My ankle hurts.

Today, I ate it in front of the postal museum on Massachusetts Avenue. I was walking along to a happy hour with coworkers when next thing I know, gravity had won and I was on my way down. Surprisingly, no one laughed. I sat on the ground for a while. A few concerned strangers stopped to ask if I was OK.

That was more than six hours ago. My ankle is swollen and hurts like a bitch.

I spent most of my childhood falling over, bruising knees and twisting ankles and procuring various other injuries.  The worst was when I fell in a ditch during P.E. and twisted my ankle. I was on crutches for weeks.  The funniest was when, while rollerblading, I ran into something, flipped in the air and landed on my back. It was actually quite amazing, and I think I came away with a few bruises, nothing more. Miraculously, I’ve never broken a bone.

It’s been a while since I’ve just tripped. I think I can count on my two hands how many times I tripped in college. The last was in a Wal-Mart parking lot when I still lived in my college town (#renoclassy, anyone?). I thought I had conquered this clumsiness.

That’s why today caught me off guard. I’m still wondering if it’s serious enough to actually go to the doctor. I usually don’t. Like the time I sprained my ankle in New York City while running 20 blocks to Port Authority. I iced it in my New Jersey hotel room and was back on my feet the next day. Or the time that I popped my knee while ice skating and was dragged off the ice by four men. Instead of going to the emergency room, I got in a car and went to Carson City, where I spent the next two days walking around with a friend’s grandmother’s cane and shopping.

My aforementioned bad knee, by the way, is a result of that ice skating incident.

No matter. I’ll just power through. Man up. Wrap it in the morning. Perfect the limp walk. I’m sure I could come up with some metaphor for life about injuries and recovering, falling down and getting back up. But really, this is what you should take away from this:

That sidewalk in front of the postal museum is NOT even. Look down, folks. Look down.


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