"Take care of yourself."

Last Thursday I pushed myself.  Hard.

At 6:30AM I was on top of the Art Museum Steps taking a very low budget (read: want-to-be) Crossfit Class.  We jumped, climbed, ran, skipped, high-kneed the hell out of the warm-up and hit a lot of different pushups.   Aside from the obvious similarities to a high school track practice, lack of creativity and disregard for actual stretching, the setting was the perfect combination of fountain/sunrise/city hall and historic landmark; the weather crisp and light; the steps manageable and parking convenient.  I will go back at least once more.  

At 5:00PM I was aching (from the lack of stretching) and in the elevator down from my 19th floor center city office debating whether I had it in me to take my stiff joints up a few hills through UPenn.  A deep breath with closed eyes and a small "you can do this" later, I was on my way through "Move-In Day" on the campus.

After a mile, it became clear that this two-a-day was a bad idea and I was focused only on putting one foot in front of the other, my iPod was turned up as high as it could possibly go and keyed into the fastest, most ridiculous songs available.  I was a woman on a 2.5 mile, hilly, out and back mission and god help you if you crossed my path or tried to run me over as the case may be.

At approximately mile 1.9,  I was trucking at a 9:15/mile pace, approaching the turnaround and oblivious to how many driveways and parking lots there actually are between Spruce Street and CHOP [Children's Hospital of Pennsylvania].  Needless to say, I was centered by Zac Brown's "Chicken Fried" and the CHOP sign just ahead when I almost got hit by a Black Honda Civic. And when I say "almost," I mean I respect the brakes in that car and the fender was a little warm against my knee.  It was one of those moments when "what could have happened" doesn't so much enter your mind as it just invades your entire system and nocks you down.  As I ran on from that spot toward my turn around, a quiet "Hey Jude" was the next track.   A few steps later, mid-30's Doctor in scrubs and a long white coat accentuated by dark hair and eyes and a thick accent took his own earbuds out, looked right at me and said, "Take care of yourself."  

Note:  He didn't ask if I was alright or admonish me to stop being such a stupid runner and pay better attention; he didn't shake his head or tell me to take "better" care of myself; he made eye contact, got my attention with that simple gesture and spoke to me the way the universe tends to - directly and without pretense.  For the next 2.5 miles back toward my beginning, all I thought was that doctor was more than just a guy waiting for a bus after work.  He was there, at that moment to remind me of something.  And so I will...take care of myself.