meet spaghetti dinners, hours of practice and an overall feeling that swimming was wholly under-appreciated by the school athletic department and by our peers (as was our yearly winning record, thank you very much).
The hate part came on the days of swimming meets....some people get excited by the anticipation of competition but I just remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when it was time to step up to the block and start a race. I believe it all stemmed back to being 5 years old and getting disqualified at a summer swimming meet because I somehow inexplicably managed to unknowingly swim underneath a lane line and swim 1/2 the race practically on top of the girl in the next lane. I don't think I actually knew what "disqualified" meant at the time, but in my 5 year old mind it was a scary, scary word and it meant that I didn't get a pretty ribbon to put in my scrapbook for completing the race. I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and swimming meets were never fun again.
Anyway, back to 1995 - it was my junior year and I was favored to win the 200 yard freestyle at the conference tournament. Judging by who was entered in the event and the times everyone they turned in up to that point in the season, the race appeared to be mine. As the buzzer went off and the race began I dove off the block with the pit of my stomach feeling in overdrive. I was in first place and remained in that position through the first lap, the second, the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh...but then came lap 8 (the last lap of the race). At that point the swimmer next to me in lane 4 (whose name I remember but will not reveal...although I do have to share that she was from Seeger High School because that simple fact will add a very real sense of tragedy to the story for anyone from the greater Attica area) suddenly and unexpectedly made her move.
I can still see that last lap in it's entirety - it's just the two of us swimming, everything is in slow motion and I'm pretty sure the music from Rocky is playing in the background (for her, not for me). In my memory it kind of looks like a "Hoosiers" moment, as the underdog comes from behind to defeat the unsuspecting favorite...unless, of course, you are the unsuspecting favorite, in which case it kind of sucked.
She breezed past me effortlessly (well, it looked effortless from my lane) and won the conference title (my title) in the 200 freestyle (my race).
I climbed out of the pool feeling a bit like the 6 year old Faith who didn't get her pretty ribbon.
So, in conclusion (and on the off chance you didn’t completely follow my always logical train of thought):
I fell while running this morning at the corner of Veich and Wilson because I was looking back to see if anyone was running behind me out of an irrational and uncontrollable fear of being passed, a fear stemming from having been passed on the last lap of the 200 yard freestyle (a race I was supposed to win - my race) 14 years ago by a girl from Seeger High School, who shall remain nameless.
It makes sense to me and I believe the swimmer in question owes me an apology for this morning's fall....as she does for all of my running falls... and for the trashcan and gate incidences as well.
The swimming official who made the disqualification call when I was six probably owes me an apology too (once I figure out which of my adult issues stems from that particular incident).
I barely ever fall when I walk - I can ride a bike without tipping over - I can't remember the last time I tripped on stairs - I convincingly balance my way through 2 or 3 weekly yoga sessions (even when I have to stand next to that guy who makes distracting grunting noises and smells funny) but when I run, any of the following could happen (have happened):
*Falling - I fall mid-run probably once a month on average - no, I don't trip on anything, I just fall. It's a little embarrassing but it doesn't usually hurt.
*Getting hit by random objects - I was once hit by a flying trashcan as the trashcarrier was throwing it back after dumping the contents into the garbage truck. It didn't hurt....much. At least it was empty.
*Getting caught - One time I ran too close to a gate in front of a row house and my sweatshirt sleeve got caught on the gate door. The door swung open and hit me in the face. (I know it doesn't make sense logistically but, to be honest, the whole thing is a blur and this was the only way I could account for finding myself standing in a daze in the middle of the sidewalk with a hole in the sleeve of my sweatshirt and a face full of gate). That did hurt.
It's not a matter of balance or lack of coordination - I fall, get hit by trashcans, get caught on fences, and tend to lack coordination in general when I run merely because I'm constantly looking behind me. That's right, I live in a constant fear of being passed.
How would one develop such a strange and irrational fear? Take a step back with me to the fall/almost winter of 1995.
It's an early Saturday morning in a high school natatorium (aka indoor swimming pool). Can you smell the chlorine in the air? It's the Wabash River Conference (WRC) swimming tournament and the 200 freestyle is about to begin.
Being a swimmer was part of my identity in high school (and we all know how important identity is in high school) but I had a love/hate relationship with the sport.
I loved the practices and the hours spent swimming laps with my teammates - swim swim swim (turn) swim swim swim (turn) swim swim swim (turn). We were a small but dedicated group of girls, most of whom had been swimming together since we were 4 or 5 years old - bonding over pre-meet spaghetti dinners, hours of practice and an overall feeling that swimming was wholly under-appreciated by the school athletic department and by our peers (as was our yearly winning record, thank you very much).
The hate part came on the days of swimming meets....some people get excited by the anticipation of competition but I just remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when it was time to step up to the block and start a race. I believe it all stemmed back to being 5 years old and getting disqualified at a summer swimming meet because I somehow inexplicably managed to unknowingly swim underneath a lane line and swim 1/2 the race practically on top of the girl in the next lane. I don't think I actually knew what "disqualified" meant at the time, but in my 5 year old mind it was a scary, scary word and it meant that I didn't get a pretty ribbon to put in my scrapbook for completing the race. I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and swimming meets were never fun again.
Anyway, back to 1995 - it was my junior year and I was favored to win the 200 yard freestyle at the conference tournament. Judging by who was entered in the event and the times everyone they turned in up to that point in the season, the race appeared to be mine. As the buzzer went off and the race began I dove off the block with the pit of my stomach feeling in overdrive. I was in first place and remained in that position through the first lap, the second, the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh...but then came lap 8 (the last lap of the race). At that point the swimmer next to me in lane 4 (whose name I remember but will not reveal...although I do have to share that she was from Seeger High School because that simple fact will add a very real sense of tragedy to the story for anyone from the greater Attica area) suddenly and unexpectedly made her move.
I can still see that last lap in it's entirety - it's just the two of us swimming, everything is in slow motion and I'm pretty sure the music from Rocky is playing in the background (for her, not for me). In my memory it kind of looks like a "Hoosiers" moment, as the underdog comes from behind to defeat the unsuspecting favorite...unless, of course, you are the unsuspecting favorite, in which case it kind of sucked.
She breezed past me effortlessly (well, it looked effortless from my lane) and won the conference title (my title) in the 200 freestyle (my race).
I climbed out of the pool feeling a bit like the 6 year old Faith who didn't get her pretty ribbon.
So, in conclusion (and on the off chance you didn’t completely follow my always logical train of thought):
I fell while running this morning at the corner of Veich and Wilson because I was looking back to see if anyone was running behind me out of an irrational and uncontrollable fear of being passed, a fear stemming from having been passed on the last lap of the 200 yard freestyle (a race I was supposed to win - my race) 14 years ago by a girl from Seeger High School, who shall remain nameless.
It makes sense to me and I believe the swimmer in question owes me an apology for this morning's fall....as she does for all of my running falls... and for the trashcan and gate incidences as well.
The swimming official who made the disqualification call when I was six probably owes me an apology too (once I figure out which of my adult issues stems from that particular incident).
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