If you wanna know where I get it, here's where I get it.
Like I said yesterday, one of the things I did over the long weekend was to carry on a “valued” family tradition. In case you didn't know, it seems like I can be a bit of a klutz on occasion, especially when attempting to out-perform my limited abilities as an athlete. When you count bike accidents, ski accidents, roller-blading accidents, and sprained or twisted ankles from running, the evidence does seem to pile up. And that was quite evident Christmas morning when I went out running. As I was heading down a hill I saw a chunk of ice on the street, and figured I'd kick it like a soccer ball. After all, it's been a few weeks since I've done since I've kicked an actual soccer ball, and I figured it might be fun to practice a little footwork with it.
Of course, I didn't realize that the ice chunk was, you know, frozen to the street, and therefore didn't move when I kicked. I, however, DID move, and not exactly in the way I usually do. I ended up tripping over the frozen ice chunk and after some frantic attempts at staying upright found myself flat on the street with road rash all over my right knee and elbow, and a big bruise (and a very sore muscle) on my right butt cheek.
Oh, and to the people driving by who stopped and asked if I was okay? I meant it when I said, and I'm quoting myself here, “I'm okay. I'm just an idiot”.
As I mentioned, this isn't the first time I've done something stupid while running. Or biking. Or skiing. Or roller-blading. However, I have yet to break a leg ski jumping, tear up a face from a running accident caused by a dog, or blow out a knee falling into a dirt hole.
That's what my dad does.
When they say the acorn does not fall from the tree, they may actually be on to something, at least in regards to this. Now, my dad is a much better natural athlete than am I, so I'm not quite sure what his excuse is, but over the years he has wracked up enough injury from questionable sources to make me wonder if I've inherited more than his love of Bugs Bunny and his unnaturally small head. They say that as you get older you find yourself acting more and more like your parents. Usually, it means yelling things like “you kids get off my lawn”. In my case, though, it seems to be an ability to injure oneself without even trying.
Besides, I don't yell at kids and I don't have a lawn
It's not like I try to injure myself, just like I'm sure my dad doesn't try to injure himself, either. There just seems to be something passed down from father to son in this case. Thankfully, I haven't yet broken anything or caused myself to have any sort of reconstructive surgery, like the person from whom I inherited these abilities, but I'm still fairly young. Give me a few years, and who knows—instead of a road rash and sore butt from trying to kick an immovable object I'll have to have surgery to remove a car mirror from a sensitive portion of my anatomy all because I wasn't paying attention while out running, saw something shiny, had my attention diverted, and then didn't realize that I was about to run into a parked car.
Not that I would ever do that, though. Right?
So, whenever someone asks what I've picked up from my dad over the years, “the ability to injure myself” is always one of the first things out of my mouth. It gets a big laugh, and then it allows me to brag about all the good stuff I've picked up from him. You know, the stuff that DOESN'T involve sprained ankles, black eyes, and reconstructive surgery.
Besides...someone has to keep these family traditions going, right?
8-)
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