Monday, August 8, 2011
Crooked is as crooked does
It was all going so well. Running along a rocky ridge line with two of my XC team members, the valley's river below and the peaks we had yet to climb drew us further along the trail. It was new territory for them, some of it very technical and rock strewn. The pace was reasonable for the climbing heat and oppressive humidity. Happy chatter filled the spaces between each footfall. Then, approaching our final turn off the mountain, time slowed as I felt my body hurl through the muggy air. I was horizontal. For a nanosecond, I was Superwoman, outstretched and flying. But then, gravity announced itself.
I quickly descended to meet the ground rising up to me at an alarming rate. Prematurely wincing, I braced for the landing. Ahhhhh. This is gonna hurt. I was right. It did. A lot. My full body weight came down on the extended left arm, my forearm shoved up into my elbow. As my Mother says, "it knocked the stuffin's out of me." Breath was hard to catch and upon sitting, the trees started spinning as my stomach churned. The girls weren't sure what to do. Neither was I.
They pulled me to my feet, me grasping my arm. Now covered in dirt and grime with sweat creating tiny mud rivulets on my leg, I was a mess. My arm loudly protested at the assault but at least no bones poked through. So, off we ran, if somewhat tentatively, toward our awaiting car.
It was only later I realized my anatomy had been significantly rearranged. No amount of trying could push my arm straight or bend it further than 90 degrees. I could not touch my face, bring food to my lips, or reach up to deal with my ratted ponytail. What's a girl to do?
Ice. X-rays. Adaptation. The report said no fracture but my arm is still crooked. Torn ligaments, most likely. So for now, crooked is ok because it will make me appreciate straight all the more.