No bloody picture to view, no bruises across my chest, nothing physical left over from the fall of April 2025. The after effects, however, remain.
Tomorrow marks seven weeks since I fell on a trail in Oceanside, CA. As mentioned, physically I'm fine. My running volume has dropped considerably, my enthusiasm even more, and I'm not sure why. Except that I do know why: I'm scared and feeling very vulnerable.
As much as I would like to say that the falling trail was rocky, craggy, rooty, and highly technical, it was none of those. I just hit an uneven spot and my old age/too fat lack of response and/or lack of flexibility couldn't keep me up. I tried, couldn't get the job done. THAT was checkbox number one.
Less that a week later I was in Coeur d'Alene, one of my favorite places to be, and to run. On my arrival, I stayed safe and ran the Spokane River trail: asphalt, well maintained. On day 2, I took the River trail into town and up onto Tubbs Hill, a 2 1/2 mile trail loop around the Hill. Five minutes in, I turned back. Chickened out. THAT was checkbox number two.
The final box was checked this past weekend near Westcliffe. The plan was to head up the road from the cabin in which we were staying and head to Rainbow Something trail, expecting it would be beautiful. The hill from the cabin up the road was moderately short, but fairly steep. Less than an 1/8th of a mile up, I turned around. THAT was checkbox number three.
Monday, after returning home, Vulnerable, chicken me, officially withdrew from the Mont Blanc 23k. Too much. Maybe there'll be another time.
Run on.
