He didn't make it.
We escaped with only cuts and bruises. By 2am we were discharged from hospital.
I wish I could turn back the clock so that the motorcyclist could change his mind about overtaking. I feel relief that my children were just about unhurt... but if I catch myself thinking that we were lucky to survive, then lucky isn't the right word. A man died.
I have been a mess today. Holding it together in front of the kids, but replaying it with tears every time I'm on my own. The image of the biker lying on the road while they tried in vain to save him won't leave me. I see it all the time. Whether my eyes are open or closed. He's there, with someone compressing his chest while the blue lights flash.
I needed to stop seeing it for a while and blank it out the only way I know how. I ran. I know it's mad. Every step hurt. My ankle, my leg, my back, my chest. I was painfully slow. I cried as I went. I didn't care who saw or what they thought. I repeated to myself 'you will not beat me' and with every breath making me wince, I ran.
I ran because this time yesterday I stood on the verge at the scene of a fatal accident, holding my children close to me while they cried in terror... and our car was wrecked, and the poor, poor motorcyclist lay deathly still in the road... and for some reason we survived.
I ran because I am alive. And if I run, I know my life is still mine.
Even if it feels broken right now.
Geeky stats stuff
|Avg Pace:||10:12 min/mi|
|Elevation Gain:||150 ft|