Dents And Dings

Those of you that have been reading this blog regularly will probably remember that I wrote about rolling my ankle at work a week ago today. I am pleased to report that it STILL hurts, stiffens up at night, and has now turned a delightful shade of purple. Once again, I have managed to injure myself for no apparent reason.

I'm long past complaining about it. After all, I voided my warranty a long time ago, so there's really no point. At last count, the toll is up to two broken toes, almost all of my ribs have been cracked or bruised, a broken finger, torn rotator cuff, no cartilage in my right knee, hip bursitis, several black eyes, a radio frequency burn to the hand that is absolutely the single most painful thing I've ever done to myself, two bulging discs in my lumbar spine, countless cuts, scrapes, and bruises, a scratched cornea, various dents and dings, and the thing I am most proud of, a formal letter from an ER doctor forbidding me to play soccer further than 100 yards from an emergency room. (I'm pretty sure he was kidding, he was chuckling when he handed it to me. However, since he was a full Commander, and I was just a Lance Corporal, I did what I was told.)

I'm a firm believer in the theory that if you aren't occasionally injuring yourself, you probably aren't trying hard enough. Something I learned in boot camp is that pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and past your self-imposed limits is one of the best feelings in the world. The scars you carry are proof that you aren't afraid to take a chance at living a real life. I haven't coddled myself over the years. What fun would that be?

I'll pop my Advil, rest my ankle, maybe even see a doctor if it keeps hurting. Then, when it's all healed up, I plan on going back to doing what I was doing. It's only pain, after all.