The sporting life

As part of my non-resolutions (I don't really do the resolution thing), I have been avidly visiting the rock gym here in town, trying to get back to a place where I can sport climb and boulder like I used to. Rock climbing brings me a type of pleasure unrivaled by other activities.

Last Monday, however, it provided me with a new experience like none other.

I fell off the wall, my right foot landing in the crevice between two mats, twisting violently beneath my falling weight. I felt (and heard) a *SNAP* as the world exploded into a white hot blur of agony. In fact, I know this: that I flopped around like a fish on the bottom of a boat, hooked through the mouth, cursing a blue streak, unable to see through the wall of pain that had sprung up around me.

The things that passed through my mind in those minutes, blinded by pain, are shocking. First, the overwhelming desire to be left alone. I did not want the attention, the ice pack, the worry and concern of others. I wished they would just pretend I wasn't there. Next: the sheer terror of a hospital visit at a time when I am not working. But mainly, I just kept wondering when I would lose consciousness. I mean, isn't there a pain threshold where your body shuts you off as a general courtesy? I shudder to think what degree of pain that would require, because babies, if that wasn't enough to do it, I can't imagine what is.

The good news: it's not broken. The bad news: I can't walk on it, at all. And I had to cancel the massage I was going to receive this morning as well as the 2 job interviews I had scheduled today. Which really sucks.

Anyhow, resting, icing, elevating, compressing. But really, this is such bullshit. So much for the sporting life. Sigh.

As of right now, it's been about a week with little progress. I'm hopeful, but wary.