Wednesday, July 8, 2009

I'm tore up: a pictorial.

I'm starting to feel old. Not in a "wiser" kind of way, but more in a "my body is falling apart" way.

I peg the decline of youth at about 24 years old. That's when random knee pains, loss of mental faculties, etc. started occurring out of nowhere. Faint wrinkles started to appear around my eyes.

Then at about 27 there was a second drop. I started to get fatter, and care less about getting fat. I started getting complacent. Faint wrinkles became less faint and fun forehead wrinkles started to show up.

And now at the ripe old age of 28 and 3/4ths I'm starting to not be able to sustain injuries like I used to.

My current decrepit state started last Saturday - July 4th. I went to Visalia - my friend's hometown - to celebrate our nation's birthday (or whatever the hell the 4th is all about besides beer and burgers). She'd been talking up river floating for years now and I was excited to actually go.

It was so fun and relaxing. Until we hit the rapids. They weren't big. Nothing to worry about. But then there was a pirate ship in the way (isn't there always?), and my inner tube was underinflated, and I ran into some guy and next thing I know, I'm being drug over sharp rocks at a fast pace. It hurt, but I've felt worse, and it was over in a few minutes. For the most part I was just numb and a little sad that I'd lost my flip flops and sunglasses.

The real fun part came later when I was having trouble laying down, so I took a look at my (sweet, luscious) ass in the mirror and saw a bunch of giant bruises. I won't take pictures of my (juicy) ass and post them here, because ew, but pretty much I look like this:


Which is fine. I can sleep on my stomach.

But then today, I drove my scooter to a mailbox. Easy peasy, right? Well. I pulled up to the big blue box, put my hand brake on and pushed the button that keeps my bike upright. See, I have a Piaggio mp3, which looks like this:


The two front wheels actually lean with each other and there is a button that will lock them in position. I put my right foot on the ground and was in the middle of swinging my left leg over, when my jacket caught the button and unlocked the front wheels, which sent my bike tipping to the right. Which trapped my right foot between my 500 pound bike and the curb. The scene looked something like this:


I'm not really the best at Paint, but I'm here to tell you, that's almost exactly what it looked like.

Anyway, so my bike falls to the side and my leg is trapped against the curb and I'm, like, half on my bike, half off of it, and I know I look like a beached manatee and I'm super embarrased and I'm not quite sure what to do. I tried lifting the bike, but, like I mentioned before, the thing weighs 500 pounds and I wasn't in the best position to push it off me. So, I start wiggling my foot to the left, to get it to an opening big enough to untangle it. Just as I get it out, this guy that looks like he just hopped the border fence comes running across the street to help me.


He helped me right the bike, and I tried to explain what happened, so he wouldn't think I was a complete dumb ass, and to say thank you, but I don't think he understood and I was too flustered to say gracias.

And now my ankle has one of those bruises that doesn't look too bad yet, but has a menacing look to it and that "there's so much blood trapped under here that it's hard" kind of feel and the whole area is tingly. I look like this:


So now I have my foot up and I'm icing it and I'm whining about my war wounds on the world wide web and sipping whiskey. I had originally planned to go bike riding tonight and start work on getting fit again, specifically because I'm so old and fat and battered and need to be able to handle life's blows better - but tonight I'm too old and fat and battered to to work on not being old and fat and battered. So now my evening plans look like this:


And my cat looks like this:


because I'm neglecting her to write this post, and she really wants to be petted, and she doesn't care about any pain I might be in, so she's just kind of silently lurking next to my chair and giving me the eye.

I take that back, now she's standing on her back legs and yelling at me.

I feel like a (bruised, old) bad mom.

The end.

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