Damn it! I was so excited to finish work early and got on a two-hour rollerblade work out, with a 30-minute stop lakeside. I mean I was really ready to put in 10 miles. And now, I'm on the IR.
Everything was going great. I felt great. Had my cute workout outfit on, it's cloudy and about 75 degrees. Perfect! I was taking my regular route (note to the City of Chicago: exactly how long does it take you to fucking tear up a street and repave it? Apparently more than three weeks) and I inched myself carefully across a half torn up street and cruised downhill towards the lakefront. Now, I don't normally take the South side of the street all the way down but the North side, near Lake Shore Drive, gets a little dicey - Hey Chicago! Fix the fucking sidewalks! Nothing ever gets done around here! Where exactly is my tax money going? Oh, that's right, apparently every city worker is skimming off the top cuz they think they deserve it. Foolish me. Of course you DON'T. Fuckers!
Anyhoo...I took the South side and there's a small part of the sidewalk that intersects with a gravel running path. Apparently, they can't fucking clean up the sidewalk. I saw it; I knew it and knowing I've been through it before foolishly thought "no problem". Let's just say that gravel and rollerblades don't mix. It's like rollerblading and grass. You stop. Almost immediately.
So, with rush hour traffic piling up off Lake Shore Drive, I fearlessly approach the gravel and suddenly realize it's worse than usual. It's everywhere, and...it's deep. Too late...I plow into the gravel, stop within inches and take a dive forward as if I'm on a Slip 'n Slide, except there was no water and I....just....stopped. Next thing I know, water bottle flies out of my mini backpack, mp3 goes for a dive in the gravel and I'm spread eagle in shitload of gravel. I looked like fucking Superman trying to fly across a gravel pit that Lex Luther set out as a trap. Fucker!
The nicest older couple EVER were approaching and saw the entire thing. Can you believe, that as many people were on that sidewalk, and so-called-running-path, that they were clearly the only decent human beings to stop and ask me if I was okay? I'm beginning to think that Chicagoans aren't nearly as friendly as we like to believe- not to mention the fact I have neighbors who are dicks and never say "Hi" in return. We've truly become a city of non-Midwestern imports who don't give a fuck about anyone else.
Anyhoo...lovely couple conversation:
Woman: Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?
Me: Yeah, I know gravel and rollerblading don't mix but I've made it through before. I should have known better and taken it slow.
Man: Look, what a shame that you ruined a good pair of pants (referring to the destroyed left-knee of my pants)
Me: Oh, it's okay, I've had them forever, but they are my favorite.
Man: Well, at least you can replace them. Can I help you up?
Me: Thank you so much, you know most people wouldn't do anything
Man: That's because this city has lost its Midwestern-ness. All these people come in from all over the world and don't know how to be, well, human like we do
Me: I agree. I was born and raised in the plains and that's why I chose to move here. I'm constantly surprised on how little anyone ever thinks of anyone here.
Man: It's a shame. Wasn't like this since recently and we've been here for 45 years.
Woman: Are you okay to get home? Do you have a car nearby or live nearby?
Me: Thank you but no. I'm a little over a mile away.
Woman: Well, are you okay to get home?
Me: I bet this will feel like nothing until I get home.
Man: Well, pop a pill and few shots of something warm and you'll be set.
Me: LOL You're brilliant!
Man: Well, it looks like nothing is injured but your pride.
Me: Eh, pride, schmide!
Me: Thanks again, have a great weekend.
It's true, you know. I've never been one of those people who falls down, takes a nose dive, or whatever and gets embarrassed about it. Really, I don't. Seriously? All those people in your cars sitting at the light watching the scene unfold wish you could rollerblade because it's such a good work out. And by the way, no one's perfect! Besides, the athlete in me kind of likes the big ass strawberry on my knee. Call it a war wound. There's pride in it. I'm trying to do something others see as extreme, even though it really isn't. I love it. Ouch! Maybe not at the moment, but yeah....it's pretty cool. Damn, no skirts or dresses for weeks!
After checking to make sure all the body parts worked and the wounds were mostly superficial (I may have to pick gravel out of my hands later), I turned around and headed back home. The knee hurt at first and then felt great. I almost thought, for a moment, that I should turn around and take my battle-wounded ass up the lakefront to complete the mission I'd started. Eh, go home.
Now, I am sitting with wounds washed and bandaged, having a glass, or five, or wine hoping the drugs will kick in soon. It's really like road rash, but worse. Gravel actually gets under your skin! Just as planned I will spend my Friday night catching up with Mad Men On Demand (don't judge! Everyone likes to stay in on weekend nights sometimes. Shutup!). What I really need is a boy toy, a nurse's aid to cook me dinner, make sure my wine glass is always full, kisses my boo-boos and helps me relax.
Unfortunately, now, I'm on the injured reserve with no prospect of getting back in the game for the next five days. Man, I was going to kick some major calories rollerblading this week. As everyone else does in this town, I blame it all on the City of Chicago. Hey, you think I gotta case?