When I go running, my only real concerns are things like “am I hitting my minutes-per-mile goals?” or “shit, I’m tired. I need to push a bit here”. I never worry about getting hit by a car.
That changed today.
(Don’t worry — I’m totally fine)
So you know how when you’re at a four-way stop, you do that whole “whose turn is it?” tango when you get there at the same time as other cars? There were two cars doing then when I ran across the crosswalk.
One of them got frustrated and did the whole “fuck it, it’s my turn” thing we all do and hit the gas. It was then that I realized he wasn’t looking ahead and had no clue I was in front of me.
Now, it’s like broad daylight and I’m a nearly 6-foot grown man with a bright red shirt and bright orange shoes running across the street, but when you’re not looking…you’re not looking. So I kick into another gear.
But shit, cars are faster than you think in moments like that. As I was almost through the crosswalk (everything I have typed at this point happened within like 3-4 seconds), I realized I wasn’t going to make it.
So instead of staying on the ground and risking a broken leg (or getting caught under the car), I jumped up and it was like one of those scenes you see in a movie.
The car clipped my upper thigh, I slid up onto the hood, and got thrown into the air. Did a nice little helicopter and landed partly on the sidewalk and partly on the median grass strip next to someone’s lawn.
“Am I dead?”
Nah. Somehow, I was fine. I quickly took stock of myself. Didn’t hit my head. Didn’t have any broken bones. Couple scrapes on my arm, hand, and side…but nothing major.
(Maybe I’m David Dunn?)
So I get up ready to yell at the jackass that hit me and out of the car that hit me comes…my friend!
Poor guy (yes, I realize I’m saying poor guy about the dude who just hit me) was more shook that I was.
“NICK! OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK? DO YOU NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL?!? I’M SO SO SO SORRY!!”
Lunatic that I am, I just smiled and was like “Dude, I’m ok! I promise.”
He didn’t seem to believe me, but he also didn’t see any bones sticking out of me. Neither of us really knew what to do at that point, so I just gave him a hug and told him not to worry (meanwhile, the lady he was doing the 4-way stop tango with was looking on not knowing what was going on).
After he tried to talk me into going to the doctor once more, I assured him I was ok and continued on my run (cranked out another 3 miles at a 7:05 pace too). And yes, my wife thinks I’m insane.
My kids have had a morbid curiosity about the story all day and have asked me to tell them the story again like 10 times. My oldest (the sweet one) keeps giving me hugs and telling me he feels bad for me. My youngest (the rascal) has been asking me about the car that “runned me over” and when we were out picking up dinner kept asking me “daddy, is that the car that runned you over?”.
My buddy has texted me no less than 15 times to make sure I’m ok (I honestly feel worse for him than I do for myself at this point).
Eight hours later, I still feel fine and only have the few scrapes I mentioned. Definitely escaped a close one and was honestly pretty lucky I thought quickly enough to jump. Scary day, but looking forward to laughing about it over drinks with my friend.
Anyway, I think I’ll be sticking to the high school track a lot more from now on.
Those of you who have been keeping up with posts know I like to end with a song, so for today…I’ll end with how I’m feeling: fine, but Skinned.
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I was rooting for the car