Perils of Running in San Francisco

The Perils of Running in San Francisco

Running Articles

On the Marin trails with the Tamalpa Runners

My running cycle is starting Year Two

1800 women participated in a triathlon in San Jose

It was bound to happen sometime. I once laughed my head off at a friend whose only question regarding my marathon training was "wait, so what do you do about cars? I mean, I’m sure you avoid them, but really…isn’t it dangerous running in the city?" I realized he was onto something when I started running places other than Golden Gate park in the mornings before work. Drivers, intent only on getting wherever they’re going as quickly as possible, are ruthless. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve almost been hit, seeing the driver blow by in time to shake my fist at them yelling "asshole," relieved that they missed me.

So in a way, what happened to me last weekend didn’t surprise me. I was a half block from my house, walkman on, tunes going, the only thought in my mind how excited I was to cross to the sunny side of the street and head down to the beach. I had two hours to work out; my day was planned perfectly around it. Well, we all know the saying about the best-laid plans, and as I got into the intersection, the big van that I thought was stopped, waiting for me to cross, just kept on going.

Now I know how flies feel when the swatter closes in on them, or how a moth feels stuck on the grilled of a truck. When a car hits you, you can’t get away. The laws of physics apply. I was so shocked that as I tried to back away somehow, I was yelling, "oh my god! Oh my god! Stop, STOP!" I have no idea how long it took for me to be hit hard enough to get thrown to the ground, walkman flying, me screaming, butt hitting the pavement HARD, head smacking just as hard. Thankfully, I wasn’t knocked out. I sat up, shaking and repeating, "oh my god oh my god" over and over. The man got out of his truck and ran over, apologizing profusely. I had enough in me to chide him. "You should have seen me. You should have been looking, it’s a stop sign for God’s sake!" Then several passers-by came to the rescue. They made me lie down. One called the police, another, a doctor, checked me out, concluded I could get up (apparently I sounded pretty coherent and high-spirited to him), and walked me over to the curb. I was completely in shock, shaking uncontrollably, laughing out of shock rather than good spirits, trying to make normal conversation but wanting to cry at the same time. Several people waited with me for the police to come; thankfully someone had called them. I felt sort of sorry for the driver at first, but now I’m organizing a boycott against Grace Baking Company; I really like their bread but their drivers suck.

When the paramedics got there, they checked me out and based on where I had pain, concluded that they had to take me to the hospital. I was hoping for UC, it being blocks away from my house, but I had to go to General. Even though I got all weepy when they walked me into the ambulance, the ride wasn’t so bad. I was strapped onto a board, which kind of sucked, but the paramedics were cool. The guy complimented me on my clavicle (there’s a new one!) and the girl and I were talking about running on city streets. She says she’s constantly on her toes crossing streets—she’ll swear she made eye contact with a driver, only to have them keep driving as she tries to cross. She said "It’s like they’re just trying to get better aim or something!"

Going to General was like being on ER. I would have enjoyed it had I not been so scared. They wheeled me in and a cast of thousands was waiting for me in the trauma room. They checked me out and concluded that things were OK, no operating would be necessary, and if I was still all right after an hour of monitoring, I’d be free to leave. My friends came to get me and I hobbled out, my broken tailbone and sore neck bothering me, but relieved to be walking out of the hospital.

The thing is, though, dangerous/inattentive drivers are totally capable of fucking up someone’s life permanently. Thank god that guy wasn’t going over 25. Thank god he didn’t just run me over. Thank god I’m basically OK. Unfortunately, I’m still in pain days later. I was in more pain the day after than the day it happened. I have to take 3 Motrin every 6 hours just to feel OK, but even that doesn’t really take care of it. I was supposed to leave for a business trip in New Orleans but can’t possibly travel, the pain is so awful, and I’ve been driving my friends slowly crazy with my whining. I’m bored to tears and kind of blue, and it’s all because my normal life pattern’s been interrupted. I don’t know when I’ll be able to run again. I had to miss dance class, can’t lift, can’t run. All I can do is take walks, which are nice, but frankly I’d rather been enjoying myself and representing my company at the conference I was scheduled to attend than sitting around my house.

I know that this experience will make me a better driver and a more conscious runner. I can only hope that the driver of the van learns something from it that he puts into practice. And I also hope that I get some kind of compensation, or at least apology, for this. It’s a terrible situation that could have been far worse. So for all you runners out there, watch those cars. Make eye contact. The seconds you lose from your running splits could save you hours, even days of your life. And all you drivers—same goes for you. The seconds it takes to stop at a stop sign and let someone cross are valuable for you, but also for them. Be nice. It really is worth it.

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