(in the name of ‘telling it like it is,’ this post includes gross and rather embarrassing phtoos)

I fell during my first long run of the training season for the Somaliland Marathon.


I fell.

Like face to the dirt, skidding on my hands and knees.

I do know how to walk. I even know how to run.

But there are rocks and holes and garbage piles and animal carcasses and all kinds of things to avoid. Sometimes, I just can’t avoid them. Or am too tired to. I tend to fall once a year. I’m, like, a super dorky athlete. I even fall off bikes.

Here are my knee scars to prove it.

I was mostly mad that I ripped my new pants, and a little embarrassed. Still wear ’em. Not gonna buy a new pair just because of a little hole. That’s not the kind of life we’re living.

It took a long time to heal and now there is a lovely pink scar.

It matches nicely with the one on the other knee, from my 2016 fall.

And here are my toes. I’ve actually never lost a nail before while marathon-training, or for any reason. But this time I think I’m about to lose four.

It ain’t pretty.

Unless pretty means strong.

I prefer toes that can go the miles to toes that don’t disgust.

And some blisters. I don’t get tons of blisters either, but once in a while. The heat is a factor. Soggy socks, I mean like chorking socks (a word that means the sound your shoes make when full of water, or in my case sweat), socks that can be wrung out and shoes that can be tipped over and spilled out, tend to contribute to blisters.

I won’t show you the blisters because you’re probably already grossed out enough.

These are my kind of feet.

Which is a good thing because these are my feet.

I’ll keep ’em. Even if I can’t keep the nails.