Your girl went for a walk Thursday night. We were at the cabin with C, having our visit, it was pouring, and I felt kind of bummed because I wouldn't get 10k steps for the first time in like 224 days or something. Damn.
C offered to go for a walk with me but I felt it was not worth the doing. I needed 2k steps which was basically a walk to the end of the long road and back.
She went to bed, the others were chilling here and I noticed it had stopped raining. Well. It's 10:30pm. I'm going.
So I did.
And I was listening to Noah Kahan's new album and the song Haircut was ringing through my ears. I stepped in puddles. They were all cute and shallow. I feared no little splashes. I was doing this. I'm getting in these steps.
Down to the mailbox and back, I'm thinking about all the poetry Kahan's able to write that are meaningful mostly to him but become universal somehow. American Cars is one of those songs. I've never really connected with his music, but on this album I'm hearing his confessions and it is all blowing me away. How do you dig this deep, be this personal, how?
The title track, The Great Divide, hitting me in the feels.
Another puddle. I'm headed back to the cabin. Another puddle.
Another puddle, but it isn't a puddle. It's a pothole.
After what I can only describe as me flailing cartoon character-esque, with arms and legs wildly spinning in an attempt to not fall.
Fuck. I landed.
I ate shit with my face on the side of the road.
Okay, get up. Laughing at myself like "I'm really glad no one saw this..." Get up.
Only I can't get up? I can't stand up. I can't push myself up. My left knee is still a mess from the treadmill. My right knee is now screaming at me. Both the palms of my hands are screaming at me. I flop over onto my side.
Oh shit, I can't get up? What the actual fuck? You're strong enough to get up from a prone position on the ground? Did you break something? Is your leg broken? What is the major malfunction here?
There's nothing to put my hands on to push myself up onto. Sand in the cuts, mud and water, I feel mud on my face, in my hair, the side of my head. In my ear?
Another attempt or two and I'm like alright. Time to Phone a Friend and get some help.
I call Carrie, I call Linda. Note, I did not call Doug because he sometimes doesn't answer the phone even if it is me.
I asked for help and they came running.
Their reaction upon seeing me to me was comical. But they were both anxious. "Oh, Chris."
I said I had mud on my face, C said "that's not mud."
And it indeed was not mud.
They got me up into the car, up to the bathroom, got my clothes off, down into the laundry. I grabbed a shirt an my yoga pants from my bag. We got me cleaned up.
Repeatedly, they asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said no. I didn't feel like anything was broken? I knew I was going to be bruised up. They were worried I had a head injury, needed some concussion protocol, tests, something. But honestly, I think I knew this was not as bad as it looked, or, was going to look.
I was terribly disappointed because I knew this was going to fuck up all the photos of this weekend. I wanted pictures with C. Pictures with my sister. With Jess who was the Best Mate on M's side for her.
Here we are, in the one time we're all going to be super cute and I'm going to be sporting a shiner of epic proportions.
Pictures are below, but, I'm putting a large amount of space between these words and the images, just in case you do not want to scroll all the way down and see them. If you're sensitive or squeamish, you'll want to not scroll beyond here. First picture is right after the incident, second is the following day.
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