It is OK to sprain your ankle if you landed wrong while sky-diving. Or during a particularly heated game of one-on-one against a semi-pro basketball player. Or in the midst of trying to rescue underfed schnauzers from a puppy mill.
It is not OK to hurt yourself walking. Particularly if the sprain is preceded by a spectacular, pavement-pounding, Chaplin-esque swan dive.
And if the swan dive occurred in front of dozens of graceful, young co-eds in the middle of a state university campus. And if a co-worker is looking on.
That is very humbling, and I have the sequoia-sized ankle to prove it.
After all, walking is a lot like breathing and clipping your own toenails. By the time you're 36, you should be relatively good at it.
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But there I was, rushing to read to college students during a National Library Week event at the NDSU library.
I spotted a colleague standing by the entrance, and started to wave. In my haste to be Miss Congeniality, I didn't see a crack in the sidewalk.
Before I knew it, I was airborne. I landed on all fours (after skidding, of course). I pulled up my pant leg to examine the throbbing leg.
Not good. My foot looked like a ham.
The co-worker was gracious and concerned, which soothed both my bruised ankle and ego. Fortunately, Irwin's aunt and her sister had come to the event to hear me read; they were able to give me a ride home.
But it was all very embarrassing.
I discovered it is a double-edged sword to injure yourself in front of co-workers. On one hand, at least they know you're telling the truth when you call in sick. On the other, you can't fib and pretend like you were hurt while bungee-jumping or playing rugby.
You get to hear plenty of comments like, "I heard you were walking and fell down. Nice."
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For the next few days, all dignity went out the window.
I braved the nicknames -- "Athlete," "Olympian," "Hop-along Cassidy."
I hobbled around like the Sta-Puf Marshmallow Man after a hip replacement.
I wore homely "lunch lady" shoes because they were the only ones that fit my musk-melon foot.
But people also showed a morbid interest in my suffering.
"Can I see it?" one friend asked.
I dutifully pulled up my pant leg.
"Why are you wearing leg warmers?" she asked.
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"Those aren't leg warmers," I said. "That's my leg."
"Good lord," she said. "Have you had a doctor look at this?"
"It's not broken," I said. "I can walk on it. It just looks awful."
"I'll say," she said. "Your ankle looks like my Great Aunt Hjerdis's ankles. Straight down into the shoe. No indentation."
Oh well. As with all things, this story can only grow better with time.
Before you know it, I'll be claiming I was running at top speed, the sidewalk was covered with glare ice and the crack rivaled the San Andreas fault.
Oh, and I was holding all those baby schnauzers from the puppy mill ...
Swift is Features Editor of The Forum. Readers can reach her at (701) 241-5524 or tswift@forumcomm.com
