After last Sunday’s punishing jog on the rollicking trails of the Middlesex Fells Reservation, I took the week off from running. I walked, I biked, I laid on a yoga mat and breathed. By this mid-afternoon, my infamously massive calf muscles were twitching like a foxhound eager for a run. The gray sky seemed on the cusp of rupturing into thunderstorms, but I had checked the weather radar before lacing up my Nikes and running to the bike path. The severe storms in Providence and Worcester couldn’t possibly make it to Boston in an hour, so I relaxed and savored the sunless skies, foreboding breeze, and an iPod Shuffle full of Fatboy Slim.
The bike trail was being scantily used, mostly by elderly walkers toting umbrellas and groups of strolling teenagers who hang out in the adjoining ball fields. I am wary of what these teenagers think about me as I jog past them, sweating. I wouldn’t have thought they pay joggers any attention until one day when I heard a young man that I had just passed say: Dude, you see that jiggle? I cringe to think which jiggle. But today my rested muscles powered me along at a pretty good clip, and I felt that my prowess would douse any verbal or mental mockery.
Around mile 4.5, a teenaged boy on a bike passed me. He was about 30 feet in front of me when suddenly the back of his bike reared up. The entire bike flipped backwards about four feet high into the air, throwing him on the ground. He landed on his back with the bike on top of his legs. No, he wasn’t wearing a helmet. It was simply the most spectacular fall from a bike I’ve ever randomly witnessed.
Still running, I didn’t breathe until he got up and began inspecting his bike. I debated saying something to him as I passed him. He looked like a jock and I feared that teenaged macho pride would cause him to lash out at me, the sole witness to his embarrassing fall.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice oozing the real concern that I felt.
“Yeah, I’m okay” he said. “My jacket got caught in the mud flap.” I looked and saw a folded-up piece of fabric lodged in the metal sleeve that covers the top of the front wheel. I still can’t figure out how it go there.
“Oh, man,” I said, followed by a heartfelt “Shit.” I continued running, in disbelief that he was standing up and moving with such purpose.
About two minutes later, he passed me. “Hey, thanks for asking,” he said. “It’s a shame you didn’t have a hidden camera.”
“Yeah,” I said. “The flip actually looked really, really cool.”
He laughed and biked away with the eternal resilience of a teenager.
