7:07am. Milan.

I'm woken by two texts from my coworker. "Thought we were meeting in the lobby at 7:00. Heading to the train station."

The train leaves at 7:20. "Well I can't...." or can I?

Clothes on. Glasses on. All toiletries swept into purse. I run like hell.

There's a pedestrian underpass, but I Frogger across the road and through the square. I'm in the station with a minute to spare and I'm still somehow running. My shoes are shabby Converse and the floor is polished marble. And I'm 45.

Things are going as ok as any of that can be until I have that out of body moment when I know my foot to forward motion ratio is incompatible with staying upright.

I lunged into the fall, made an extremely satisfying "splat" sound, and skidded several horizontal meters on the marble floor. Two or more nicely dressed Italians look at me in horror, but I'm not physically hurt. Big smile. I thought about Mary Catherine Gallagher-ing it with a victory pose, but just got up and kept running.

Made the train as it was pulling out, brushed hair/teeth once i caught my breath. Moved to the correct train car at the next stop, and met up with my colleague.

We had a nice day trip and the waiter was horrified at how much wine we drank at lunch.