Legging It

I sprained my leg.

Yes, I know it was stupid. Yes, I admit that it was my own fault. Yes, I have a distinct lack of coordination. Shut up. Let my poor bruised knee suffer in peace.

It's not like I meant to do it. I didn't say to myself "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if I banged up my knee and subsequently be forced to hobble all over campus?" No. It was just one of those horrible moments where carelessness and physical stress collided in quite the literal sense.

I've been walking up the stairs at least once a day. I consider it convenient exercise, me living on the seventh floor and everything. It's kind of like multitasking -- I'm getting a mini workout and reaching a destination. Two birds, right? So I was walking up the 124 steps that lead to my dorm. 124 steps spread out through 16 flights of 8 or 7 steps each. A truly nice arrangment -- resting places if you need them, an elevator on every floor in case you chicken out, and corners to duck in to just in case someone comes barreling down the stairs because they're hungry or late for class. It's really a win-win situation.

So there I was, walking up the stairs. I was at the foot of the last flight, looking up at the little sign next to the door proclaiming that this was the fabled seventh floor -- the sinlge sex floor of Cheney hall, the home of one of the nicest balconies in Unit 1, and most importantly, where I'm currently living. I was tired, looking forward to shoving through to my room and crashing in my semi-comfortable chair and do some hard core reading. I sallied forth.

I fell only three or four steps from my destination. I didn't lift my foot high enough on the stair. That was it. It was that simple. My toe hooked on the step and I feel forward. Luckily, though, I didn't go tumbling down the stairs or land on my lovely little nose. Oh, no. My knee slammed into the edge of the stair, taking the full impact of the fall, twisting slightly as it hit because of the slick concrete.

At first, it didn't really hurt. Don't get me wrong -- I wasn't walking away whistling or anything -- but I just got up and walked away from it, more annoyed than anything else. My quick escape was necessitated by the open door to the floor; someone could walk by at any minute and see my in my vulnerable and clumsy state. We couldn't have that, now could we? So I walked to my room and immediately sat down to my studying, business as usual.

I read for about an hour. Everything was fine and normal. Then I wanted to stand up.

It didn't matter why I wanted to stand. I just remember that I stood and suddenly there was a rich, gut-warming firework of pain in my leg. It almost collapsed underneath me. All of the sudden, it hurt. I rolled up my pant leg to see the damage. My knee was swollen and pink. And sore. Very sore. And silly little me, never having has a real leg injury before, ignored it. It wasn't until later that night when I called my parents that I did anything about it. They told me to ice the knee and keep it elevated. I did. The next morning, the swelling was still there. There was a thin brown line around the spot where I had banged it -- the harbinger of a lovely rainbow bruise. It still hurt to walk. So I talked to the resident health worker. That was when I had a term for what I had done. I had sprained my knee.

And that's where it stands. My knee is still slightly swollen and the bruise is coming along nicely. I expect it to be all grown up sometime next week. I'm wearing a knee brace, meaning that I can only wear my black pants because it won't fit under my jeans. It helps a little, but because of all the hills and steps all over campus and the distance between my classes, I don't think my knee is getting any better. Frankly, I think I'm making it worse. I even went bowling with my bum knee. Not very smart. So perhaps I'm getting better. Slowly.

So yes, I know it's my own fault. Yes, I know that I'm probably making it worse. Yes, I realize that I can't wear only my slacks for weeks without becomig stylistically dull.

Shut up.