Don't kid yourself: this stuff is treacherous
This morning (Thursday) memories flooded back through my newly frozen brain. It was almost exactly a year ago that I did my best gymnastic impression and planted my butt on an icy deck. Two months later, I was still recovering from a broken fibula (which is not an Italian musical instrument for you non-medical types). It's a bone in your leg. Ankle in my case.
It was nicely broken. Or, as the Urgent Care doc said, looking at my X-ray, "Oh, that's a nasty one!" That was reassuring. Three days later, they were drilling five screws into a metal plate holding my ankle together down at Tria.
There went my career in ballet. (That was my retirement fall-back plan, someday.) Bright, eh?
Anyway, there I was shuffling on the icy rind of solid ice in the KARE back parking lot this morning, sadly reminding myself that, at one time, I would have pretended my shoes were skates and glide into work. Not anymore.
One dramatic whoops on a deck and you get gun shy. That's why this little week of vacation is so timely in KAREmudgeonville. I'm headed for warmer climes next week. If I fall there, I'll just land in the sand.
Ice, after all, is for drinks.
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