Monday, March 23, 2009


(these are not actually my knees but they look close.)

This past weekend I suffered several injuries. Anyone who has been around me for any length of time knows that graceful or agile is not exactly the words which quickly come tot he tongue when asked to describe me. Instead, in a National Championship game broadcast, I was once described as "rumbling, bumbling, stumbling". Nice.

So why I was suprised that I would suffer injury trying to be lithe and athletic on Sunday is a little beyond my own understanding of myself but the whole event was rather hilarious, so I thought it should be shared...

It all started Saturday when in a fit of fake rage, I threw a punch thru a doorway with my elbow. I honestly wasn't sure I didn't break it until Sunday morning. I failed to recognize my surroundings and was much closer to edge of the closet than I realizes. When I threw said punch, I slammed my elbow into the reinforced edge of the closet causing my elbow to give since the reinforcing wouldn't and I collapsed in pain that didn't relent until I fell asleep that night. When I woke up, I still couldn't use it too well in terms of putting pressure on that arm but I was obviously not broken.*

It was a sunny Sunday so we decided to go running seperately (see above for descriptive terms of my athleticism and you'll understand why I often run with myself). I was enjoying the sunshine, listening to Sookie, and running amongst the throngs of people in town for the regatta on Boathouse row, when I found myself suddenly airborne. With reaction time close to a blind deaf slug, it was helpless to try to react and instead I allowed myself to come to a heavy stop on my hands and knees. A man doing step-ups on a bench stopped and stared. No one managed to snicker until after I stood up, an event that made me look like a lop-sided tripod due to my elbow injury from the previous night not allowing me to put weight on that arm. When the man recognized that I was able to walk, he went back to his step-ups on the bench. I wanted to throw a rock at him, but the pain streaming thru my hands was stopping me from doing anything besides blinking back tears of embarassment. I quickly started to run, toughing it out when I realized the blood streaming down my knee was probably pretty disgusting.

(I should take this moment to comment on my running attire for the day. I choose to wear bright red shorts and an almost hot yellow t-shirt. So assuming your friend missed my theatrics, you could quite easily remember and point out the girl you just totally saw bite it in the biggest way.)

I managed to tough it out another half mile or so when I saw a bench and stopped to check out the damage. A man walked past my obvious attempt to stop the bleeding and then doubled back, asking if I was ok, if I needed a ride anywhere or if not, that he had a bandaid in the car. Feeling a bit like a five-year old at the playground being asked if I would like some candy, I released my yellow shirt now stained with blood and told him I was fine and continued on my run. I made it home and washed the rocks out my knee and spent the rest of the day trying to not run into things or fall anywhere else.

*(My elbow is currently the size of two elbows and rather blue in color, in case you were wondering).

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