The Runner's Walk of Shame

After a long, fun weekend away on the Jersey shore that did not include any running (or any Snooki-like scenarios), I decided I needed to "get back on the horse" so to speak and get my butt out for a nice(?) 2-mile run this morning.  Lacking the motivation, like last week, I turned to a friend who sent me a link to 101 Kicks in the Butt [1], an article that gives you 101 reasons TO run; since we know there are so many reasons NOT to run...

After reading the article and generally feeling guilty about not running this weekend, I geared up and went out for a run.  Literally less that one song on my mp3 player in, my run came to an abrupt halt.  (yeah, that's right - less than three minutes into the run!)... I tripped on the sidewalk.  One of those extremely dramatic flying-through-the-air moments when you know that anyone who saw it would probably rate you a 9.0 (out of 10) for style, but 1.0 for grace... One of those moments where all at once I knew my run had come to an end for the day. (and maybe the week? forever???)

I sat up (That's right - I somehow ended up completely sprawled out on the sidewalk, face down) and realized my hands were bleeding, my knee was dripping blood, and my shoulder was completely scraped up.  The one passerby who saw it all happen was concerned and asked me if I was OK.  I told him I was OK, stood up, and walked home defeated.  What I WANTED to tell him was NO! I'm not OK! I'm an unathletic klutz who apparently can't navigate a SIDEWALK!

I know that people usually talk about the "walk of shame" after a night of drinking when you end up waking up at a near-stranger's apartment and having to walk home, dressed to the nines in your clothes from last night but feeling the effects of a VERY serious hangover... but I think there's also a "runner's walk of shame" - and that's exactly what I experienced today.

"A runner's walk of shame" is easier in that you are probably not wearing the high-heeled stillettos from last night, but it's just as embarassing.  With blood dripping down your near-sweaty body --  dressed in your finest running shorts, work-out tee, and running sneakers (there's no mistaking you for an average person) -- you stagger home gaining stares of pity from strangers and regretting that last second of running when you should have picked your foot up just a centimenter more.  (Yes, I even turn to the metric system in this case)  Then you get home, much like other walks of shame, and you need to spend time cleaning yourself up, dealing with feelings of shame and regret, and most definitely calling a good friend to cry/vent/talk about it. 

My walk of shame also consisted of an internal battle of what I should do next: bandage it all up and continue running? Accept that I had failed for the day and try again tomorrow? Give up running all together; afterall, I clearly don't have the coordination to be an athlete..?

All I can say today is that I'm not going back to run today.  Tomorrow will be another battle - but for today I'm going to sit home, mope about my hands, knee, and shoulder that are all stinging like CRAZY right now... and try and convince myself this happens to the best of them and I should get out there again tomorrow.  ::SIGH::  Couldn't it just be easy?!?!