shit happens

shit happens

Bounding out of work (I can’t think of a time I’ve bounded into work).  Sun still shining.  There’s still a warm, shiny evening to enjoy.  The faster I run the more of it there will be (when I get home).  I crank up the volume on my earphones.  Loud music gives my running a boost.  Combining psychologically with my bright new Adidas Ultra Boosts.  Running fast and having fun.

At Southwark Bridge there are a number of options.  Option 1: Left, crossing over the River Thames to Option 1A: the busy Southbank Thames Path, or Option 1B: the quieter but less scenic back roads or Option 2: stay north of the river in the Embankment.  (There’s actually a lot more options but listing them all would make for a dull post).

Decision time? 3 options.  3 different ways to travel to the same destination, all delivering the same outcome.  In theory.  On such small routine decisions our fate is decided.  Option 3.  I choose to stay north as it’s a longer run to Waterloo and whilst it’s busy the pavements are wider providing lots of space to run fast whilst enjoying the sun and postcard London.

It’s busy.  I feel like I’ve turned the corner with my running. I’m running faster, more freely, less painfully.  I’m on the right of the pavement, near the kerb, a tourist steps right, right into my path.  It happens quickly but it’s fine I’ve anticipated this.  Cycling in London makes you anticipate.  I hadn’t anticipated putting half a foot on the kerb and half a foot on nothing.  I don’t go down completely, a desperate stumble, a slow motion stumble so I hear the crack from my ankle clearly.  This is going to hurt.  The stumbling is over, I’m running again.  No I’m not.  It’s no good.  I have to stop.  I should have gone south taken Option 1B.

Holding on to the nearest wall, looking at the sparkling Thames – there aren’t many days a year that it looks this blue and sparkling, looking down at my ankle watching it balloon. Visibly.  Off course I try to run on it, run it off. Run to Waterloo before it gets really bad.  I’m not running this 1 off.  The reality is that I limp slowly, painfully from Blackfriars Bridge to Waterloo Station.  Blackfriars Bridge to Waterloo Station is longer than you think, especially on 1 leg.  In retrospect hailing a black cab would’ve been the sensible option but I’m not thinking straight.  I’m thinking about making a positive from a negative, I’m thinking about choices, hindsight and fate.  Why didn’t I go South?  This wouldn’t have happened if I’d gone south.  But that’s something I’ll never know.

Footnote: shit happens.

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