For those who have fallen

by Lesley on October 12, 2012 · 7 comments

in lessons learned,running

It finally happened.

After six years of early morning runs, I did the thing I’ve been dreading.

I fell. Hard.

It’s quite the miracle I haven’t fallen before this point. As a child I visited the emergency room multiple times due to freak tripping accidents.

First grade: Running in the garage, slipping on beach bag sand, splitting open my chin.

Second grade: Running in the cabin with ski boots on, slipping on the tile, burning my hand on the pot bellied stove.

Fourth grade: Running lines during the first day of tennis camp, tripping, and fracturing my elbow.

Sixth grade: Running through the house, tripping on a step, breaking my arm in two places.

It is mystifying I decided to take up running based on such a track record.

There was no warning, no trying to catch myself. I saw the tree root and thought I’d hopped over it high enough, but instead I went straight down hard on my hip and ribs and knees—bruising and bleeding on impact. It was that kind of fall that rips the breath from your lungs and reminds you of your humanness.

After crying for a few minutes and examining my injuries, I determined a trip to the Emergency Room wouldn’t be necessary this time around, but a hot shower certainly would be. I limped home with Sharon’s help, discussing our worthless head lamps and making plans for the following night.

It’s a humbling moment to fall as an adult. Toddlers fall daily, and they get right back up and keep going. But, adults? We might trip up here and there, but our big falls become fewer and far between. When they do happen, they are shocking and painful, embarrassing perhaps.  And, the ramifications last. The bruising takes awhile to heal, the scabs become irritated and raw. I didn’t even know how badly I hurt until waking up the next morning—my back, neck and arm muscles holding soreness I didn’t earn from lifting weights.

I don’t know when you had your last big fall. Maybe it was a literal, physical fall like mine, or maybe it was something like a job loss, home loss, family loss, health loss. Either way, I know the pain can be excruciating. The shock of such a fall, and the time it takes to recover, makes us feel HUMAN in a way we don’t recognize.

If you’ve fallen, and you’re still picking up the pieces, I just want you to know I’ve been there. Healing takes time. You’re not alone.

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6 comments
Laura Bennet
Laura Bennet

I'm so sorry! Yes, I can relate. This summer I somehow missed the two bottom steps on our staircase. Everything I was carrying, hangers, nail polish and a folding chair went flying, and I sprained my ankle. I love the way you related your feelings about our humanness--that is so very true. In addition, I hadn't thought about falling in the sense of losses. Again, a wise and helpful correlation. Thanks for be willing to share!

Lesley
Lesley

Laura-- It really does stink! I'm glad to have someone who relates. Jonathan--So, it's okay I'm not helping do landscaping this weekend? :) Claire-- Awwww, shucks. Clare--Oh, no! That sounds terrible! :( You are brave for telling the story here.

Clare
Clare

I took a fall this past spring in Carmel. In broad daylight. In heels and a dress with my boss and coworker next to me. Let's just say it wasn't one of my finer moments in life. It did teach me that I am able to shake things off, laugh at myself and you're absolutely correct, it reminded me I am human. And humans trip up every now and then.

Claire Baganz Bone
Claire Baganz Bone

The fact that you made a fall sound so beautiful is a testament to how amazing you are.

Jonathan
Jonathan

Lesley, You are freaking tough. Jonathan

Laura Doyle
Laura Doyle

I don't know why.. but this post made me tear up. Hate falling while running.

Trackbacks

  1. […] Thankful for: My husband’s hard work this weekend on our front yard landscaping. It’s not quite done yet, but boy has it already made a huge difference in curb appeal. I got out of manual labor thanks to my big fall. […]