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One minute I’m jogging along a deserted road, birds singing, mind racing well ahead of my body – and the next WHAM, biffed it. As in face plant.

I am no longer in motion. I’m stretched out on the asphalt with ankle throbbing and the sickening crunch of its twisting reverberating in my ears.

Fortunately, although the pain pounded I was able to get to my feet after a few disoriented moments. And hobble the mile or so home. Otherwise it might have been a long wait for a ride. I hadn’t brought a phone, passing cars were few a far between.

A lesson maybe in getting grounded, staying in body while propelling it through space? Or perhaps a reminder to slow the pace a little (not the jogging pace, already embarrassingly slow, but the pace that I am hurtling myself through life)? Or maybe just an unpleasant coincidence?

It’s never great timing to sprain your ankle, but with our plan to spend the weekend camping in the mountains, this is particularly inconvenient. No racing up and down the hills for me this time.

These are the times when I realize how much rushing around I do. Bounding up and down the stairs, galloping out to the garden for a quick harvest, running out the mail box, zipping through the aisles at the grocery store.

Now as I contemplate my grapefruit-sized ankle, I can reassess how important it is to get it all done RIGHT AWAY. Not too enthused about embracing the joys of a slow pace – but I guess the universe is telling me to.

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