As a bit of an annual ritual, I like to sit down around the time of my birthday and look back on the year gone past. Also a bit of an annual ritual, I procrastinate and do it several days (weeks) after my birthday, but inevitably backdate it to make it look as if I did it on my birthday. This year is no different.
In the days running up to my birthday various parts of my body sent out the anatomical equivalent of a network broadcast to all other body parts. This clearly was in an effort to let every part of me know exactly how old the other was.
About 10 days earlier I was cleaning the house. Yes, the low-energy, low-risk activity that you perform several times a week. I bent, not from the knees, to pick up a shirt from the floor and *bzzzzt*, burning sensation down my back. I stood there in agony for a few minutes before the worst of it passed, but, did I know, it would mean spastic back for the next week.
Payback from my body for the 9 hours plus per day that I murder it in front of the computer. I’ve learned to get up for frequent breaks ever since the first time it happened in Shiyan, but obviously I need to break more often as the years go on. Luckily this time it wasn’t as bad that then.
By the Sunday, several days later, I was only faintly aware of my back and went for a game of Sunday Ultimate. 5 minutes into the game I was up against Joel jumping for the disc, when I got a little nudge, went down at a bit of angle, landed on my ankle and *crack*, my ankle didn’t play any more.
The rest of me went down like its weight in pork and all of me spent a good 3 minutes writhing in the mud with agony, as I couldn’t find a position in which my ankle didn’t feel like somebody was trying to hack through it with a blunt, red-hot butter knife.
Eventually when my pain centres returned control to my brain, I picked myself up out of the mud and hobbled my way to the side of the field. There I sat for the rest of the game, ankle in-and-out of ice that the Journo rushed to get me. Just as well, because it swelled heavily even with the ice. Two to three weeks of elevated ankle, heavy bandages and no frisbee were to follow.
The celebration on my birthday itself was easy and sedate (thanks to all involved), suitable for somebody with a body in bad repair. Dinner at Silk Garden and drinks afterwards at The Loft, where I had a cameo at Sri’s belated birthday party.
Then the Sunday following my birthday we were on the beach sans cups to drink out of. Cleverly, I thought I would grind down the top of a beer can on the pavement, stick my finger in through the opening and pop the lid from the inside, producing an instant cup. However, I didn’t grind it evenly and it didn’t quite pop like it should have – instead, it lifted just enough for the opening to cut really deep into my left-hand index finger.
Happy friggen birthday.
Embarrassed at my stupidity, I hid in the loo for 10 minutes, holding the near-severed parts of my finger together, hoping for it to stop bleeding. Not so stupid after all, because those 10 minutes, followed by a plaster to keep it together, enabled the skin to heal cleanly 3 days later. Even the groves of my finger-print line up, and
no scar only a faint scar.
Anyway, I guess I should be thankful that I’m still able-bodied, but I will certainly need to start working harder to stay in shape. I have this uneasy feeling that my days in front of the computer are numbered…. Oh dear.