You know, sometimes I'm pretty sure the universe is sitting around, langorously blowing smoke rings, and looking down on me saying "really, that girl is getting too full of herself. Let's remind her of exactly who is in charge".
Last Friday was an incredibly beautiful spring day here; warm without being too hot, sunny and bright, a silky cool breeze to keep everything in motion. With the Mister's aunt in the hospital, my evenings have been taken up the past week, and I had found no time for a run for ages. I was bound and determined that I was going running Friday morning, a good run too; no shortcuts, no slacking, no excuses. And lo and behold, I found myself actually enjoying that run! I couldn't believe it: I wasn't gasping for breath! My feet weighed their regular amount, no added lead! My hip joints were not threatening to go into business for themselves!! This wasn't so bad after all!!
Just as I came to the last few hundred yards before home, and I marvelled at my incredible self, my toe hit a bit of sidewalk that was sticking up, and I found myself body surfing the pavement. I went down like a runaway elevator. My knees took the brunt of it, breaking my fall with skin and bone, and then my hands and elbows wanted in on the party, and finally, my generous belly.
Picture it: a chubby, sweaty middle-aged woman rolling around on the sidewalk in the middle of the morning, wearing running shoes and bellowing obscenities at top volume. There didn't seem to be anyone around to witness my performance, but I'm pretty sure that even if there had been, they'd have kept out of sight.
I picked myself up, examined the damage with as much dignity as I could muster, and limped home with blood dripping down my legs. Luckily it wasn't far. The injuries were confined mostly to my knees, which were shredded, and a bit of wear on my hands and elbows. Bandaids were administered, and I walked with care for the rest of the day, but mostly, I was okay.
The next afternoon, the Mister and I had to go to a cocktail party. I went home after work and got changed to go, and put on a skirt, as the friction of pants on my knees was unpleasant. When we were in the car on the way to the party, the Mister asked if I was considering standing for the duration of the party. When I asked why, he glanced at my skirt, which had ridden up enough when I sat down to reveal my grubby, bloody bandaged knees. Very elegant. So I did stand up for the entire party, thank you.
Apparently, pride really DOES go before a fall.
Thanks, universe, for so eloquently and graphically teaching me that lesson.
I got it.