I've decided it's genetics

I realized that whenever I do a recap of a run, there is always a sentence about how I missed out on looking at my surroundings, because I was too busy looking at the ground. This is so I don't trip and fall. I'm always stumbling, and I usually have a couple of bruises somewhere on my body, so there is a definite risk in falling. I don't think its me, I think I only have my family genes to blame. Just to give you an idea of my clumsiness:

I once fell off a bike, that was not in motion, and gashed open my leg. Still have the scar.

I've stapled my finger twice. Twice.

I once dropped a razor in the shower, and cut open my toe.

I was walking down a hill to make the school bus, slipped in my gold penny loafers, and ripped open my green stirrup pants, and knee. It was the late '80's, hence the color combo.

Once at a high school football game, I was getting off the school bus with the rest of the band (flute, in case you're wondering), and I fell down the stairs. I sat the entire game with my foot up on a base drum, covered with a bag of ice.

I had a pocket knife close on my pinkie during a camping trip. Still have the scar.

In college I:

1. slipped on some ice coming out of class, then fell down the stairs. I had a bruise the size of my roommate's head.

2. tripped on a hill, and sprained my ankle. Back at the dorm, they called the EMT's since I couldn't walk. Per school policy, they strapped me to a chair-like contraption and carried me down four flights of stairs, in full view of everyone. Dork.

3. at a party, I went down a staircase too quickly, and broke my ankle. Mike and I were dating. We got a ride to the ER, and he went in to get a wheelchair for me, and proceeded to wipe out into the sliding glass doors. One fell and glass shattered all around him. Jinx?

4. walked into the living room of my apartment, and broke my toe on the couch.

One New Year's Eve, I was waiting tables. I fell down the stairs (shocker) carrying a full tray of champagne filled glasses. I had a bruise on my thigh the size of my head, and I think I did some deep tissue damage, that sucker didn't go away for weeks.

Another night, coming home from waitressing, I wiped out on black ice, and the entire contents of my purse scattered in slow motion across the dark parking lot. I called out to a non-existent friend that I would "be right there" in case someone was in the bushes waiting to kill me.

I was coming out of a bathroom in a bar in New Orleans, and I slipped on a weird step, and.....broke my ankle.

My sister A has a problem with doors. She walked into a plate glass door because she thought it was open, there was a perfect rectangle on the glass where her forehead hit. Another time she walked into a screen door, then kept walking, and broke the entire door out of the frame, just like the Hulk.

I could go on, but I won't. I think I have my parents to blame for all of this. My dad once put his hand through a window while trying to open it, fell and broke his wrist while going down a flight of stairs, then broke his collarbone falling off his bike while training for a triathlon. My mom broke her ankle, walking into a room.

I don't know. I hope L&E get Mike's genes.