Wednesday, January 5, 2011

STIG-F*CKIN-MATA!1! (Caution!1! There WILL Be Blood!1!)

I just got back from what I had hoped would be an uneventful 5:00 a.m. run but — PROBABLY NOT A SPOILER ALERT AT THIS POINT GIVEN THIS POST'S TITLE!1! —was not because, at exactly the 5.3-mile mark (according to MapMyRun), I tripped and went @$$-over-teakettle onto the pavement. The most visible damage was this:

Whew! Fortunately NOT my ... O, let's just say "loving" hand. O wait! YES IT IS!1! [Sounds of quiet weeping] 

It's was not even clear to me originally where the bleeding was coming from, but it turns out it is from the middle of the thumb — the thumb being, of course, the pivotal digit of all in Teh Loving Hand. (Without the proper grip, it's just not love. This hand is totally useless to me now.)

Here's what happened at mile 5.3: I had on my headlamp and I saw a small pile of snow on the sidewalk, swiftly approaching. This was irritating because the snow up here is nearly all melted, but this snowpile was plowed there from a driveway and left by a fucking jagoff business that doesn't clear its fucking sidewalks! Anyroad, my calves being what they are — viz., kinda sore from getting used to my new running gait — I decided not to try to leap over the snow pile, but rather maneuver to the left, toward the highway, to go around it.

Which I did. But my left foot landed right where the driveway curb met the road, the latter being maybe an inch lower than the former, but enough of an unanticipated height differential to cause my ankle to roll and me to fall ass-over-teakettle, as mentioned above, onto the driveway and road.

And as I fell I made a girly little EEP! yelp which (Praise Jebus for small favors!) no one was there to hear and then I sat there for a while feeling the ankle throb and hoped it was just a sprain, not a break, because I thought with a sprain I might still be able to hobble the mile or so back home.

I didn't even notice the blood on my hand until I started to run again (obviously the ankle was not broken — it has what medical professionals would call "a boo-boo") and felt the wet stickiness. It was at that point that it dawned on me that I was at least aware enough, at the time of the fall, to stick my hands out and break the fall with them, rather than with my purdy, purdy face (because at the moment of the fall, I was more concerned with the embarrassing and appalling EEP! sound I was making).

O, purdy, purdy face on that comely geezer's body! Wherefore dost thou taunt me so, now that I have no hand to love thee?

Anyroad, it took me exactly 5 days of year 2011 to injure myself in such a way that prudence dictates I stop running for awhile till the ankle heals. On the up side, I got my pussy-@$$ recumbent bike Morrissey back from the shop JUST IN TIME. Let's call it a wash.

Oooo! Just noticed I got a nice bloody boo-boo on my right knee, too.

The worst thing about this? When I fell, at the 5.3-mile mark? I was running at an 8:54 pace, 6.8 mph. The whole run, though? 6.32 miles at a 9:11 pace, 6.5 mph.

Until I fucking fell, I was, it seems, starting to settle in somewhat with my new, improved gait.

Thee Be Fairly Warned!1!

I am currently working on a LOOOOOOOONNG post on the Henry VI trilogy of plays. Its title, when it is uploaded, will be "Shakespeare The Subversive". This blog appears in GR in truncated format, so I am telling you now that when you see that title appear, you're gonna wanna NOT click, because when I say a post is long, Sister, it's LONG! Plus? It's boring.

Currently I'm halfway through Timon of Athens, which so far is kinda meh.


  1. PROTECT THE MONEYMAKER!!!! Scabs heal, beauty is pricless....

  2. Holy hell! I hope the loving hand heals quickly.

  3. I'd be more concerned with the hand looking swollen (or does it always look that way?); falling on ice is par for the course - it takes an ultrarunner to fall on perfectly level ground with no obstacles. In 2006, I fell in a bank parking lot for no apparent reason, breaking two ribs.

    Henry VI, parts 2 and 3 are my favorite plays by Shakespeare, so I'll probably at least skim the upcoming verbiage.

  4. @SteveQ - Yeah, the upcoming HVI post, which may appear as soon as later today, but more likely tomorrow, is currently 5,500+ words long.

    Still interested in skimming?

    You really should, though, because in its current form, it contains a deeply-buried kertwang aimed at you; plus a slightly less dickish one aimed at Teh B*tch.

    I intend to look into possible ways of breaking it into two posts; that way, I can upload TWO long posts that no one will read.

    Incidentally, when I get around to (re)reading the Henry IV plays, I'll have to come up with a new abbreviation scheme because I don't want to end up calling them the HIV plays.

    Maybe the AIDS plays?

  5. Rule 1 of reviews: the review must not be longer than the work being reviewed.

    [Example coming in a few minutes. I have to look it up.]

  6. "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams

    so much depends

    a red wheel

    glazed with rain

    beside the white
    Review: Sucks.

  7. Wait, wait, wait. That should be:


  8. You went the opposite route of mine when I took my tumble at the end of November: no breaking my fall with my hand, so I used my face instead.

    I didn't spurt nearly as much blood, though, so you win that one.

  9. Critical analysis:

    Featuring a structure of four verses, each with two lines, the first being a "longer" iambic line of either three or four syllables, followed by a second line, invariably of two syllables, mostly trochaic, with the exception of "upon" in verse one (which is iambic), William Carlos Williams's "The Red Wheelbarrow" sucks because it doesn't seem to have much more going on in it other than its minimalist structure.

    See? That's WAY more words than are in the poem; but in my analysis, the reader at least knows why the poem sucks.

    In addition?

    It doesn't suck.

  10. Jebus ChryslerBuilding! That makes no sense because my OWN EFFIN BLOG didn't post my first comment which was:

    Rule Number 1 of Criticism: Know the difference between a review and critical analysis.

  11. And so if my analysis of "TRWBarrow" had followed THAT comment, above, it would have been HIGH-Larious!1!

  12. Right and right.

    Though part of my point was that there isn't enough material in the poem to be able to analyse it, so the analysis should be equally cryptic. Though Williams is my favorite New Jersey poet, this particular poem does not seem to fit in well with his other work; a pastoral poem from a suburbanite should at least reflect a disconnect or nostalgia... something more is needed, perhaps a second verse (the entirety as it stands reads as one verse to me) explaining just why so much depends on the barrow or enumerating the things dependent.

    Don't get me started on grammatology or signs and signification, boyo.

  13. You & SQ whispering sweet nothings to each other again, I see.

    Your hand looks fine. Nothing a little soap & water can't fix.

  14. joyRuN: typical nurse saying gangrene just needs a little Neosporin and out the door you go.

    More minimalist review:

    "On the Antiquity of Fleas" by Ogden Nash

    Had 'em.

    My review:

  15. It looks like you ran into Freddie Kruger!?!?!! Holy shiznit. Hope you're feeling better.