When I was about four or five, I remember measuring summers by the number of scabs and scars on my knees. I remember thinking "I fell down nine times this summer." I also remember loosing track of all the big tear-jerking tumbles I took down the driveway. I had scrapes on top of scrapes and they all represented that I had spent time outside after the long Minnesota* winters. And then I grew up. And spent many, many summers without knee scrapes, scabs or band-aids. Then today, on Front and Grape, I wiped out hard on a run. I stood up, embarrassed and shaky, and cried all the way home. I cleaned and bandaged my new someday-scar and remembered all those little girl summers where it was all worth it, just to be outside.
*yep, we lived in MN until 1992 when my dad's job brought us out to California.
