Two Feet From Certain Death
I went for a run this morning. I almost didn't live to write about it.
While running South on Jane toward Bloor, I had just come to the realization that my leg wasn't better and I wasn't going to make it through the planned 6k. As we passed a store that makes trophies, I started telling tales of all the trophies they made for me during my illustrious primary school public speaking career. That's when we heard the bang.
It seemed to come out of nowhere and it was deafeningly loud. We heard the crash and instinctively ran away from the noise. This two seconds felt like a minute. It all seemed to slow down. I remember looking over my right shoulder to ensure we weren't in an imminent danger. A young man driving a blue sports car had jumped the curb and crashed into newspaper box and then a pole before spiralling onto Jane Street. We were about two feet from this pole when the car, most definitely exceeding the 50k speed limit, smashed into the box, creating that big bang I won't forget anytime soon.
On a bright, dry Sunday morning, there was no reason for the accident other than careless driving. I made sure he was okay and help was called, but I didn't stick around to learn if he'd pass a breathalyser. I was two feet from certain death and I had a run to finish.
There's no moral to this story or epiphany that took place. It's simply a real-life reminder that sometimes you can do everything right and still be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And sometimes you can be awfully lucky.
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