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.