This morning, I fed the baby, got out of bed, dressed, put on my NEW shoes and went running at 5:00 a.m. I had my IPod on my right arm, my GPS on left arm, my heart monitor around my chest, my cell and key in my right hand, and my sleeves covering my hand because it was butt-ass cold out.
A nickname has emerged from my time running with the running clubs, as a direct result of my propensity to bring EVERYTHING with me when I go running. Gadget Girl was coined and has pretty much stuck. But, today, it saved me some skin.
I was about 20 minutes into my run and feeling pretty good. It was pitch black out and I could barely see the sidewalk. I came around the corner, headed towards the park, and heard a car coming. I was watching over my shoulder for my safety because it was so dark still. I tripped on the uneven sidewalk and totally ate shit. I just stayed there groaning, and in total disbelief. I could feel the gravel buried in my hands and in my knees. I had my cell phone in my right hand, which caused me to go skidding across the pavement even more. At the same time, if it had not been for my cell phone and my sleeves pulled over my hands, I would have had more rocks implanted into my palm.
It was at that point I decided to turn around and go back home—walking home that is. I got to the end of our block, when I noticed a shady looking guy talking to someone in an old beat up truck. I crossed the street on the opposite side, so to avoid him. The truck sped away and the guy crossed the street in my direction. Here was our odd conversation:
Scary Guy: Good morning!
Me: Good morning.
Scary Guy: Can I talk to you? Can I ask you a question? (Approaches me and is about 5 feet away from me)
Me: No, I have places to go. (It was 5:30 in the morning; what else could I say?)
Scary Guy: Can I hang out with you?
At this point, I HAUL ASS home. Fuck the gravel in my knee. I sprinted the whole way and did not turn around once. Freaky guy. What the hell was that all about?
We live in a community that was built in 1955. Many of the original owners still reside in their homes, although many have died or sold their homes and moved to retirement communities. Many young couples (about our age: late twenties, early thirties) have purchased the homes and remodeled them. I guess since we live in a community that “seems” safe, I have a false sense of security. No longer.