I hurt my knee on Sunday. I knew I was taking a risk; after all, I've twisted both knees several times before.
The first was when I was a teenager
trying to get the ball in “keep-away.” I was running and grabbing
simultaneously when I felt a terrible twang. The rest of the evening,
I had a friend with curly blond hair, similar to Harpo Marx's, hold
my leg. I'm not sure he got the reference; however, I grew up under
the influence of the Marx Brothers (plus The Three Stooges and Monty
Python) and thought my spoof hilarious, despite the pain and
stiffness in my knee.
Perhaps the worst injury came while
playing football. I was in a game of two on two with some college
buddies. I and my teammate just scored, so I did a celebratory Pete
Townsend jump, but landed so badly, that everyone heard the ligaments
in my knee SNAP! I had to be carried to my fourth-floor dorm room.
Later I went to the ER, where the doc strapped on a full-leg brace,
resulting in my muscles atrophying the next couple of weeks (no one
suggested physical therapy). My left leg got really strong, though,
climbing up four flights several times a day!
Later in life, I hurt my knee playing
softball on my brother's co-ed team. I was even wearing a brace, but
the lateral movement proved too much, and I went down. This time PT
helped me recover quickly.
Since then, I've given up softball,
pickup football games, downhill skiing, volleyball—all great loves
of mine. It's been frustrating to be on the sidelines, but I feel
compelled to let my knees dictate my activities.
Until this weekend. How could I say
“no” to playing kick-ball with a bunch of 5th, 6th
and 7th graders? I mean I knew better, but my heart said,
“Go for it!” And my injury has nothing to do with my
competitive nature. I mean I HAD to plant my foot so I could be fully
aligned and get maximum velocity to whip the ball at the youth-group
leader's back to tag him out before he scored home. I went down so
fast, I didn't even see if my shot made its mark.
Thankfully, this injury involves only
muscles, not ligaments, so my husband, the chiropractor, tells me
I'll be better in one week, not six. Great news!
As I convalesce, I realize that while
it is truly frustrating and painful to have gotten hurt, I had so
much fun with my son and our friends. It's similar to writing. The
process itself is a pleasure for me, but putting my stories out into
the publishing world often feels risky. It is truly frustrating and
painful to get a rejection letter. Eventually, some editor will
connect with one (or more) of my stories, and all the aggravation and
hurt will have been worth it.
As I told my son on Sunday, “No guts,
no glory!” And for the record, the runner was OUT!
