Wednesday, March 07, 2012


Last week I fell down these stairs at my apartment and slid down three steps on my shins. My legs got pinned between me and the staircase and as I slid painfully down the narrow, wood stairwell with my ankles twisted underneath me I thought, "Oh no! My running career!"

Because that is what is keeping me from being a great runner. Falling down the steps. If it weren't for that, Boston, y'all!

Minus some minor swelling and tenderness, I was totally fine. Which is the real bitch of the whole thing.

Not that I wanted to be hurt, but why is it you can tumble down some steps and not have a single bruise to show for your pain and humiliation, but you can end up with a giant bruise on your arm or somewhere and have no idea where it came from. Like the incident involved in actual bruising was so inconsequential you can't even remember it, but BAM, fall down the steps and nothing.

If there is a God and I get to heaven I'm going to ask him what kinda horseshit this is.

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