I yelled. Shouted it. Practically screamed it.
I mean, I didn't
mean to. It just happened.
But it WORKED.
OK - let me set this up for you - here I am at 900 am on a Sunday morning, 4 miles in to my six mile walk (training for KOMEN 3 Day, remember?), walking around in my own neighborhood, and I -
we - almost get run over by a truck.
Scared the patootie out of me. Not so much for me, but because I had my dogs with me.
My boys, my walking buddies:
 |
| Wylie C - the marathoner; not "How far are we going?" but "Why are we stopping?" |
It's not like I don't make myself visible. For starters, I am 6 foot 3. And a woman. I get looks. I am used to it.
But I also wear a white (very white)(blinding white in the Texas sun) runner's hat to keep the sun off my head and out of my face. And I wear the brightest, neon-est yellow dri-fit jersey I could find - after all, I
WANT people to see me!
Oh - and there's also two dogs attached to my at my waist (waist buckle leashes).
I'm sure y'all are all getting a wonderful mental picture.
 |
| Doc Holiday - my sprinter; "Sure, I'll walk, and I'll beat you there! But then no more because you have to throw the ball for me, OK?" |
So here we are walking, plodding right along, heading in to 4.5 miles of our journey, and I see a guy up the road a bit re-arranging cars in his driveway. No biggee. He waves to a passing neighbor when he's in between cars. I also notice there is a little truck in front of his house that is blocking the sidewalk.
Now because this truck is blocking the sidewalk, the boys and I have to walk in the street. Not a problem - it's a nice quiet neighborhood street, not a lot of traffic. Little did I know it wasn't the other cars I should have been looking out for, but the one less than five feet from me.
So as we get to the edge of this truck, the guy gets in to it. I am already behind the truck when he gets in to it. I mean, otherwise I would have waited or gone the other way around.
Halfway past the rear end of the truck, he puts the truck in to reverse and hits the accelerator.
With me and the boys DIRECTLY behind him - he's heading straight for us!
I high step it to the other side, dragging the boys with me as fast as I could, gathering the leashes and starting to run all in the same motion.
This is when the F bomb is unleashed.
Not right away, tho. I started with a "HEY!"
(at least there was some warning, right?)
Then I led directly in to "WHAT THE
F---!"
(special emphasis on f---)
Had it have been just me by myself, I most likely would have reached out and slapped the rear window for emphasis - yes, it was that close - but as it was I had handfulls of leashes and a whole boat load of pissed off.
The guy turned around and looked at me, acted surprised, and kind of waved. This is where I also threw out a "SERIOUSLY????!!!?!!".
And I might have thrown a very mean toned "DUDE!!!!!!" in there, too. What can I say? I am a true child of the 80's - there is a "dude" for every situation.
Then my adult guilt got the better of me, and I quickly looked around to see if there were any children out that I might have to apologize to their parents. Or at least explain to them. I felt I was completely in the right.
Luckily, it was only 900 am on a Sunday morning in a very quiet neighborhood. No children were seen, and certainly no parents that I might have to apologize (explain) to.
More importantly, tragedy was averted and my boys and I were safe. So we kept walking. They didn't seem to notice that anything happened.
Maybe I need to get some flashing lights and a whirlygig on the top of my hat?
