I wiped out spectacularly on the ice on Friday night. Don't for a second think that this means that I no longer love snow with a singular and unreasonable devotion. All it means is that I had an excuse to follow through with the vague plans I already had to do nothing for the entire three-day weekend.
I managed to twist my right knee, ankle, and (only the good Lord knows how) the inside arch of my foot. Any chance it looked like a rockin' dance move and not completely spazzy? Probably not. But since I didn't see myself fall, and, to my knowledge, there is no video footage, we'll go with the idea that it did, in fact, look like I meant to land on my ass in the hurdle pose.
Then I walked for another 15-20 minutes. I was on an errand to exchange some gloves for mittens, and wasn't no little crippled-ness gonna stop me. Not sure if that walking around made it worse or better or neither. All I know is that I did it.
I was on the couch pretty solidly on Saturday, and for impressive chunks of Sunday and Monday. Fortunately, I'm good at watching TV. I learned the word pestilential, thanks to a documentary about Ulysses S. Grant and the Civil War, which is fun (the word itself, not the Civil War or anything that is, in fact, pestilential). Wore heels to my roommate's birthday dinner, which I freely admit was stupid. But I don't care that it was stupid, so there.
Now I'm back at work, learning what it means to have less-than-optimum mobility. It's embarrassing. And slow. But if anyone has the temperament to deal with embarrassing slowness, 'tis I. And on the upside, my left leg is getting all kinds of excercise.
OK, I gotta run and catch a shuttle bus. Or hobble and catch a shuttle bus, rather.
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