The great thing about being a print journalist is that you are permitted to duck. Cameramen get killed while the writers are flat on the floor. A war correspondent for the BBC dedicated his memoir to 50 fallen colleagues and I guarantee you they were all taking pictures. I am only alive because I am such a chicken.
I swear my car won't run unless I'm picking my nose: At least I'm that superstitious about it so I don't want to take any chances.