Live Strong

If my recently restarted running career comes screeching to a halt, we'll just blame Lance Armstrong. Or maybe it will be the other guy's fault.

We live near the bike path. I like to ride my bike and to do other bike path type activities, but I often avoid our particular segment of the bike path because it is sketchy. Brent has mocked me for this in the past, but I've always maintained that the bike path can be a scary place. Turns out I am right (let the record show).

Jack has not taken a nap in, oh say, a week or so now which has lead to some serious grouchiness on his part. And then subsequent grouchiness on my part, as grouchiness begets even more grouchiness. He will generally fall asleep in the stroller so I often find the motivation to go for a run when I see the grouchies coming on. Brent was off fishing today so I decided to go for an early afternoon run to spare myself the agony of dealing with a sleep deprived preschooler for the rest of the day. Oh, and I decided to brave the bike path. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. How sketchy could it be?

So there I go, blissfully jogging along with my two kids tucked safely into the stroller when I see a guy on a bike right ahead of me FALL OFF HIS BIKE AND LAND ON HIS HEAD! This happens to happen under a bridge (sketchy!) and there's really no way for me to go around him without rolling over his body with the stroller, so I instantly become a good Samaritan and stop to offer him my assistance. As he staggers to his feet I see that he is BLEEDING PROFUSELY FROM THE HEAD! I immediately offer to call someone for him and he seems totally dazed and confused, like he's just suffered MAJOR HEAD TRAUMA or something. Then it dawns on me that he must be disabled. Or perhaps he has had a stroke or two in his lifetime. At any rate, I cannot understand a word he is saying and there is BLOOD dripping all over his face and he looks like he is about to drop dead right there in front of us. My children are traumatized into complete silence at this point. I keep asking him where he lives, can I call someone, how can I help? No coherent response.

Finally a voice barks out a scolding to us about blocking the bike path and how dangerous it is for people to stop right there and I whip around to see a Lance Armstrong type bike rider approaching the scene. I ask him to stop and help, since clearly I am getting nowhere with bleeding guy on my own. Lance Armstrong parks his own bike and assesses the situation in about ten seconds. "He's drunk," Lance Armstrong informs me. Oh, well, I guess THAT EXPLAINS A FEW THINGS. "Don't worry, I have a gun," he then tells me. A GUN! HE HAS A GUN! I am under a bridge with my two kids, a drunk bloody guy and Lance Armstrong with a gun?! Major parenting red flags here! What kind of a mother gets herself and her kids into this situation? My mind is racing- I am a mandatory reporter- do I have to report myself??

Drunk bleeding guy realizes that Lance Armstrong means business and makes a feeble attempt at escape. Meanwhile I slowly release the brake on my stroller in case I need to make a break for it. Bloody drunk guy then stumbles over his bike and LANDS FACE FIRST ON A STUMP. He does not get up this time. Armstrong is dialing someone on his phone. Alrighty then. I'm out. C-ya later, Lance!

With all that adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I actually went on to have quite a nice run. When Jack's stunned silence wore off a few minutes later he was full of questions. I did the best I could to reconstruct a story of somebody falling and getting hurt and someone coming along to help him. Jack's matter-of-fact response to this was "That guy should have been wearing a bike helmet." Indeed.

Hooboy. No more bike path for me. Needless to say, Jack did not take a nap today. We'll all sleep well tonight, though.

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