Last night I wandered into the yard to greet Cirrus, my landlord’s dog, who was faithfully "guarding" the house. As best a long-haired dachshund can guard a house. It was dark, and no one else was home, so relatively little light fell on the lawn. As I headed back across the yard to my front door, I was swallowed by a hole that just jumped out and grabbed me. Oh, it was a deceptive, sneaky little thing. Appeared out of no where and then vanished again as soon as I was nose to dirt with the grass. I hate that.
One ankle bent one way, the other ankle bent the opposite. I don’t think they were meant to do that. And then I did the most amazingly grace-less face-plant smack into the grass. Lucille Ball would have been proud. I’m sure there was at least one angel watching that grimaced, "that’s gonna leave a mark." And another I’m sure that called out, "watch out for the–! Never mind." Too bad they didn’t bother to intervene.
My ankles screamed at me in utter agony, which I thought was rather unfair, considering they were the ones who decided to go in opposite directions. I had no say in the matter.
I crawled on my hands and knees to my front porch, all the while wondering how I would explain this to my doctor, threw my gym bag up the stairs, wondered if anyone had ever before sprained both ankles at once, clawed my way to my feet hanging onto the porch column for support, wondered how in the world I was going to get to the doctor the next day with both ankles swollen and sprained and in pain, and slowly, tenderly, gingerly stepped up the porch steps to the door and into my home, wondering how I would explain this to my co-workers and still be taken seriously as a professional–well, anything. I mean, really. Do you take me seriously after this??
Yes, I elevated my feet to help slow the swelling. No, I didn’t ice them — couldn’t take the cold! Yes, they swelled up — but one went down by this morning. The right ankle, however, looks a little like a tire with a bulge in it. No bruising, though. Not that that’s much comfort.
I also pulled a muscle I never knew I had in my right calf; one that goes all the way up the back of my knee. I know this because it screams obscenities at me every time I move my lower leg, my foot, my ankle– pretty much anything on the lower right side of my body.
That’s just not right. My body should not be screaming at me period. And especially not bad words.
Oy, I’m getting old.
Too old to be this "graceful". Oh, it was cute when I was little. Watch little Lu walk into the door jamb and bounce back with a smile. Even when I was 20 it was sweet and funny that I walked off curbs at night and banged into clearly visible open filing cabinet drawers. But to be 40 and still falling victim to perfidious "dips" in the ground and knavish pieces of furniture (yes, I sleep with my thesaurus, deal with it) is rather, well, sad, don’t you think?
Not to mention painful.
Someone bring me another Advil, please.
In the Steadicam business, they call this the “Cycle of Attention.” You have to be able to keep track of several things at once: where your feet are, where the camera is pointing, where it needs to point, where the talent is, where you’re going. Now, as a Christian, your thoughts are to be taken up with Jesus, but I think He can spare you a few processor cycles to keep track of where you are and what your trajectory is. He won’t begrudge you a little attention on yourself to stay out of holes.
I know how this goes. My co-workers are used to finding me standing someplace in the Control Center, trying to figure out why I’m there. They’re also used to seeing me run into things.
About all I can recommend is a good gym. Go in there, exercise, make stronger muscles. Then when you trip over things you will be less likely to fall (better balance, quicker movements) and less likely to be damaged when you do fall.
But… it doesn’t really matter. God thinks you’re beautiful, even sprawled on the damp grass with an Attack Dachshund licking your face.
That sucks. Loosing gracefullness is one way I knew I was pregnant. I would walk directly into the door jamb instead of going through the opening. And one day at work, I was walking down the hallway in the platform slides I used to love. One slid right out from ounder my foot and I fell into a pile on the floor. I’m glad no one was there to see, but of course I told my co-worker, my husband, and now the entire world (at least those who read your comments!) :o)
I was in Nashville this week. It was beautifully cold. I met so many people, and it was great. There’s a girl named Emory who just moved up there and is staying in Spring Hill. My friend Amy who also lives there tried to recruit her to Rolling Hills. And I tried to recruit her to Grace Park. And if you met her, you’d LOVE her, and you’d probably recruit her to Mosaic.
I had a shorthaired miniature dachsaund from the age of 4 til 22. She was the cutest thing. And her colors were like a brown and red marble mix. When she got older, the gray mixed in with it, and it was even more beautiful than when she was young.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that Nashville always treats me well. Have a good one, ok? Peace, friend.