This page is all about my favorite falls. If you are the kind of person that finds joy in other people’s pain…this will be a page of much delight.
Let me give you a history of my lack of grace.
3 years old, running from my 5 year old scissor-bearing-sister, who denies the scissor part of this story, I miss-judge the turn to my narrow escape and hit the wall just before the doorway. Cracked my head open, hit the floor..blood running down my face, scissor-bearing-sister passes out. Mom finds herself in the hallway, two daughters down, one bloodified. Butterfly bandage and a scar.
12 or 13 years old, I’m peddling a gignormous 10 speed bike on a newly graveled road, yes you know where this is going. I am trying to catch up with my dad….going as fast-as-I-can! The chain comes off, my feet are flying in circles at a cartoonish speed that resembles Road Runner’s legs prior to escaping coyote. I’m flying over the handle bars and, well… it’s gross to think about what happened next. Lots of tar and gravel to be picked out of those knees. I remember thinking…wow, I can see the entire thickness of my epidermis. Ok… maybe I didn’t say epidermis, but I seriously had taken out a whole chunk of knee.
16 years old… this is a good one. I’m a sophomore in high school, working up the nerve to ask a senior crush to the Saidy Hawkins dance. I had things timed so that I would show up to my class in one building just as he was heading to his. This failed a few times, and I was late to class. One more time and I would have to go to detention. One day, he’s taking his time to class… I’m waiting.. he’s talking with friends… I’m going to lose my “oh so coincidental moment.” Screw it.. I bolt to the doors with such speed that when I STOP on the ridiculous excuse of a door mat composed some kind of astroturf, my feet actually slide the whole rug UP the door while I’m still holding onto the handle. This prevents you from opening the door. I look like a street gymnast on crack. Hopeful date walks up right behind me, laughing. Well, who wouldn’t at the sight. Bell rings…. I have detention. He did go to the dance with me.
On to college. I will only recall the sober falls, for obvious reasons, recall being the key word. I am on a Marine Biology field trip out to Salt Creek. I go on a hike with a bunch of guys, while the girls all compare toenail polish or WHATEVER. So…. me, a few cross country runners, a football player and one guy from Hawaii (who doesn’t seem to be handling the NW weather well) head up to “Striped Peak.” We get to the top and one of them yells “Fool’s Run!” This means that we all run back down as fast as we can, like FOOLS. I’m a team player so I start running. Ok… Cross Country guys zoom by me. They know what their doing.. they can navigate the roots. Then, football player JR, is catching up. I’m out of his way… roots.. ha! Roots retract when they hear him coming. I have no idea where Hawaii guy is. But I’m running and I hit a root. Into the air I sail like the Greatest American Hero. I actually get a scream out and finished before I hit the ground. JR heard the scream and calls out, “Lisa? Are you OK?” I yell, “I’M DOWN!” like I spontaneously grew balls or something. “I’m OK.” I’m not. I just ripped a whole in the knee of my favorite jeans. No one comes to help me. Where the hell is that guy from Hawaii? I head down, limping. A gradually get pissed that everyone forgot I was actually a girl and might of needed some help. So I find a mud puddle and really coat myself in the stuff so it looks so much worse. No sympathy. Guys suck.
A few years back I was heading out the door to a birthday party when the voice in my head said.. “wear sensible shoes, you are going to the beach.” I said, “Gosh look at the time, I’m late. I’m going to slip my clogs on.” The party was at a little beach house down a trail from the main house. River is 1 year old, Ruby is not quite 3. I head down the trail with River on my hip and holding Ruby’s hand. The gravel slides under my feet and my ankle turns. I manage to shift River to my chest and hoist Ruby’s hand in the air as I go down. I sat on my ankle. I heard an internal crunch. My own fat ass broke my ankle. With help I hobble back up the trail and to the doctor’s office so she could validate that I had indeed broken my ankle. So, this is not at all a funny story. I had to have surgery. Here’s the pic:
Let’s call this, “Does my broken ankle make my ass look fat?”
Titanium plate and 5 screws. The only funny part stuff about this fall is that I did go back to the party and drank wine and had cake. A week later I had Ruby’s Peter Pan birthday party. I was “Tinkerbell.” Couldn’t fly, couldn’t walk.
OK since then, I don’t need to have a reason to fall. I just FALL. Here are a some posts of my most recent falls……I will post more as gravity demands.
Read Grace Not: