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Where I classify myself as injury prone

by John on April 30th, 2012

I am not a graceful person. When I do yoga, it’s an exercise in me not falling down and trying to avoid farting while hiding the erection that I’ll inevitably get during corpse pose. I’ve been told that I have a near-perfect running posture, but, well, when I run, it feels like I’m a set of completely disjointed parts, with each moving at their own pace, in their own pattern. I do not allow myself to ski or ice skate or, really, do much with anything involving frozen water, because, well, I just know the end result would be “bad.”

So, I’m injury prone. The problem is that I seldom have good stories to tell from my injuries. The worst injury in my life, I broke my elbow while doing a good deed for my mom. I gave myself a stress-fracture of my left radius slipping & falling on an ice cube, as I was making myself the first drink of the night. I broke my tailbone crossing the street to buy a Christmas present during an ice storm (see, it’s best to keep me away from large quantities of frozen water).

And, this past weekend, I hurt my back slipping & falling on a dog bed.

Saturday night, I had just poured myself a glass of wine1 and was walking upstairs to have said drink in bed. I turned off the light in the kitchen and went to open the baby gate when “whoops” and I was suddenly on my ass.

One of the dog’s beds, essentially a fluffy pillow, was on the kitchen floor, and, with it being dark, I had no idea. I splattered the wall with red and landed hard. It didn’t feel too good.

Sunday morning, I woke up with a very stiff back, and when I started to think about getting a morning run in, my son looked at me with his little lazy early morning smile, so I allowed myself to head back to bed. I keep hearing that the time that baby cuddles are freely-given is expiring, so I might as well gather them while they’re available.

I went to church, played with the good old organ, and then went out to play a benefit concert for the symphony. Only, well, I had a little bit of time to kill. And it was a nice day . . . and my back hurt, so, surely, I could do a little run and get things loosened up, right?

I parked my truck, changed into my gym clothes (because that’s what I had on me), and prepared for the worst2. I ran the last 5k of the Harrisburg Marathon route (I must admit that it’s a very weird feeling to be running toward City Island, along the river, on a fresh pair of legs) before turning around.

I had no pain in my thighs, or nipples, or armpits . . . all of the trouble zones from running with the wrong clothing were trouble-free. My feet felt great, even though I hadn’t been running in awhile . . . but my back? Well, that’s a different story.

I’m now writing this the next day, and I can tell that it’s getting better . . . but ouch.

1 Ok, fine, you got me – I pushed a button on the box and filled my red solo cup with fermented grape beverage.
2 I have gym clothes, and I have running clothes . . . running clothes are compression shorts & shirts . . . because, if I don’t wear that, I end up with very painful thighs and bloody nipples . . . chafing is no laughing matter.
  1. you lost me at “bloody nipples.”

    • Oh, the first time I realized that I had truly screwed up . . . it was painful. I was running on vacation and a few cars had honked at me, but I figured they were just cheering on a dude running. I entered the beach house & Duffy looked at me in horror . . . blood was just streaming down my chest.

      The only thing is, this is a uniquely male problem. And easily correctable, you just need to think ahead.

  2. Next time you should take your box o’ wine to the bedroom instead of putting it in a red solo cup. That way it won’t spill if you fall.

    • You know, I actually thought about that . . . I didn’t want to have to get up to get another glass cup when I finished . . . but I thought I was actually doing the responsible thing and curtailing my drinking.

    • I like the way you think!!

  3. Slipping on a dog bed…..I have done this so many times it may be one of the top reasons I don’t have a dog.

    • You know, for being cute little buggers, they sure are pains in the ass.

  4. I have to say that I love that you drink boxed wine. Now I feel a little less hurt when people make fun of me.

    But, but but….JOHN DOES IT TOO!!!

    • It’s totally a cost thing . . . I’ve found the bare minimum of quality that I’m willing to accept (I usually buy two boxes per pop – the first of slightly higher quality, so I’ll start there, and then switch to the real swill by the time I know I can’t tell the difference), so I go right there when it’s “to take the edge off.”

      If I’m looking to enjoy? I’ll pull out something nicer – but “the edge,” unfortunately, wins out more often than not.

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