Sunday am in Olde Nagoyaland, a bright and radiant mild autumn morning,on the cusp of (yet) another prolific piss down.
I'm smarting from a sizable bruise on my lower hip, acquired from a particularly ridiculous slow motion stagger and dive I did into the not-so-soft-and-welcoming pavement yesterday on my daily morning rounds in the park. One of those hyper-embarrassing moments in which we see ourselves 'bite the dust' from a third and first person perspective simultaneously. Of course, I had a live (?) audience...and as my medium paced jog went horribly sideways, and I became entangled in my own legs,falling forward at half speed, I sincerely hoped that, among the handful of fortunate spectators present, at least SOMEONE would howl with laughter, or slap their knee...the 'Keystone Cops' level ridiculousness of the scene being the pinnacle of hilarity...but no.
T'was not to be.
Poker faces and dour glares were the order of the day. Not a snort, guffaw, or even dutiful, "Oh my god, are you OK?" (in the native J-tongue) was to be heard. It must have indeed been a thing of wonder to witness. From my out-of-body spectator's seat, it was akin to watching a flesh and blood version of one of the World Trade Center Towers imploding, at a freeze-frame crawl. As I hit the pavement at half-speed, I came down at an angle on my lower left hip, breaking the impact with my left middle finger (I kid you not), forearm, and the round of my shoulder. As the pavement floated toward my face, I recall thinking about a dozen things at once.
I felt like the pilot of a crashing jet must feel, watching the landscape rush toward the cockpit windows; was already running through a half-dozen possible outcome scenarios, as I somehow miraculously used the inertia and bounce of my impact to basically roll through to an upright position, and resume my medium paced jog without missing a beat, in a seemingly fluid motion, and almost ballet-like feat of grace and maneuvering.
It was like watching a crashing plane slope into the ground at a lazy incline, do a little skid, then somehow raise it's nose and become airborne again. No laughter or applause. No faux-concern from the passerby. Just the late season chirping of birds, and rustle of leaves.
I did a quick damage assessment (bruised left lower hip, scraped, bloodied left middle finger, and pulled muscle somewhere in my neck region) did another half dozen rounds, finished my course, and retreated back to home base.
When I recounted the happenings of the day to my wife over dinner, she howled with laughter...and told me that it served me right for "hating on all the people at the park". She especially liked that the finger that I mangled and bloodied was the one that I use to flip the J-locals off every day. She said that it was 'karma', or 'poetic justice'... and that, "...it served me right for being such a hater", or something to that effect. Bugger it. I'll be back there tomorrow. You can bet I'd laugh my ass off if I saw one of those poker faced, stick up the arse J - 'park walking types' bite the dust like I did. Of course, I'd toss in the obligatory, "Daijobu?" ("Are you OK?"), and make a half-hearted attempt to render assistance. Likely, I'll be privy to no such display. FML.
