Waking up sometime after 2pm, I usually start my day by putting on pants and heading straight to the skatepark. I like to get a sweat going before taking a shower, it’s good for the pores and skin. On this particular day as I get out of the car, there’s two BMXers chilling in the shade. I never talk to anyone at the skatepark, what’s the point? I have enough friends and small talk is so boring. I’ll just put on my headphones and go into my own trance and rhythm. At this point in my life there’s an addictive quality to standing on a skateboard. My mind goes into ‘play’ mode and I’m forced into being a kid again. With the shuffle playing and myself just cruising comfortably around the park, it’s harder for my mind to produce goblin thoughts. I’ll go around and around the park doing the same things mostly just riding, nothing technical, skateboarding was after all invented by the “sidewalk surfers” of the 60s. As I get older it’s harder to put in the time to learn new tricks. Learning a new trick isn’t the fun part, being able to land them consistently is, that’s the reward. I’ve been content with the same bag of tricks since I was 16, my prime, not really adding much to it. On this particular day though, as I launched up this hip-to-flat, something I’ve done a thousand times, I suddenly felt my body shift backwards just slightly, losing my relative balance in the air I was now about to land awkwardly on my right ankle. At that moment in the air, it happens so quickly, you know something bad is going to happen, and that split second emotional realization is almost more intense that the actual injury. I land on it with most of my weight snapping my (which I now know after the X-ray) Fibula, which is the skinnier bone alongside your Tibia which makes up your calf. I weez and grunt in pain on the ground for about 10 minutes, shifting around and making all sorts of noises. The two BMXers are on the other side of the park just staring at me, I don’t think they saw the actual fall. I finally crawl and drag myself over to the shade of a tree nearby. Still in serious pain, my foot feels out of place. I yell over to one of the BMXers to go to my car and get my cell phone. I call my mom, who was currently grocery shopping at the time with my aunt, and tell her I think I broke my ankle. She immediately goes into Super-Frantic-Caring-Mom mode, rushing over to the park within 10 minutes with my aunt. By that time the park had accumulated a few more skaters and I now had an audience watch as two frantic 50-something-year-old ladies carried me on their shoulders side by side into the car to go to the hospital.
That was a week ago. After multiple doctor visits and a $4,000 deductible, I finally had surgery yesterday where the doctor put 6 screws and a plate in my ankle which is suppose to guarantee it heals correctly. I’ve been living at home, letting my mom do what she does best. I should be able to walk again in 6 weeks. Aside from all the painkillers I’ve been getting to consume, there’s another very relaxing element to getting your ankle busted. I now have a legitimate excuse to do nothing and suck at life. Gonna do a video? I can’t my ankle’s broken I can’t walk. Gonna hang out and be social? I can’t my ankle’s broken I can’t walk. Gonna exercise today? I can’t my legs broken I can’t walk. Gonna doing anything productive today? My ankle is broken. Awwww I’m sorry to hear that, get well soon! At least I’m able to type on a computer though.
Thanks For Reading,