On Wednesday I met up with my running team. I run considerably pokier than the others on the team, but there�s on very cool chica who also doesn�t run 6 minute miles. We moseyed to the track, did our workout as I complained about the heat/humidity/bugs/unattended children/anything else I could use as an excuse to why I was huffing and puffing my way along, and then headed back.

When something that falls under �Wrong Place at the Wrong Time� happens, I�m always amused at the thoughts of how tiny changes in one�s schedule could have avoided the problem.

Had I not needed to stop for water during the 1200m part of the workout. Had I not taken an extra minute to stretch or be lazy between laps. Had I not eaten too much Thai food for lunch that made me do a little walking here and there. Hell, had I walked more instead of powering through some stomach pain.

Running past a liquor store, a guy came barreling out and ran right into me. Him being a stocky man hustling as fast as he could go and me being pretty scrawny, I was knocked damn hard.

When the initial impact got me in the form of a full body-check, I yelled several obscenities as I saw him continue running off (gratuitous use of the work Fuck ensued, of course), drawing attention to his flight. And then the full impact caught up to me.

In one of those slow motion moments, I remember thinking, �Oh no. I�m going down,� and knowing that I couldn�t� do anything about it.

And went down I did. Hard. On the concrete, I smacked the hell outta my head.

I�ve been in a couple wrecks, and I have this very rational voice that says to calm down and be still. Adrenaline and shock make the moments after feel unharmed, but that�s not always the case.

The rational voice continued and said, �Self. Lie down. You�re going to hurt a lot in a minute.�

When that voice talks, I listen. I�m no dummy.

Because of the noise I made, people thought I got mugged and immediately took action. One guy called the cops on his cell phone. One guy turned the corner in his car and got the guy�s getaway car�s license plate. My running friend got some ice from a nearby bar. An older couple came over to check on me.

It�s moments like this that I�m reminded that people aren�t all crapheads.

Two cops showed up a few minutes later and checked on things.

I don�t know if anyone�s ever gotten a bump like this before, but there�s a good amount of dizziness and confusion, thus making it difficult to think and talk.

So when the cops asked, �Where�s your friend? What kind of car does she drive? Where�s the store?� and other questions I should be able to answer without issue, they were met with �I don�t know� and a bit of sobbing, followed up by a dazed stare.

However, when they asked what he looked like, I was somehow able to say, �5�9�, 210 pounds, Hispanic male in his early 20s with a shaved head, wearing a white button-up short-sleeved shirt with a black design on it,� without hesitation.

Go figure. Who knows?

I don�t know how things ended on the law and order side of things, but I declined an ambulance and went home. I�ve had concussions before, and I know that this is a low-level one since I didn�t lose consciousness or memory of the event. (All hospitals do for low-level concussions is give Tylenol and poke you to keep you awake for several hours.)

Two days later I have a slight headache at the front of my head (a typical reaction), three bumps on the back of my head, what feels like a bruise on that same area, and a quickly-healing scrape on my elbow.

I was hoping to get some short runs in this week to keep loose for my Salt Lake City Marathon next week, but I�m not doing anything. No need to shake my brain anymore. Boo.

Wear your helmet, folks. Enjoy your weekend. I�ll be taking it easy.�