Early this morning I set out for a short run in the dim, pre-dawn light. Feeling pretty smug about my dedication in getting out the door early (this is a rare occurrence), I was savoring the pink and orange hues of dawn breaking over the mountains when PAF!, I smacked down hard on all fours. Having misjudged the height of a curb, I ended up tearing a hole in my pants, bloodying my leg, skinning my palms, and even gouged my finger on my wedding ring.
Embarrassed by this ungraceful belly flop into the dirt, I turned over to nurse my wounds, only to bounce up with a yelp the moment I sat down. Apparently I'd landed in a pile of burrs. As I proceeded to pick the prickles from my popo, I decided once and for all that running is indeed a dangerous game.