You can stop calling me Boot-Boy. I am now sans boot so you can go back to calling me all the other stuff (Dork, Geek, Goofball, Freak-show…). Although I am very happy to not have to walk around with my leg strapped into an oversized stiff black boot any longer (I never did get around to painting racer stripes on it), my cat Radar is kind of sad to see it go. He thought it was a giant moving cat toy and was fond of attacking the Velcro straps. Then again he treats most of the furniture and people in the house as giant cat toys so he likely will not miss it.
I originally planned on donating the boot as soon as I got out of it but I think I am going to keep it a little while longer. I am not particularly superstitious but I just get the feeling the minute I give it away something will happen and I might need it again (I can keep it with the neoprene knee brace I have had for 15 years). Holding onto it is sort of like insurance; I certainly will never need a boot if I have one lying around in the corner with all the other cat toys.
You might recall I tore two tendons in my leg during the final sprint of an hour long exercise ‘boot camp’. I guess it made sense that I ended up in a boot due to boot camp (I still think they should market it as ‘Booty Camp to shrink your booty’, although if that were the case I might have opted instead to go to Gutter Camp to shrink my gut). I must confess to feeling a little old and fragile after hurting myself in what should have been an easy innocuous run.
I started to feel better about the injury when I learned that my oldest brother, a marathon runner, had a similar thing happen several years ago and in much the same unexpected way. I started thinking about other injuries I have had. Luckily none of them have been that major (knock wood… oops there I go being superstitious again). I should not feel old and fragile; I should feel like a Dork, Geek, Goofball or Freak-show (as usual). The few times I have really hurt myself have all been freak injuries that occurred in somewhat less then dramatic situations (see my blog on 10/17/07 for a longer more detailed version of the stories in the next 2 paragraphs).
When I was three years old I broke my nose. My brother and I were blowing bubbles in our small New York City back yard (we called it a back yard but really it was a very short hard-angled concrete driveway that led from the curb to the garage under the house) when I stumbled. I was a logical little kid and not wanting to spill or drop the bubble juice (a valuable item to a three year old) or lose the little bubble blowing stick (what good is the bubble juice without the little two-holed bubble juice dispensing stick), I fell face first onto the ground without ever putting my hands out to break the fall (since my hands were in use clutching the bubble producing paraphernalia). I did a similar thing 13 years later when, as an usher at my sister’s wedding, I passed cold but other things then my face broke that fall (I’ll have save that story for another time).
When I was 12 I gave myself a minor concussion and cracked a couple of ribs falling up a flight of stairs. I got home from school to discover our new dog Smokey had broken out of his crate. He had gotten into the kitchen garbage and spread it out all over the floor in an effort, I assume, to make a doggie buffet. As I started to scold him, he raced upstairs towards his crate. I darted up after him but slipped (possibly on one of the items from the doggie buffet). Inertia kept my body moving up the stairs even though my feet were not under me anymore. My chest came down hard on the corner of a step and with the wind knocked out of me I tumbled down to the bottom of the staircase.
This somewhat sports related tendon injury is about the most normal way I think I have ever been hurt. So after a few weeks of clopping around I am now faced with a month or so of physical therapy. After that I should be back to normal. Whatever that is.
I originally planned on donating the boot as soon as I got out of it but I think I am going to keep it a little while longer. I am not particularly superstitious but I just get the feeling the minute I give it away something will happen and I might need it again (I can keep it with the neoprene knee brace I have had for 15 years). Holding onto it is sort of like insurance; I certainly will never need a boot if I have one lying around in the corner with all the other cat toys.
You might recall I tore two tendons in my leg during the final sprint of an hour long exercise ‘boot camp’. I guess it made sense that I ended up in a boot due to boot camp (I still think they should market it as ‘Booty Camp to shrink your booty’, although if that were the case I might have opted instead to go to Gutter Camp to shrink my gut). I must confess to feeling a little old and fragile after hurting myself in what should have been an easy innocuous run.
I started to feel better about the injury when I learned that my oldest brother, a marathon runner, had a similar thing happen several years ago and in much the same unexpected way. I started thinking about other injuries I have had. Luckily none of them have been that major (knock wood… oops there I go being superstitious again). I should not feel old and fragile; I should feel like a Dork, Geek, Goofball or Freak-show (as usual). The few times I have really hurt myself have all been freak injuries that occurred in somewhat less then dramatic situations (see my blog on 10/17/07 for a longer more detailed version of the stories in the next 2 paragraphs).
When I was three years old I broke my nose. My brother and I were blowing bubbles in our small New York City back yard (we called it a back yard but really it was a very short hard-angled concrete driveway that led from the curb to the garage under the house) when I stumbled. I was a logical little kid and not wanting to spill or drop the bubble juice (a valuable item to a three year old) or lose the little bubble blowing stick (what good is the bubble juice without the little two-holed bubble juice dispensing stick), I fell face first onto the ground without ever putting my hands out to break the fall (since my hands were in use clutching the bubble producing paraphernalia). I did a similar thing 13 years later when, as an usher at my sister’s wedding, I passed cold but other things then my face broke that fall (I’ll have save that story for another time).
When I was 12 I gave myself a minor concussion and cracked a couple of ribs falling up a flight of stairs. I got home from school to discover our new dog Smokey had broken out of his crate. He had gotten into the kitchen garbage and spread it out all over the floor in an effort, I assume, to make a doggie buffet. As I started to scold him, he raced upstairs towards his crate. I darted up after him but slipped (possibly on one of the items from the doggie buffet). Inertia kept my body moving up the stairs even though my feet were not under me anymore. My chest came down hard on the corner of a step and with the wind knocked out of me I tumbled down to the bottom of the staircase.
This somewhat sports related tendon injury is about the most normal way I think I have ever been hurt. So after a few weeks of clopping around I am now faced with a month or so of physical therapy. After that I should be back to normal. Whatever that is.
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