I was about a quarter mile into my morning run, when I looked down at my GPS watch. I happened to be running through a vacant lot at the time and the next thing I knew, I hit a rock and went crashing to the ground. I slowly got up and looked down to see my knees and palms of my hands covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. I then looked down and saw my beloved watch look like the photo above. Although I was grateful that it was my watch that was broken and not my wrist, I mourned for the lost of this trusty companion. It was a painful day, but I am grateful that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Who says running isn't a contact sport?
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