I’m running along the bay trail. Wearing the Nathan vest that makes Mo laugh and avert her eyes. Capn Carl shirt, NB110s, Shuffle blaring, hr in a good place. I am a studly runner.
My shoe catches on a rock. (note to self: You really, really, really, really, really have to work on lifting your feet. really.) No reaction time, I slam down hard on my chest. I marvel at how much bigger the trail looks from an inch away. It hurts. I want my mommy.
Upon impact, Liz Phair stops singing, replaced by a sad little beep beep beep beep beep silence. Which doesn’t concern me much, since I’m still debating whether I’m alive.
As it turns out, yes, I am. Scraped knee and hand, and a chest that reminds me of the Smith Boy days of belly flop dives. The only fatality: the Shuffle.
Because it was on the strap on the front of the vest, it took a direct hit. The mechanism is jammed up into the body. Muerto. I suspect trail running is not meant to be done to a soundtrack.
The bright side? The song playing at the time was “F*** and Run.” (It’s 134 bpm so it’s on the speedwalk playlist. Don’t judge.) Oh, well. At least the Shuffle died doing what it loved. And in the middle of a song about running …