Trucks Schmucks . . . There Are Bikes Out There!!

One of my most recent perilous running moments was as I was running home from the Lakefront Path, having survived 19 of the 20 miles of one of my last long runs before the Marine Corps Marathon.  I was preparing to cross an intersection at which the traffic had a stop sign.  These are usually good for runners, because most drivers will actually stop at these intersections and let you go. Well, there were a lot of cars courteously waiting at the intersection, including a very scary Mack truck.  The truck kept making that deep revving sound, as if he might start accelerating at any moment. So, I was so focused on not becoming a sweaty splotch on the pavement from getting hit by a truck that, as I entered the crosswalk, I did not see the bicycle about to slam into me!  Yes, that's right.  Some beyotch on her bike decided to ignore the rules of the road and use her powers of a-holish-ness to run right into me.  Thinking as quickly as I could, I grabbed onto her handlebars and flung myself over her front tire---hardly missing a stride.  I could not, however, think quickly enough to get the proper swear words out in time.  My cursing went something like this, "What the! . . . Holy! . . . Fuck! . . . Bitch!" As I ran across the street.  The dirty tread mark from her wheel up and down my leg was the only sign of my brush with death.  Imagine what kind of mark the Mack truck would've made.