Something very exciting happened to me last night. I was in the back parking lot of Panera on my way in to Women’s Group, when I stepped into a baby pot hole and went down. The exciting part is that although I fell, I didn’t sprain my ankle. It’s so cool. See, I’ve fallen twice this summer, each time hurting myself pretty bad. I don’t mind the torn up knee – scabs heal eventually – but the twice sprained ankle was starting to worry me. The second time it took a lot longer to heal. I was afraid it might never heal right, that it would turn into the kind of chronic injury that never quite goes away, the kind that might take my dancing away from me. It’s the kind of worry you don’t talk about at all in case speaking might make it real. I’m not the dancer I want to be, not yet, but dancing means a lot to me. The hurt ankle already made it painful – to lose dancing entirely would be harder than I can say. Yesterday as the asphalt came up to meet me, I felt despair.
Then there I was, on the pavement, a little scuffed and scraped but basically ok. And my ankle didn’t hurt at all. It was wonderful, this golden moment with everything in slow motion. Johnsy was in her wheelchair by the car calling, “B? B? Are you ok?” A lady passing by was rushing anxiously to my aid. And then there was me, sitting up from where I was sprawled on my back, triumphantly pumping my fist in the air, exclaiming, “Yes!” So awesome.
Anyway, I thought this was pretty funny. However, when I told Bounce and Sensei at Bal practice last night, neither one of them seemed to think it was that amusing. I admit that my definition of the word “exciting” might need some work. Still, I think it’s pretty freaking cool. I fell and I didn’t sprain my ankle. There might be hope for me yet.