Probably would have been a very typical Wednesday night. Run, beer, briefly social with the other runners. Except on the way home, I was hit by a car.
More precisely, I was nearly splattered across somebody's hood as they blew threw a stop sign. But I somehow managed to jump MOSTLY out of the way. From my perspective, I saw a light rushing at me and lunged out of the way. Next thing I known, I landed on my feet and hand. While the driver kept going.
Odd sensation, nearly dying. Does strange things with time. And your brain. In mid-jump I simultaneously screamed out of rage (or fear,) thought about my family having to deal with a sweaty corpse, and wondered what I'd done to deserve this. Landing seemed instantaneous. But standing up and turning around took forever as I watched the car drive off. And then things went weird in my stomach and I got sick.
Next thing I know, two guys are rushing up to me. There's a camera van parked behind them. They're both asking if I'm okay. (Since I'm doubled over.) And I'm patting my chest and butt. As if my boobs and ass are important to survival.
Driver says, "You were smack dab in the middle of that car's and jumped up. I thought you hit the hood and flipped over it." Meanwhile, I don't recall flipping.
Passenger says, "No, he jumped and almost made it, but the passenger-side mirror hit him in mid-air, then spun him around." And I don't remember spinning.
So I think I jumped far enough to clear the fender, but not far enough to miss the mirror. It apparently caught me in what little butt I have, turning me around before I landed. But to me, it was just a blur of LIGHT!JUMP!LAND!
As I'm catching my breath and telling them I'm okay, guess who is back? Yeah, the original car that hit me. Big, Cadillac looking thing. Blacked out windows. Creeps up on us. Way too slowly.
I'm thinking, "Okay, here he comes to finish the job..."
And a Grandmother rolls down the window. White hair. Glasses. Sweet Southern accent.
Proceeds to ask if I'm okay. And apologizes profusely. Only unusual part of the conversation centers on her optical abilities.
She says, "I came over the railroad tracks and absolutely did not see you." It's several dozen yards between the tracks and where she hit me.
I say, "I'm wearing a bright yellow, reflective jacket. And my pants have white reflective stripes."
She says, "I'm so sorry, I just didn't see you running."
"What about the stop sign?"
"What stop sign?" she asks.
And all three of us men point to the stop sign. She remains silent, briefly, after seeing it for herself.
More apologies. Lots. Then she offers to take me to the ER. I decline. Just want to be done with it. And finish my run. She drives off. The camera guys drive off. I try to find my own pace back.
Afterwards, some folks suggested I called 911 to report her. Another suggested a lawyer. But I'm not worried about that. It was clearly an accident. She didn't intend to do it. So why ruin her life? Or tried to profit off of it through legal action? Maybe the universe saved me for a reason. If so, I don't think that reason included messing up another person's day. Hopefully I won't regret the decision. But I'm sticking to it.
Lessons learned: 1) I had absolutely no identification on me. And (because I was running further than most folks) nobody was running with me. If I'd been splattered, I would have been a Jon Doe. 2) Post accident, you're not at all thinking correctly. I should have gotten a ride back to my car. Instead I was thinking, "This is going to throw off my run time!" And I probably should not have kept running, but I feel okay.
Anyway, that was interesting. Looking forward to next week!