The ice that took me down fell as water from the gutter.

By Christopher Cudworth

In case no one has told you before, the goal when you go out to run and ride is to stay vertical. On your feet. Perched on your bike.

Most of us do a pretty good job of that when we can. There is the occasional stumble. The slide out on a turn on skinny tires. The rumbling thump of a shoulder against a tree when the mountain bike goes one way and you go another.

Those trips and tumbles are part of our sports. Even great track runners take a fall now and then, tripped from behind by a competitor who clips your heel.  All part of the game.

The part that sucks is when you fall when you aren’t out training or racing.

Home Slick Home

Stepping out the front door just after dark to walk our dog, it took just two seconds to hit the deck. Our little pup likes to take off running a few yards once he clears the steps, and that coincided with the precise moment that my right foot came in contact with newly formed ice the limestone platform that transitions from the front porch to the sidewalk.

Down I went. Bam. And lay there stunned, trying to assess whether anything was really hurt. The first thought that went through my head was the risk of re-injuring the left side collar bone and shoulder that were surgically repaired last September after a bike accident. Blessedly all that felt okay. At least for the moment.

Then the right shoulder, which took the brunt of the fall. It too felt okay, although the wrist was tight and my neck felt a little stiff from keeping my head from slamming the ground.

A lucky escape. It happened so fast the only thing one could do was act from instinct. Years of playing sports does help you know how to fall. If not with grace, then with safety. That’s all I could manage.

So I lay there in the dark, flat on my back on the icy steps, surveying one more time whether it was safe to get up.

Innocence

Safe inside, our dog Chuck sleeps it off.

The dog wandered around the icy grass out front, wondering why the leash was trailing loose behind him. He hates that feeling. Gives him the heebie-jeebies. He’d rather stand there and wait for me to pick up the leash than face the experience of it creeping up behind him or skittering over the road on the rare occasions when I accidentally let it go. We all have our phobias in this world.

I’d let out a yell when I fell, and my wife finally made it to the door to see what was going on. “Are you okay?” she asked with some concern, knowing my recent propensity for crashes.

“Um. Think so,” I grunted. Then sat up and looked around. The world was still there. No dizziness or vertigo. Safe to go on living.

The fall reminded me of the day I hurdled a wire at a park entrance only to find a skim of black ice on the other side. Down I went that time as well. My right wrist his the ground hard. Lucky it was not broken. But it hurt for weeks, months and finally dissipated from pain in a couple years.

Compensatory injuries

You wouldn’t think a hurt wrist would mess with your running. But it does in funny ways. Like pulling things in and out of your pockets. Adjusting your hat or tying your sweat bottoms or shoes. We do many things with our hands and arms while running. We just take them for granted.

Riding with a sore wrist is much more impactful. One must really be careful not to favor any part of the body too much or the whole mechanics of the rider gets off. That can cause back stiffness, shoulder stiffness and loss of efficiency. When you favor one part of your body over another, you can wind up getting out of balance. Compensatory injury, they call it. Happens all the time to us determined types. We never want to quit, and always assume small problems cannot turn into big ones. Such is the nature of philosophy, is it not. If all politics is local, so are all injuries. But they can have major implications down the road.

Watching your step on the ice

Obviously we’re all careful as we can be on icy days. Earlier this week while running a partially shaded section of trail there were long patches of ice. A man walking his dog saw me coming by and said quietly, “Be careful on the ice.” It was a nice thing to say. One cannot assume that anyone is paying attention in such conditions.

I ran with arms extended, as if walking a big, slick tightrope. The pace slowed on the slipperiest sections, and runners coming the other direction nodded knowingly.

The paradox of ice is that it is at once clear and mysterious. You can’t even tell how slippery it is until you get on top of it. Some ice is rough and crunchy, quite safe to run or ride on. While other forms of ice are so slippery nothing can get a grip on the surface.

To brake or not to brake, that is the question

Riding home on a mountain bike after a first snow, it became evident as the temperature dropped that there would be a risk of ice forming on the trail. Going downhill was tricky at best. I pressed the brakes to a maximum point and eased down the hill. No heroes in my world at that point. Just get home safely. Hitting the brakes is no dishonor in those circumstances.

Of course, it is then ironic that I should fall on the ice at home, isn’t it?

Repercussions

This morning my right achilles felt tight, likely the result of the slip yesterday evening. My left shoulder felt a little “wet” inside around the surgery. Probably some ligaments were strained a little. The right shoulder and neck were definitely sore. Clearly I tried to save the left side that was surgically impaired. Or else it was just dumb chance that I fell mostly to the right, the result of being pulled by the dog’s leash, which was held in my right hand.

The ice didn’t care. It exists, then disappears when warm air or sunshine melts it away. Is it put there to test us? That would be overthinking it a bit, I should think. Or is it?

Better end it now. We’re flirting with some slippery philosophical issue here.