Friday, August 17, 2012

Pass me my Gold Medal

Like any hot-blooded American, I love the Olympics. There's really nothing like watching the moment that these men and women stick that final landing, or dive into the pool, knowing that this was the moment they had been training their whole lives for. That's the American Dream in its essence. Where you don't have to be famous or wealthy (though I'm sure resources don't hurt). When you are an average athletic teen one week and a superstar with a million Twitter followers the next.

I totally want a Gabby mural on the side of my house.

Every four years, I become a true patriot. I wear as much Red, White, and Blue that I can. I weep when the National Anthem is played and an American stands there on the podium showing off his or her gold medal beneath Old Glory. I'm not sure if it is coincidence or genius planning that made sure the Summer Olympics fall during US Election Years, but either way - they are always a welcome distraction from the campaign ads and attention to all the things wrong with this country. 

Americuh.

Official Olympic Watching Team

I also become a gymnastics expert. Here's the thing, though, which should come as no surprise to you... I'm not so athletic. Sure, I played softball and tennis growing up and was a dancer and a cheerleader. But I was never all that great at any of these things. In fact, I'm proud of my mediocrity, really. At least I enjoy staying active. Nowadays I'm into walking and had recently taken up boxing...

Unfortunately, however, all of that is on hold. For the next 8 weeks, this is going to be my view:


That, my friends, is what happens when someone who was never good at gymnastics when she was a teenager, decides to show off her "skills" in the backyard after being inspired by Olympians. (Olympians who are not only young and sprite, but trained and -- especially important -- warmed up at the very least.) So yeah, I am victim to one of those cliche and terribly ill-advised "Hey Yall - watch this!" moments that ends with (in my case) a big ole brace, crutches, and 8 weeks of immobility. As much as I love America's Funniest Videos, I should have known better.

And for anyone curious - here's my knee in all of its MRI'd glory:


Inside that yellow circle is a fracture (the doc called it a "crack") in my lateral tibial plateau. Meaning, the right side of the top of my tibia on my right leg. I straight-up broke my knee. I'm told this is actually better than a cartilage or ligament tear, which was the original diagnosis pre-MRI, and because it's not displaced, I don't have to have surgery... just therapy and the brace.

The next few weeks are going to be interesting. I'll be getting in physical therapy 2-3 times a week, in between work trips to Austin and Pittsburgh, and fun trips to Atlanta and Birmingham. Fall is my busiest season! Didn't my knee know this is not the time to gimp out?

My poor coworkers, roommate, and sister are the worst off here. They're the ones to check in on. I can be ridiculously needy, and all the men I work with do nothing but enable me. In addition, I'm hopelessly awkward on crutches and have managed to flash one coworker while losing my balance and in one of the more embarrassing moments of my adult life, managed to tuck my skirt into my crutch so that I flashed my entire butt (wearing full granny panties, thankfully) to my BOSS. My adult male boss.

Seriously. I'm sure there will be more stories to come. I did just acquire my temporary handicap parking pass... Life in the fastlane, yall. 

1 comment:

Mariel said...

Oh, Lala. I miss you. Cameron needs a visit from her handicapped Auntie Lala.