vituperation

May 25, 2004

Only one shopping day left until my birthday. Not that I would be crass enough to do something like remind you I’ll be 37 tomorrow.

Several weeks ago, in an attempt to help my funky sleeping patterns, I stopped — after almost four years — working out early in the morning and started working out in the afternoons after work. Doing so worked wonders for my sleeping, incidentally, so if you’re having trouble sleeping and you work out early, you might consider switching things around to see if it helps.

Quickly, I came to realize there was an even better benefit to working out (cardio-wise) in the afternoon: I could hit the trail near our house, and work my way down the mountain and back up in about 33 minutes (and 7 seconds, but who’s counting?). A perfect little cardio workout, where I sweat like hell and pant like Michael Jackson at a Vienna Boy’s Choir concert. And way more fun than the phenomenally joy-sucking mood-killing boring elliptical trainer.

Why yes, I do hate working out on machines.

There’s a slight problem with walk-jogging the trail, though. Going as fast as I do, I’m invariably tripping and stumbling from time to time. I don’t know how much you know about the foothills of the Appalachians we have down here, but in essence, our mountains are big pieces of limestone with a little dirt sprinkled on top for decoration. As such, tiny ridges and shelves of rock poke out of the ground about every two feet or so. Couple that with all the roots from the trees that are above ground because of the rocky soil, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster in the making.

Who sees where this is going?

Every time I come home after doing the trail, I look at Robyn and say, “I almost fell down the mountain X times today” and we have a laugh about it.

Last Monday, I fell down the mountain.

The day before, it rained like hell almost all day, making for potentially hazardous conditions, because everyone knows the water in the woods takes longer to dry due to the canopy of leaves overhead. Problem number two, I took the hardest route, which is really steep downhill for maybe 6/10 of a mile, then a long uphill climb for a mile or so.

It happened on one of the steepest parts. I was hopskipping down the rocky path, going from outcropping to outcropping, when my right foot hit a slick spot and skidded on me. I brought my left foot down and forward, and just managed to stop myself from falling.

Whew, I thought, that was a close one.

My left foot caught on a ridge of rock poking up, and I pitched forward over the edge of a ten-ish inch drop. I was actually smiling as I sailed through the air with my arms outstretched, one hand clutching my walking stick and the other holding onto the Walkman, because I realized I must bear more than a passing resemblance to Moses, parting the Red Sea.

All was quiet as I flew, save Frank Muller’s voice droning in my ear about John Grisham’s brethren holed up in Trumble federal prison. I hit the ground with a thud — still grinning like an idiot — and lay there for the briefest of instants.

I hope no one saw that, I thought. I considered the situation. Hmmm. It doesn’t hurt too bad. Kind of numb, actually. I guess I got lucky.

Then my nerves caught up with my brain. To my credit, I didn’t cry like a little baby. Climbing to my feet, I surveyed the damage:

• Right arm: tiny scrape, bleeding a bit. Give it a 1 on a 1-10 scale.
• Left arm: road rash (rock rash?) near wrist, bleeding a little, hurts to bend wrist. Maybe a 5.
• Left leg: Ankle hurts. Bad. Makes me limp. Give it a 7 or maybe an 8.
• Right leg: I have two knees, one in the right place, one just below it the same size. Blood is cascading from the hole in my shin and running into my shoe. Whole leg is pounding. Pain scale from 1 to 10 is a 12.

After some debating on whether or not to turn around, I started back down the trail again. As I walked, my ankle started hurting more and more, but by then it was over a mile back to the car either way, so I kept slogging along.

I called Robyn.

“Bessie,” I said, panting still from exertion. “I fell down the mountain.”

I told her I would live, and that though it hurt I was still mobile, and we hung up. It got worse and worse as I went along, and by the time I made it back to the car — only two minutes off my normal speed, incidentally — I was hobbling pretty bad.

The spud had her last band concert ever that night, but I didn’t make it because I was nursing my battered body. My wife has asserted that I threw myself down the mountain to avoid the concert (especially since we’d joked about it beforehand), but in my defense I offer the following pictures, taken last night. Again, I took these last night, a whole WEEK after the fall. I took the liberty of outlining the bruises with my graphics editor, since they’re yellowing now and are hard to see with the camera.

My left wrist still hurts to bend, and my right shin aches a bit all of the time. It’s WAY tender to the touch, but not as bad as it initially was.

Would a person intentionally do this to miss a band concert? I think not. Well, mostly not.

Right shin, front. The bruise goes from just above the scab to
just above my ankle. The main point of impact was just next to the
scab. I think the size of the bruise speaks to the force involved.

Right shin, right side. There’s actually a cool purple line
down my leg on this side, outlining the bone, but the camera
didn’t pick it up.

Right shin, left side.

Left ankle. I was most concerned about this because it made me
limp so bad, but it got better the fastest.

Left wrist. Ugly color, no? That black mark just outside the
bruise-line is from the hose. I washed my car yesterday.
The actual point of impact was on the side, where the faint rash
marks still are. Like with the shin, I think the size of the bruise speaks
for the force of the impact.

A couple of weeks ago, I went kayaking in Decatur and came across the nest of a pair of hawks. Fortunately, I had the camera.

I had no idea the nests were so BIG. It was like six feet from edge to edge.

And now, I say goodbye. We’re going to Mecca East later this week, so you probably won’t hear from me until we get back. Have a good one.