Ladies and gentlemen! I am posting this purely for entertainment purposes, as I’m sure you will all imminently realize this story is a fictitious (but creative!) account of last Monday’s incident. Though Meghan wanted to entitle this - her rendition of the night’s events - ‘The True Story,’ I much prefer the title of ‘Lynch’s Lies’ or ‘Meghan’s Musings.’
Monday!!! A random smattering of intervals and hills makes this day my favourite run of the week. Since moving to Toronto my running has changed dramatically in that I have yet to a) stop during a run to stare at ducks, b) buy and chug peach juice from Tim Horton’s half way through a run and subsequently walk home, or c) break out random dance moves instead of doing drills. The future may hold a time when I use terms like “fartlek” without snickering and possibly, should another person implore everyone to name the runner whose picture she happened to have with her - during what I thought was her birthday dinner - my mind may not feverishly race to think of ANY famous runners (My grand total for that day was “Terry Fox” ...“Usain Bolt” ... “Tom Longboat.”)
This Monday was as much fun as any other (seriously, I really like Mondays). After trying desperately to be anywhere near speedster Jane throughout the entire practice (A la “Chasing Stevenson” perhaps?), Jane, Kerry and I trotted home. I fancied it would be an ideal time to gently inform Jane that her sharp elbows were treading a tad too close to my delicate, cherub-like face.
“Is that so?” she dismissed my concern, while clearly feeling her elbows for the appropriate thumb-tack placement. “Ummm, it’s ok... it’s ok, though, Jane” I stuttered, “If it will help you to get faster, please feel free to bash my cheekbone in.” (It’s worth mentioning here that I’ve already broken this bone once, not that THAT matters).
As I contemplated how I could further aid Jane’s running career, and am a half-breath away from suggesting I stop sleeping so as to research, test, and prepare her only the most perfectly balanced recovery meals, in the blink of an eye, Jane tripped (cause it still undetermined). Due to what I can now assuredly self-diagnose as post-traumatic-stress disorder I am not quite clear on the exact events, but I know I reached and tried to stop Jane from hitting the ground – completely disregarding my own safety - though, in retrospect, there was probably a better chance of me dislocating her shoulder, but let’s remember IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS, RIGHT? Fortunately, in true GI Jane form, she bounced up immediately, and showed no signs of slowing down....
However, the air, the air, took on an icy chill.
As we continued along, I cowered fearfully behind Jane with the always-delightful Kerry, and tried to occasionally call out to assess her injury. This proved a challenge, as even when injured, Jane still runs at a cheetah-like pace. Coming to a stoplight, Jane garbled something about blaming me (perhaps she hit her head, too?) and pointed to her leg, where a trickle of blood was streaming down from her knee, similar to the tears streaming down my innocent, “Precious Moments” figurine-esque expression. I apologized exceedingly and asked if she had ice at home (because if she did not I was prepared to spend my meagre student budget on top of the line ice. Like, it would be organic, free-range ice from Whole Foods).
Once home, I am overwhelmed with fear that I, have injured someone who I basically consider to be a professional runner and spend the night tossing and turning, weighing the costs/benefits of dropping out of school to build a time machine. The next morning, Jane’s knee ever-present on my mind, is spent picking out the perfect apology e-card, (not because I was not willing to hire a chamber ensemble to play soothing, injury-healing Mozart selections for her all day, but because these are just the technologically-driven times we live in). I hear no response from GI Jane, and am a moment shy of throwing away all my pyjamas and watch, and head outside to bid farewell to the running group only to see Jane, and learn her training has not missed a beat, and her running is looking as effortless as usual.
For now, that is.