Fifties Falling

The last thing I’d want for my granddaughter would be for her 55-year-old Nana to 20170606_133947embarrass her in front of her friends at her fifth-grade graduation. Fortunately for her, she’d already taken her seat on-stage when, in the darkened auditorium, with my eyes on our seats, my right foot rolled off of the step (where did THAT come from?) and sprained my ankle before I landed on my right knee. Unfortunately for me, after nothing broken or fractured showed up on the expensive x-rays, I spent the next month limping to and from work, first with an air cast squeezing more pain into my swollen ankle and foot; then after icing, elevation and Ibuprofen did its magic, ace bandages. But, I made it through – just like I did five years before.

Now that fall was epic! I was 50 – running on a trail near my home, a trail I’d ran at least four times a week. It was a blue sky, sunny day as I ran to the music piping through one earbud, approaching an area where the trail slopes downward. Well, I must’ve tripped over air and I stumbled a few steps before gravity took over, my arms splayed out like Superman, and I dove to the ground on my belly, skinning my elbows and knees as I slid a few inches on the asphalt. Falling2

My first thought? I hope nobody is hiding in the bushes giggling. My second thought? Oh hell, I’m bleeding – a lot.

So, that’s two falls in my 50’s, five years apart, no fractures or broken bones. Plenty of embarrassment though. I can just imagine how I must’ve looked on the trail flying through the air before I belly-flopped on the ground.

At my granddaughter’s graduation, I’m just grateful that the rail I grabbed onto kept me from rolling all the way down the auditorium steps and landing in front of the stage.

I’ve got five more years in my 50’s. What’s next?

 

 

 

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