Dave and the Faceplant

So, it's 2 am.  And, as per usual, I'm running down the Selkirk Waterway.  It's a beautiful night, the orange lights of Victoria across the water shimmering on the ripples of the black inlet.  A heron stands in the water, and the smell of the sea fills the air.  I'm running along a wooden walkway, my iPod playing the Beatles' "Get Back".

I'm struck, for just a moment, by the tranquility of Victoria at night.  The peacefulness and the beauty of what I firmly believe to be the greatest place on Earth.

The next thing I know, I'm flat on my face.  Rolling in pain on the boards, one headphone popped out while the chorus carries on.   And me, cursing:  "ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!"

Did I trip?  I think to myself.  At this point, I'm still wondering - why am I on the ground?  After all, only a few seconds earlier, I had been running.

Nope, I didn't trip.  And my ankle is fine. 

So, I'm rolling on the ground, more stunned than hurt.  The heron nearby watches me, its curiousity piqued.  I think I probably woke it up, and it's just a little annoyed.  It ruffles its feathers a bit, a little haughtily, I think, for a bird that sleeps in mud.  I'm thinking all this as I pull myself to my feet.

Ow ow ow.

Charlie Horse.  And, just like that, I'm on the ground again.  Looking up at the night sky.  Looks like it's going to rain soon.

My muscles are in spasm.  We're talking pain, here.  By the time I get to my feet, using the handrails, I've figured it out - I forgot to do my stretches.  And my muscles are paying me back by going on strike.  It's as if they are saying:  "Dave, you're a schmuck.  We quit."

I make the walk of shame - sorry, hobble of shame - back home, thankful that it's 2 am and no one saw my faceplant.  Except that damn heron.