How a Couple of Clumsy Incidents Could Be the End (RE-POST from 8/1/15)

All of this rain reminded me of this blog post from last August. Enjoy rereading these slightly embarrassing anecdotes about my habitual lack of grace.  

Last year, I published a post about my klutziness, mostly a description of a bunch of stuff I had dropped like it was hot and broken. One thing you might not have known about me, or maybe you have already rightly assumed, is that I'm fairly klutzy with my body as well.

Let me preface this by saying that I am a physically active person. I run regularly on both dirt trails and pavement. I hike and mountain bike (acrophobia be damned). And in the winter, I have been known to do a little cross-country skiing.

But it was after one of my four-and-a-half-mile runs a few weeks ago that I found myself in real danger. I slid and fell into the splits as I was exiting the shower. My foot hit the frame of the shower door, preventing me from completely toppling to the ground, and I ended up with a purple bruise on the arch of my foot for a few days. I thought maybe I could pass it off as a running injury if necessary.

When my husband, Dan, and I go hiking, it's always entertaining (more for him than for me) when I walk over logs.

"Come on, ballerina," Dan will say, reminding me of my fourteen years of classical dance training that doesn't seem to have made a difference in my current ability to balance, as he snaps pictures of me awkwardly stumbling across fallen trunks.

Most of the time, I end up scooting across on my butt.

A few weeks ago, Dan rode his bike home from work in a surprise thunderstorm. That was funny, but I am the one who almost died.

I posted the photo below along with the following story:

Dan, biked home from work in a thunderstorm on Wednesday. I was getting ready to call him and find out if he wanted me to pick him up, but he had already left, right before the storm hit.

The truth is, I was a little delayed in calling him because I ran outside to stand up the watering can that had gotten blown over. (I wanted to catch the rain water.)

When I came back inside, my wet feet slipped out from under me, and I ended up on my butt, stuck underneath the kitchen chair. Hence, I did not get around to calling him as quickly as intended.

One thunderstorm and my whole world becomes very dramatic.

My arms and tailbone ached for a few days after that excitement.

I predict falling off a mountain (one of my biggest fears, by the way) won't be the end of me.

I'll probably just take a spill on the sidewalk, hit my head, and that will be it.

(Oh, wait! I already did that once when I was about seven. Ended up with a slight concussion.)

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