I landed in the branches with my legs behind me, up in the air, and a bit side-ways, so that when one of the tree branches impaled my thigh, it was on an angle that would be downward, had I been upright. It scraped along the side of my thigh, and jabbed into the adductor muscles on the inside of my leg. As I stood up, highly annoyed, I thought that it had only ripped my tights, and given me a nasty scratch. Then I noticed that there was a metre long stick protruding from a hole in the crotch of my pants.
The holes in my clothing, made by tree branches.
Luckily I was turned a little sideways, otherwise the pain would have been considerably worse!
The dog owners were freaking out at this point. They had dropped the retractable leash handle and were reeling the dog in, hand over hand, from about 10 metres away. One was yelling at the dog and the other was yelling “sorry!” over and over. I pulled the stick out, pissed off about the hole in my tights. They were hand-made to my measurements by a company in New Zealand, and specifically designed for the sport of adventure racing. I considered approaching the ladies and demanding that they pay for the gear, but I felt a stronger urge to run-off my rage instead of dealing with them; maybe I could track them down later. So I resumed running down the path toward the canyon, with renewed vigor.
I ran only 20 metres when my hamstrings cramped up badly. Something was very wrong. As I keeled over and moaned, I decided to take a closer look at that scratch. What I discovered was a hole in my leg about 1.5cm across, that was full of dirt and tree bark. Not good!
So I started hopping on one leg back towards my place, my right hamstrings convulsing. The dog owners were busy talking to their bouncy little dog. One of my other neighbours noticed me hopping back towards my house and asked, “are you OK?”. “No”, I replied, and urgently continued home. I hopped upstairs and removed my clothes, which were full of dirt, moss and wood splinters. The wound was looking nasty, but there was barely any blood.
I poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound; dirt, wood fragments, and bark bubbled out. I wiped away the debris, and noticed that the inside of the wound looked like ground hamburger meat. Squeezing some antibiotic ointment onto a bandage, I taped it over the wound, and drove myself to the hospital in town. Although it had stopped convulsing, the back of my right leg was feeling really weird. It was painful, but it wasn’t just that. Something felt wrong with it, and I was getting worried…
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