Give me pizza or give me death

It was a mundane decision, the type you make a million times a day without even giving a second thought. I got out of my car, two car lengths back from the proper pedestrian crossing at the intersection of Second and Main, on an errand to pickup a pizza.

Because, of course, we only order from the one place in town that doesn't deliver. But that's another story.

My choices were: backtrack to the lights and be a good citizen, or simply dash across the street, go as the crow flies, save probably 30 seconds and get that pie home to my hungry family.

I chose the latter, and here's where our adventure begins.

Two cars were approaching, one from either direction. One traveling east was too close, so I waited for it to pass before making my move. The other, coming from the west, was a seemingly safe distance away, and I instinctively judged that I could easily lope across at a brisk pace before it got anywhere near me.

I think I was thinking about watching the Badger game when I realized that I was falling down.

Main St, after several weeks of brutal melt-and-freeze cycles, is coated with a good two inch base of solid ice, and the waffle soles on my heavy leather boots were simply overmatched. Like a drunken figure skater, I went down, hard, right in the middle of the street.

Sitting up, stunned, I quickly realized two pretty frightening things. One, I couldn't get traction underneath me to get up. And two, that other car-that one I was going to easily beat at a lope-was closing fast, coming into the intersection and probably not yet realizing that I was sprawled in his/her path.

I scrambled onto all fours, flailing for a grip, hoping they'd spot me and at least slow down a little, sort of ease up the impact. I actually had the coherent thought "broken bones are better than death" and as I felt the headlights illuminate me, I tucked and turned my back toward them.

Literally braced for the hit, my mind began racing, wondering just how sickening the thud was going to sound and whether I would be lifted and thrown through the air or merely propelled down the street like a human hockey puck.

I guess it just wasn't my time yet.

They hit the brakes, going into a gentle sideways slide and somehow veering not into me but toward the opposite sidewalk. It was a blue Ford SUV, easily big enough to have mangled me into a very messy state at best.

We were six feet apart.

I could feel my heart pounding, hard. The driver, a shaken looking 30-something woman quickly rolled down her window and yelled, "My God! Are you allright?"

I had barely enough air in my lungs to gasp out "Yes. Thank you." And I never meant it more sincerely.

Unfurling myself slowly, like a great bird about to take flight, I was finally able to get to my feet, and nimbly navigate the remaining 10 feet to the blessed safety of the sidewalk. She righted the Ford, and headed off toward wherever with a memorable tale to tell.

I dutifully picked up my pizza and returned to my car-this time via the designated pedestrian crossing.

It was only later, when the kids had gone to bed and I sat down with a beer that the immediate shock and denial of the event wore off. I realized my shoulders and neck were drawn painfully tight. My knees ached from the fall and the ice. And I was paralyzed with thoughts of 'What if...?'

On the bright side, the pizza was quite delicious. Next time, though, we get delivery. My life could depend on it.