Walking is a dangerous endeavor….

Who would have thought just walking could be so dangerous?

Certainly not me, and not in this quite little suburb.

It’s now week 4 of the walking thing. I’m feeling pretty good. Up to 4.5 miles now. Starting to pick up the pace a bit. Yesterday, it was like 92, the humidity is high but that’s not stopping me. I actually prefer it a bit warm. Makes me feel like I really accomplished something when I get home.

I’m just booking along, lost in my own world. Sting’s Brand New Day album is urging me on with his upbeat sounds to Dear John letters and life on the street. Yea I know…it sounds depressing but the music is perfect for walking and keeping a pace.

Anyway, I’m at the half way point. Just made the turn to head back and focused hard on that little patch of shade just a few yards away. The sun is brutal out in the open and that shade is looking really good. It reminded me of that scene in The Chronicles of Riddick of them racing against the rise of the sun to get to the safety and security of the bunkers just ahead.

Just as I hit the comfort of the shadows cast by the trees lining the golf course, a blurry image rushes past me on the right. And before my brain even registers what it is something else catches my elbow. As I’m getting spun around and in the space of mere seconds it takes me to get pulled off my feet to where I actually make contact with the earth below I realize what’s going on. Some idiot biker has just run me down.

Now if you’ve ever been in an accident you know this feeling well. No matter how fast things transpire, in that moment of impact and until it’s all over, the world suddenly goes into super slow motion and you seem to have an eternity to think about what’s happening to you. First, it’s “What the hell!” Then “Ah, shit. That was a bike.” Followed up, “I’m gonna kill this idiot.”

As I make that long, drawn out trip of being pulled around and then down on top of the bike, I lay there for a moment just mad as hell. Then I realize I’m on top of who ever just ran me down. Slowly, I push myself off the bike and back on to my feet and turn on my attacker.

Starting back at me are these two big brown eyes big as saucers with that “OMG, she’s gonna kill me!” look in them. And I realize that my ten-year-old attacker is still pinned beneath her bike. Blood is running down her knee, a big heavy bike lying on top of her, and all she can do is apologize. I pull the bike off her and check her over to make sure nothing is broken. Her partner in crime as now returned to the scene and she appears to be the sister of maybe 8. Both of which are more concerned with apologizing. Can’t really be mad at em now.

We dust ourselves off and continue on our separate ways. Only the poor kid makes it about 10 feet when the shock sets in and she breaks down. I finally get her to calm down and do my best to fix her bike…I’m not too mechanically inclined but I finally get it working again and we go our separate ways...again...

The return trip is a tad slower than I wanted. Those last two miles felt like an eternity and all I could think about was this is really gonna hurt tomorrow.

And I wasn’t disappointed. I feel like I got run over by a biker this morning. Maybe it was a truck…

Who would have expected battle scars from walking anyway?

I think I’m gonna go out at lunch to the local REI shop and look at some new hiking boots.

And maybe some knee pads.

Some elbow pads.

A crash helmet.

And maybe a bullet proof vest.