Falling
This morning’s conversation was with Trinnie, and it started when she fell for me in a big way. Or rather, when she fell over, right in front of me, in rather a spectacular way. I’d taken Wolfie down to St. Pete’s Pier, to watch the sun come up. Well, that’s why I was there. As usual, Wolfie was more there in the hope that he might finally catch one of those all-too elusive squirrels.
After taking in the sun’s earliest rays, I bought a cafe con leche to go, and started to think about breakfast. The good thing about getting up early, is you do have a lot more time to be thinking about breakfast. As I left the Pier, and started to walk past the Marina, I decided to park myself on a bench, and just drink it all in.
That’s when I first saw, or rather, first heard Trinnie. She was jogging towards me, and was passing under the overhanging branches of a large tree, when she failed to see that the edge of the paving stone that was sticking up. Seemingly in slow motion, I watched as she started to fall forwards, but then was surprised as she twisted her body to the right in mid-fall, executing a military-style forward roll that meant that she landed on the grass, rather than the concrete. I rushed towards her, asking her if she was okay, but by the time I got there, she was already back up in her feet, and was dusting herself down.
As you read my description of Trinnie narrowly avoiding a potentially nasty face-planting incident, think about the image that you were building in your head. Was she some svelte young thing, dashing to grab an oat milk latte, fresh from her sun salutations on the beach? Maybe a jacked triathlete, feeling guilty about not meeting her mileage goals during the week, and so she was trying to squeeze in a few extra miles, before anyone else in the house was awake?
Trinnie wasn’t at all like either of those stereotypes. She was more one of those ‘slow and steady’ runners that I used to see when I was taking part in a lot of half-marathons. The ones that pick a speed and stick at it, mile after mile, after mile. About my age, she had a grace and poise that belied her solid frame. She told me that she grew up in the Islands, and only after we’d said our goodbyes, did I realize that I hadn’t asked which one. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that she’s either is, or was, a nurse. It was something about the way that she held herself, and her matter of fact was, as she for back up and just brushed herself off, after what had been a pretty dramatic spill.
She told me that she usually runs on the other side of the road, and that she knows where all the irregularities on the sidewalk are, and how to avoid them. Sensing that she was more than a little embarrassed, I went with humor, to ease the situation. I asked if she’d been a stuntwoman, earlier in her career, and commended her on her form. She laughed, in that beautiful way that people from the Caribbean Islands, , especially women, have of laughing. It was warm, and smooth, and rich, and it seems to make that early morning light just a little bit more golden.
She told me that she’d fallen while she was out running recently, and how by putting our her arms to protect her fall, she’d ended up with badly scraped wrists and palms. I told her that was fast thinking on her part, and she patted her cheek, saying “this face has already been through enough, I think”, and then she started to laugh again.
Having decided to be open to talking to strangers (I’m sorry, Mum… 50 years on, I’m knowingly ignoring your advice), I loved the connection and shared experience, especially as I wasn’t the one who had taken the tumble. Tinnie seemed to enjoy it, too, as she lingered a while, before slowly picking back up her jog.
As I watched her disappear into the distance, at that slow but steady pace of hers, I thought again about her military-style roll? I let myself create all sorts of back stories for her (medal-winning Olympic gymnast, Guinness World Record holder, Special Forces retiree / Green Beret holder). Or maybe, she just got lucky.