The teacher set up a circuit course for us for yesterday’s weights class at my gym, with plans to push us through it three times. “Let’s warm up with some jumping jacks,” he said. So we commenced jumping.
A dozen jumps in, something happened in my left knee. It wasn’t the classic pop of a tendon or ligament tear, more like an alarming buckle — a feeling that whoops-something’s-going-somewhere-it-shouldn’t, immediately followed by it’s-back-where-it-belongs-but-there’s-going-to-be-hell-to-pay. Followed by numbness.
Well, hell. And this is my good knee.
It’s just a sprain, I’m sure, but it means days and weeks of not-being-right, and, as you might expect, the numbness predictably gave way to pain. I fished out the brace from my last adventure in this area, and I think the crutches may be called for, too. Also, ice, elastic bandages, elevation, and resentment.
This had to happen to me because the great gods of karma had kissed our work only an hour earlier — we got that grant we were in the running for. A Pulitzer couldn’t have thrilled me more, so of course I had to be punished. Good thing it wasn’t a really big grant — that would have meant tumors or amputation.
So, given that I’m gimpy, behind and otherwise distracted, how about some links and I’ll duck out early to change the ice pack?
Only in Detroit: The papers print these stories to give suburbanites something to screech about, I think. Woman goes into the city to buy a wig for her “cancer-stricken grandmother,” leaves her car 10 minutes, comes out to find her two Chihuahuas stolen. Commenter helpfully adds, they were probably stolen for dog-fighting bait. Way to make a lady feel better!
Gannett editor tells employees to reserve Facebook and Twitter for their private time. Two days ago, I F’booked a complaint about how stupid the site has become of late, and received a note from one of my still-employed ex-colleagues, who said she Facebooks for laffs while she waits to be laid off. So that’s why!
Looks like there’s a good chance the Supremes will rule strip-searching a 13-year-old girl for two Advil is just the price we have to pay to keep schools under administrators’ control. Joy.
Maureen Dowd, touring California and Silicon Valley, keeps lowering the bar. How does she manage?
Off to limp to the shower. And make some coffee.