I was in the city doing a project and managed to sneak out of work around 9am to go for a run. By “sneak out” I mean leave work after telling everyone, my client, my co-workers, the cleaners, everyone, that I was leaving. I feel so guilty about sneaking out that I am about the worst in the world at doing it.
I’ve got a good strategy for mid-day runs in the city. I belong to New York Sports Club up here in Croton, and can therefore, it seems, stop in at any club in the city and use the locker room. I guess there is other stuff to do at a gym other than change, shower and poop, but for me, I’ve got my routine down. As I felt guilty about leaving work, I thought about taking my phone on the run. What if there is some sort of work crisis and they need someone to tell jokes about it? Or what if there is some sort of city scene that needs recording, say a homeless man painting a landscape or a young child pick-pocketing a playmate? My phone has a camera, and I could capture those sort of things. Alas, I couldn’t find just the right pocket in my shorts for the phone. We’ve all been through it. I’m not going to put it in that gross inside pocket. The front pocket is too deep and it’ll just flop around and make me nuts, and the back outside pocket, which has some sort of punitive elastic in it, seems too tight or not big enough or something. And I felt guilty, so I had to start running and get out there and get back to work and do nothing.
Nice run on the westside highway, bunch of sub 8 minute miles. Felt great. Not a lot of people out there. I guess a lot of people were working. At 9am on a Tuesday. Can you imagine?
Headed back to the gym, took 34th street, crossed at 9th avenue and got hit by a van. Seriously. I was crossing the street, and there is this freaking van making a turn. He can see me, for sure, right? Wait, he isn’t stopping. He’ll stop later, right. Wow, maybe I should stop. Wait, it’s too late. This freaking guy is going to freaking hit me. I can’t believe it. This fucking van is going to hit me. He really fucking is. And then he fucking did.
He knocked me over. All I could think was “get up or he’s going to run you over.” OK, not so rational, but I got up. He stopped. I approached the driver side window. And I began screaming at him like a freaking lunatic. I always imagined I’d be somewhat passive when dealing with aggressive van-driving runner hitters. But I wasn’t. I suggested that he pull his car over and that we would consult with law enforcement about his continued participation in free society. He suggested that what was done was done and that the police wouldn’t be able to undo it. I suggested we discuss that with them, and again suggested he pull over, and asked him if, like some sort of barbarian, he was going to leave the scene of an accident.
He pulled over. It was a busy intersection. There was a police car there in about 30 seconds. They suggested that the driver distance himself from me. They asked if I needed an ambulance. Although I was scrapped up, I felt OK. They said they’d have to call a second car as it wasn’t their precinct.
While we were waiting for the other car, I walked around and tried to find witnesses. No one saw anything, of course. There was a MTA bus inspector close by, I asked him what he saw and he said “man, by the time I got over there, you were already on your feet giving him the business.” I was, indeed, giving him the business!
I should say right away that I feel a little beat up, but I’m fine. I saw Dr. Stu and I’ll see my GP next week. Some scrapes and bruises, and I tried to do the track yesterday and my back hurt a little bit, but it’ll all get better. I’m not currently planning on suing anyone or stopping running or not sneaking out of work or anything.
I got a receipt from the cops for the accident (w0w, a souvenir!) and now I need to go get the accident report for insurance. I have zero advice here. I was crossing with the light. I was wearing headphones, but I did see the guy clearly. Ug. I just hope I feel 100% by Sunday as there is a 5k (my first race since August!) I want to run. Be careful out there. Or don’t. It doesn’t seem to matter. :-)
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