Prat Falls

“Running is dangerous,” a plumptious colleague opined as she thoughtfully selected another chocolate from the open box and glided from the office to avoid further discussion.

“So are blocked arteries, “I mutter spitefully, but she has a point.

It’s not the minor indignities such as the blackened or missing toe nails, or even the unsightly blisters, it’s the big prat falls that really hurt.  The ones that happen when you’re long distance running, and inevitably a long way from home.

At best you can hope to be running with a friend when it happens.  At worst you can then wait to have the indignity recalled at any available opportunity, and to any available audience.   The most painful injuries, by some cruel slight of fate, visually look the most comical when they happen, and so provide the best fodder for that running ‘buddy’ you are so lucky to train with, who turns out to be appearing at the Edinburgh Festival that year.

Take the time I managed to knee cap myself whilst out running with a friend.  Ok, so I should have eaten a proper lunch before setting out after work, but I still maintain that the path was uneven.  So, I trip, fail to put my hands out in time and crack both knee caps on the path.  A slow motion prat fall. Happy to oblige.

I’m fortunate enough on this occasion to be running with a First Aid goddess, and as she sits me up and puts my head between my knees to combat my feeling of faintness, I remark, “Thank goodness I missed that huge muddy puddle”.  At least I think that’s what I said, and I say it again, apparently as I come round from my faint, and sit up, having in the interim, launched myself backwards into said muddy mire.  The pain from my knees was nothing in comparison to the pain felt - walking – back to where we had started the run; work carpark.  Naturally a big audience would be needed for this photo finish – plastered like a chocolate digestive biscuit, with gunk dripping from my pony tail.  Strange how many pedestrians seemed to be out that day, and lovely to see so many colleagues returning to the carpark after working late that particular night.

So you would think that this particular experience would have made me a safer runner -more alert, more nourished, at least more bouncy.  Not a bit of it.

Like a child bidding for a parent’s attention, I now boast a whole catalogue of prat falls to add to my repertoire.   The best ones now seem to be saved for lone running occasions, but always when wearing white t-shirts, and always when muddy paths and rambling parties are on hand to get involved.  I like to alternate the decision to bash both knees or just one and now keep a ready supply of ice bags in the freezer for self-medication afterwards.

 Running in ‘flow’ for me, usually means zoning out to the point that I forget to look to see where my feet are going.  I have, however, mastered the ability to return home from these falls past fellow runners or ramblers, pretending that my coating of mud, blood, or both, is of no consequence.  I prefer to close my front door before shedding tears of pain or shame and examining my bruises.

I do learn from my mistakes though, and feel heartened that my quick thinking on mile 8 of my recent trail path running fall prevented any further knee injury and saw me falling in style with both hands out to break my descent.  Two trips to Casualty, a tetanus injection, stitches and antibiotics for an infected hand wound, yes, but at least I can still get my trainers on and the mud washed out of my shirt easily with this new stain remover I’ve purchased.

 You do receive the best boxes of chocolates when you’re a patient and I’m in free fall training to become a plumptious prat. Danger?  What sort of soft centre is that?