I don’t really consider myself to be a clumsy person. However, I do have trouble walking at times. Mostly because I favor clunky shoes with rubber soles because they’re more comfortable. Perhaps I should care a bit more about the way my shoes look. Maybe then I wouldn’t trip over my own feet. I can honestly say that it happens most often if I’m tired or being lazy (because I’m tired). :)
The time I am the greatest danger to myself happens to be on stairs. How fortunate is it that I moved to a country with LOTS of stairs? From a state where bungalows reign supreme (minus the basement)!
Way back in 1998, just a few weeks after I met Matt online, I was rushing to get to school for my 8:00am class. Well, actually, I was rushing to get to school to go to the library before class to check my email to see if Matt had written to me. Because I had priorities, man.
As usual, I rolled the dice and parked in a faculty lot - rebel that I am - because I was insane enough to always have 8:00am classes and not even the faculty showed up for work that early most days. (They left those classes for the TAs.) I was wearing a favorite legging and big shirt outfit with a pair of comfortable, marginally cute little flats. I’m lying. They weren’t even marginally cute. But they were comfortable. Most comfortable shoes aren’t cute. But they matched.
I eagerly crossed the street, rushing to get to the library before class started. I had to go down some a couple sets of stairs outside the building to get to the music library, because Tallahassee - unlike the rest of Florida - is very hilly. They’re everywhere. Learning to drive standard transmission was a blast.
The first set of stairs did me in. There were probably a grand total of 8 steps, but on the second or third, the toe of my shoe caught on the metal grips that were on the edge of each step - strategically place to keep you from slipping when they’re wet, I believe. And, since my toe got caught, when I went down, my legs were underneath me. I was brought to my knees - quite literally - and slid the rest of the way down the steps.
Remember those metal grips? Yeah, they don’t feel nearly as good on your shins as you’d imagine.
Shaking, I pulled myself upright and surveyed the damage. My clothing was still intact, which was a great concern since leggings are such a great fashion statement. Then I looked around as I hobbled to the door of the building (and down another set of stairs, of course). Naturally, because my humiliation really wasn’t complete without a witness, someone was standing at the door wanting to know if I was all right. As convincingly as I could, I assured them that yes, I was fine.
I was so not fine.
I sank to the floor inside the building. My good Samaritan followed me, but I kept assuring him that I was fine, even though I knew I was about to pass out.
See? So not fine.
Finally, he left. I hobbled or crawled into a practice room, laid on the floor and - as predicted - passed out.
(I should mention that I was in HMU - one of two music buildings. Instrumental principles lived in HMU and I was in their practice room laying on the floor. Two words for you: Spit. Valve. Ewwww.)
I passed out because I used to do that when I got injured. (There’s a why, but it’s not important.) Then I just laid there until I felt well enough to drag myself back to my car and drive home to bed. So much for my 8:00am class. And so much for checking email.
I know you’re thinking that driving after I just passed out from an injury was probably not the wisest choice. You’re right. It was stupid. Don’t drive after you pass out from an injury. I didn’t pass out again and I made it home in one piece and slept for about 2 or 3 hours. Passing out really kind of wears you out. I don’t recommend it if you need to make an 8:00am class.
And the bruises I got? They were so deep, it took months for them to heal and not show anymore. I managed to live through that tumble down the stairs, but stairs and I have had a rocky relationship ever since - usually because the stairs like to trip me up and I don’t really appreciate those kinds of games when I’m trying to get from point A to point B.
This post was based on the prompt “Forget Thanksgiving, write about that time you fell down.” from Mama Kat’s writing workshop.
Personally, I love Thanksgiving, but since I’m in Canada and we’ve already celebrated I thought I’d share my walking challenges instead.