Learn How to Fall

Stunning transformation: Just the day before this ornamental cabbage
had been brilliant green and creamy white. 

It could definitely have been worse. The fall I took in the middle of the intersection of Yonge and Wellesley I mean.

It was about quarter after five on Wednesday afternoon. Dark, because it's almost the solstice. I was headed east, on the south side of Wellesley. The pedestrian signal countdown had started so I picked up the pace.

My forward momentum made it impossible to catch myself by a stutter step of my trailing leg when my right foot caught a rough spot in the pavement. Down I went. 

Did I mention I was in the middle of an intersection in downtown Toronto at the height of rush hour? And it was dark?

As I began my split second journey to meet the pavement a chorus of human voices rose around me. There were inarticulate calls and sounds of dismay. Two distinct voices rose above the ruckus. A woman kept asking me if I was all right. A man exhorted the crowds to "look at that!"

Anyway. 

As my body reacted to the sudden change in my relationship with gravity, I did both the right and the wrong thing. 

It was cold enough that I had my down-filled winter coat on, a  warm hat, my hood up and gloves on. It was not so cold that I had my hands in my pockets. So I did the wrong thing and tried to break my fall with my outstretched arms (in injuries from falls lingo this is FOOSH). That's the wrong thing to do. That's how people break their wrists.

I pivoted in mid-fall and landed on my left hip and shoulder. That's the right thing to do. It's better than breaking your fall with your face and distributes the impact across a greater area.

Once the fall was done, I became preoccupied with recovery. My greatest absolutely legitimate fear was that a westbound driver late to the scene would decide to use what seemed to them like a quiet moment in the intersection to make a quick left hand turn.

So I got to my feet. Easily. That was a relief.

Even though I'd stood up unassisted, the unseen woman still demanded to know if I was all right. The man still wanted everyone to look at that.

So I turned in the direction of their voices, smiled, thanked them for their concern and said I was OK. She was a tiny middle aged woman, he, a less tiny middle aged man. 

I finished crossing the intersection. The countdown was still running. The whole thing took four seconds, tops.

The gloves on my hands saved them from abrasions. My hat and hood protected my head and kept my glasses from flying off my face. My over-the-knee leather boots kept me scrape free.

The last lucky stroke: I was on my way to an appointment with my massage therapist. She assessed me for broken bones or serious soft tissue injuries. There were none.

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen