This morning, for the first time in my 8 or so years or running, I fell for the first time. I didn't see a crack on the sidewalk so at around mile 4 one my feet got stuck and I fell. Hard. I saw a lot of people running, but sadly when I fell there was nobody around. I stayed on the ground for a couple of seconds but then I got up. I could tell my knee and my hand were scratched, and they hurt, so I was trying to decide what to do. I was limping a bit, but I knew Lionel was in physical therapy and could not come get me then. So I decided to see if I could run. As it turns out, I could. So I kept running and finished my 8 mile run. I knew the next day will be rough, but it would be rough even if I had not run.
Falling was not fun, but getting up and continuing to run was quite the symbolic moment because such is life.
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