Falls for the Ages

I fall down a lot.

No, this is not a metaphorical discussion. I mean I regularly eat shit and get cozy with the ground below me on a disproportionate basis. So yesterday, when, on my jog back from the gym after an uplifting workout, I caught my toe on an uneven piece of sidewalk and careened into the pavement with a comedic force that even Chevy Chase in his glory SNL days couldn't rival, I found it fitting that I ended 2008 with one of my signature stumbles.

As I sit here now, admiring my swollen knee caps bright with a hue that might sit in a Crayola box under the label Vicious Violet or Purple Passion, I reminisce about some of my more legendary falls.

The Seeds of Falls to Come: Little Feet
I did not walk until the age of 18 months. For fear of speculation about my mental acuity and general ability to learn, my parents liked to think this delay in ambulatory activity was due to my unusually tiny feet. Luckily for them, this defense has held up well over the years. Standing at 5 feet, 8 inches, and weighing in at 160 lbs., I wear a whopping size 7 shoe, and a narrow 7 at that. And while foot size is typically related to limb length, and not height and weight, it does seem noteworthy that the people I meet who wear my size tend to be 8th graders . . . or the same size as 8th graders. My brother-in-law refers to my feet and ankles as "hooves" and "dankles" (deer ankles).

The Folding Chair Incident
Nobody just falls well on their first try. Everybody needs training, regardless the skill. So of course, when it came time for my first major fall, I needed a couple props to make it a good one. When I tell people that I broke my first bone at gymnastics class when I was 6, the natural response of course is, "oh were you on the balance beam or the uneven bars or something?" Um, yeah, no. I broke it after class, falling over a row of folding chairs on my way back from my locker. I broke the arm in several places and sported a little shriveled excuse of a left arm for months after the cast came off. Needless to say, I never made it to the Olympic trials for vault or floor exercise either.

Holes in the Ground and Ankles in a Sling
Elementary school up through high school, I played soccer every year. And with my growing body on stubbornly tiny feet and ankles, running up and down the soccer field summoned forth a series of grassy nose dives brought on by even the smallest of potholes and resulting in yearly ankle sprains, and in some cases, minor breaks and lots of experience using crutches. And again, in some cases, these ankle turners occurred either before or after the game ever started. "Ice and elevate" became my mantra for most of my formative years.

Gymnastics Revisited
Another worthy mention was my junior high catastrophe that led to a broken wrist and a "D" in gym class. Once again, this fumble occurred during the gymnastics portion of our P.E. semester, and once again doing something completely unrelated to actual gymnastics. Ever seen those lumberjack logrolling competitions? Well, someone talked me into engaging in a similar endeavor using a cylindrical piece of gym equipment and about 5 seconds in, that was all she wrote! Down I went, snap went the wrist. But hey, at least I didn't land on my face . . . or ankles.

Sour Grapes
Most people pair wine drinking with sophistication, with style, . . . grace.

Alas, I've managed to demolish that stereotype. One particular wine tasting trip to the Santa Yzez Valley in my mid 20s produced a powerhouse plunge that the wine-tasting community had yet to see the likes of. The town of Los Olivos has 8 or 9 wine tasting rooms all along a single street, making it fairly easy to walk up and down this quaint little strip imbibing the equivalent of 2 or 3 bottles while staying safely out of your vehicle for the day. Unfortunately safety is only as sure as the person who needs it, and true to form, after only our first tasting stop, I missed a step on the way out of the tasting room and bailed onto the sidewalk with the elegance of a career drinker getting the boot after last call. Luckily skinned knees and mangled pride were the extent of my injuries that day. Unfortunately I broke my complimentary wine glass too.

Walking or Running and Breathing at the Same Time
My early adult years have been dotted with various minor and major spills caused by . . well, nothing. I'd just randomly fall here and there. Once on a work retreat, I randomly launched off a staircase coming out of a restaurant and tore holes in my nylons and crimps in my hair representative of Amy Winehouse after a quality night out. Another time, on a great run around Ann Arbor, I got caught up looking at all the charming houses that I was running by and crashed into the sidewalk so hard, I hit my head and after wondered if I should start wearing a helmet and a bit. And yet another year, we were house sitting in a big beautiful 19th century farmhouse and, after explicitly being told not to walk on the ultra smooth staircase in socks by the owner, I made the ultra smooth move of doing so and proceeded to slip and then slide on my ass all the way down to the bottom of the stairs to the amazement of the guests who had just arrived for brunch. If insurance companies had access to live footage of our daily activities, I'm pretty sure I'd be one of those pour souls sans coverage you hear about on the news every day.

Piece de Resistance
Yesterday's fall on the way back from the gym was significant for two primary reasons. First, it sucked. I was in high spirits after a good workout and that spill just killed the buzz. Second, however, was that it was a test run, a test fall if you will, after the magnificent Mammoth trip of 2007.

Ever dislocated anything before? Well, let me assure you that it is the most outstanding pain one can ever hope to experience and a must-do for all you masochists out there. On par with my broken arm fall after gymnastics class, I dislocated my shoulder and fractured my scapula on the last night of a glorious 5-day trip to Mammoth two summers ago. How did it happen might you ask? Mountain biking? Rock climbing? Maybe even on a good run through the trails with some of the world class marathoners who live and train up there?? Nope. I fell out of a jacuzzi. And did so stone sober might I add. I suppose I'll spare you all the agonizing details, including the EMTs' 35 minutes worth of futile attempts to pump morphine into my withdrawn veins before taking me to the ER. But a word-to-the-wise if I may, make sure you keep the same health coverage after attempting such an injury, because insurance companies aren't big fans of taking on new clients with dislocations in their pasts. Apparently once you dislocate it, it's almost certain to happen again.

So, needless to say, yesterday when I hit the ground, arms aimed firmly out in front of me to spare my knees as much impact as possible, I was thrilled to discover (once I had my wits about me again) that my shoulder was still happily in place! Hey, there's always a silver lining.

Now, as I finish up this post almost exactly 12 hours before the stroke of the New Year, I wonder two things:
1) Can I protect myself from myself for another 12 hours?
And, 2) What might 2009 have in store for a walking, talking disaster like me?

Only time will tell. Until then, I've got Chevy, ice packs, and Ibuprofen to make me feel like I'm part of a legacy.