On a recent morning run in Greenpoint, I slid on a slippery crack of the sidewalk and fell down in the gutter.
I wasn’t hurt. Aside from small scrapes on my left elbow and right palm, the only true casualty was to my shorts, which got drenched in a sewer soup of rain and trash that I’d rather not think about. My iPhone, by some stroke of luck, survived without a scratch. And so I stood and brushed myself off, ready to keep running, as three separate passersby paused to make sure I was okay.
“Oh, yeah, totally. No, no worries! Yep, I’m good. It’s all good. Thanks! Thanks.”
That’s what you’re supposed to do when you fall, right? Brush it off? Pick your ass up and get back in the game? Keep pushing?