Ugh. After work last night I went running at the city park. I chose the park because light was fading. It was cold enough that burning lungs gave me pause. The path was icy, but nothing I couldn't handle with my inherent surefootedness.
Halfway through the first lap I strode over a narrow ribbon of ice. I was beginning to think I should cut the run short. Around the last horn I saw some standing water in a hard turn of the trail. I leapt deer-like over the water and landed lightly on a snot-slick patch of black ice. My right wrist took the brunt of my crash landing though I'm wearing a badge of road rash on my hip as well.
I grumbled loudly as I stood up. I went ahead and stopped Strava and started walking toward the car. My hip burned but my wrist seemed okay. I stepped carefully over a couple other ice ribbons across the trail and was glad I had "decided" to end my run.
The mental berating echoed the time I crashed on the railroad tracks in Golden on my bike and the time I sprained my ankle trailrunning at Pilot Knob. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! is the chant I repeated.
When I tried to turn the key in the car ignition the pain flared in my wrist. Shifting was tricky. By the time I got home it was stiffening. I wasn't sure if it was broken or merely sprained. I gimped around all evening worrying that I’d not be able to sleep with a wrecked appendage. I did go ahead and text my supervisor to let him know I’d be in after I visited the X-ray shop here in town.
Then this morning out of the fog of a nice deep sleep I heard Mandy blurt: “Crap!”
“What’s up?” I mumbled, though my slowly waking brain almost knew what was coming.
“There’s no school,” she seethed.
“It’s okay, I’ll just take the day off,” I solved, and burrowed deeper into my pillow.
When I finally did drag my sorry self out of bed I noticed I had better range of motion and less pain in my wrist. Less pain, but it’s still limiting what I can do. I managed to fix myself and the kids eggs and toast for breakfast. I’ve managed to do most everything I’ve needed this morning, but it’s obvious that I won’t be visiting the gym or riding my mountain bike for a few days (hopefully not weeks).
It was my right wrist, and many of you would be groaning in sympathy until I told you I’m “left-handed,” but then groaning again once I told you that it’s only a technicality and like many lefties I’m actually right-hand dominant. At least I can still text and type!
So now you know why today’s post is late and of little substance. I keep wondering what Hemingway would do.