That would be me! I made vague mention of achiness in yesterday’s post… to cement my doo hickey durr butter status, here is the story. We drove to St. George this past weekend in Southern Utah, which would have been cool and all but the stars of doom and clutzitis followed me down that way and made sure they made their presence known. I ain’t even joking around. They hid themselves beneath one of my fat flabs and got nice and comfy until they could make their September debut… they come out at least once a month.
All was somewhat well (according to my lowered level of well anyway) until early Sunday morning when a few of us decided to go on a hike. It was early due to the fact that St. George is a desert and still gets up into the mid to late 90s in the day time. Who wants to swelter to death in the desert!? I mean besides a super model. The hike went okay on the way up. I skipped trying to scale the slippery flat rock part of the process. Something about gravity and weight and clutziness and because it was the smart thing to do. That and every time I tried to walk up it I’d immediately slide back down to the bottom. PASS!
On the way back down from the hike, not 100 yards from the car, my ankle turned and I went flailing head first like a torpedo at an all-you-can-smoke rock concert. As I was lying there picking red dirt from my nostril spaces, I was most amazed that nothing felt broken. My ankle hurt, my side hurt, my pride hurt, but nothing was broken. I got up and hobbled my way to the car, thanking my lucky nostril hairs.
Not 2 or 3 hours later on a set of cement stairs, taking pictures of sister Lindsay’s family, I stood up from sitting on a stair, got all discombobulated, forgot I was on stairs, missed a stair and went head first flailing and skidding my way down 3 or 4 stairs. I sat there with my nose pressed against the pavement for longer this time… because I was shocked at my idiocy level… TWICE in the space of 3 or 4 hours? REALLY!?!? When I finally came to, I swore… helled and damned all over the place (the nephews were tres impressed)… now instead of hobbling on my left ankle, my right knee was jacked up and I felt like a Mack truck had drug me behind it along the freeway for 12 hours.
And today… well, today on the day after, I feel 99 years old. Bending, walking, putting a dagnabbed shirt and deodorant on… PUTTING PANTS AND SOCKS ON… all not possible due to my creakitis. I also take 18 hours to walk up a flight of stairs on account of the fact that I have to do one at a time whilst leaning against the wall. Is this what it feels like to get old and decrepit? Whiplash is a real thing, yo! Meanwhile, if anyone needs me I’ve reserved a room in the nursing home/psychotic ward. If they let me take my strait jacket off once a day, I’ll be sure to answer the phone. And that’s the story of how I garnered the title of Luckiest Unlucky Person in the Universe! How many nearly 300-pound folk can go flailing around face first several times in a day and still be unbroken? I rest my case!
Question of the Day: Have you ever face planted? Broken any bones?