...or at least, my ankle does. More on that later.
First week back to school has been fabulous. I had forgotten how much I love learning; sitting in the classroom listening to the professors, engaging your fellow students in debates related to your class, opening up that new notebook and scratching the first sentence across it. I'm in love with my classes and all of my teachers are showing to be great fun.
After an incredibly wet weekend last week which saw my grand plans of a walk out to GreekFest turn into a walk into town for coffee and then a wander about, I was really looking forward to tackling Gowlland Tod again, skipping McKenzie Bight so I actually make it to the top this time (damn you, Cascade!). After an early release from my first class on Wednesday, I was really looking forward to taking my 50 minutes, booting it down to Hillside Mall for a Timmy's coffee and then booting it back for my 6:00pm class. These two ideas may seem mutually exclusive, but they're not.
See, on my way down to Hillside I was letting my thoughts wander when my feet did the same thing and took a misstep which sent me ass-over-tit, as they say, with such force that I didn't think I would get up. There was such a definitive movement in my right ankle, I had a moment of panic, sure I had broken something. My first thought in these situations is usually some lame 'learn to walk twinkletoes', but instead I immediately thought that I would have to call the paramedics. How lame would I feel calling them for a non-life-threatening injury when they're on strike? Amazingly, after some kind people stopped to make sure I was alright, I got up and hobbled my way through the rest of my day.
My ankle is still quite swollen and sore today, but I'm able to get around on it well enough though the thought of having to run for my bus sent a chill down my spine (thankfully, it was not my bus lumbering up Fort St.). I keep expecting it to give way under me at any moment especially when I'm standing at the top of stairs I need to go down. I see it flash in my mind: my ankle gives as I put weight on it and down I go to the bottom, landing in some jumbled mess like a pile of laundry. Luckily my ankle is much kinder to me than my imagination, and it has yet to show any such signs of weakness when I put weight on it.
Tomorrow, I will purchase one of those ankle-tensor-support-thingys. You know, those elastic-y ones that racket sport players seem to favour. I'm hoping that it will give me, if nothing else, the mental belief that my ankle is better so I can stop having some sort of mini-mental freak out at the top of every staircase. And I'm hoping that it will give me enough confidence to Gowlland-Tod this weekend. I'm going to get to the top of that mountain if it kills me...
...or maybe just forever ruins my ankle.