Everyone who knows me, including myself, considers me an athletically inclined person. Between the ages of 7-17, I played soccer, excluding a brief hiatus in Jr. High when my fascination with horses led me to a somewhat pathetic attempt at Equestrian riding.
In college I switched from soccer to the women's lacrosse team. I am known to be a somewhat formidable opponent in volleyball, tennis, racquetball and co-ed softball (catcher!). I am good with a Frisbee, and at kickball, and have been known to navigate the winds pretty well with a kite. If you can convince me to pay for a cabin-share, and pay for equipment rental, and pay for a lift ticket, I will begrudgingly swoosh down the intermediate slopes of a mountain in either skiis or on a snowboard. Begrudgingly, but capable.
What few people know, however, is that I am also incredibly klutzy. I feel the term "athletic klutz" best describes my excessively ridiculous brushes with breaking my bones and poking one of my eyes out. Because frankly, I've been "this close!" way too many times for a normal human lifespan.
Case in point: last Thursday. My office. ("My office" may sound like a bustling place. But because we are all sales people and sales is about getting out there and being with clients, rarely are there more than half a dozen of us in our 75-person office at a time.) Thursday was quiet. Until Gertie went down.
Unless one is a Partner salesperson in my line of business, you are up to your own devices to locate and be the consequence of parking. Because I have received more parking tickets than sales in the last year, I had begun a vigilant watch on my parking meters. The buzzer on my cell sounded and I rushed to move my car.
In the process, I can't recall now what it was, I remembered something very important on my desk. Whether it was an email to finish or double checking to make sure I had my cell as I turned the corner to exit, I don't recall. But whatever it was, it forced me to look back at my desk as I exited stage right toward the hallway. As an athlete, I felt the mojo of the path pulling me forward to an appropriate exit point. As a klutz, I got the turn wrong by about a foot and a half.
Instead of turning right into the corridor, I turned right into my colleague's ridiculously appropriately placed garbage can, which I leaned into with full walking force and motion, and cracked my upper shin upon. As I kicked the can and continued my forward movement, the can stopped hard against the cubicle wall, ricocheting all inertia back toward me. Upon receiving the new direction of force, Gertie was thrown askew to the right, lost all balance and landed rib cage to arm rest on the colleague's empty chair. A chair which happened to be a rolling chair on wheels, and once it felt the force of motion, propelled itself, with Gertie's weight and ribcage stuck to it, to the furthermost point of the cube, where it hit a wall and could no longer continue to travel. As quickly as science stopped the chair's motion, I equalized forces to counter-act a complete falldown.
I remember the last bit, and looking out to the left, to see my left leg doing a high kick only equalled by the Rockettes. I quickly did the athletic elastic "I'm Okay!" gymnastic landing, arms up and everything. When I looked around, the five people in the office had seen none of it. But they heard it. Eyes peared from behind a few computer screens.
"I'm fine!" Ouch. Ouch. My shin. My ribs. Shake it off. Shake it off! You're fine!
Even the receptionist heard it. And the clients of another colleague, who were waiting (eyes wide open in shock now) for the conference room. All of them heard it. But I shook it off.
Today is Monday. Don't make me laugh. Please. Every time I laugh, it feels like I have a gun shot wound in my ribs. Also, don't make me reverse my car. Parallel parking feels like I'm getting shot. Yes, my ribs are bruised. I cannot run. Fuck, I can't even laugh. Or reverse. Ouch. My GSW! Stop it! OUCH!