No, but seriously - I did. Completely stupidly, as if to prove to myself and all the world that sobriety does not mean I am free of the bondage of being a klutz.
It's like this: one of my habits for getting in walks and steps is to park a ways away from wherever I'm going and make a trek out of it. Last Tuesday I was going to a meeting and parked up in the hills of Northwest Portland a bit. Walking back to the car, I had my nose in my phone and I rolled my ankle off the edge of the sidewalk. I went down hard, skuffing my left knee and left pinkie finger and more or less breaking my fall with my phone - and breaking my phone with my fall.
And my ankle hurt a bit, like a little sprain.
Next day, I got the phone replaced but didn't attend to myself. My foot was a lot worse; it swole up like a little grapefruit and hurt like the dickens. So by Thursday I decided I ought to have the doctor look at it. Especially because by Thursday it was popping out some nasty bruises all over.
My doctor looked at it and was like, "I think that's broken." Then he saw the X-ray and decided it wasn't, just a torn tendon. But then yesterday he called back and said the radiologist found a fracture. Just a little guy, a chip off the very end of my fibula. One way or the other, I have to lay up for the next four weeks or so. Lame!
Yesterday, after about a week of strain from my ankle brace and double socks, my dear old brown loafers gave up the ghost while I was at work. So I took two MAX trains from my office to Nordstrom Rack, about eight blocks away, to minimize my walking. No kidding, you right one line four blocks up to Pioneer Square, then another line three blocks down towards the river. This was probably the silliest train commute ever, but hey. I found a nice deal on some sharp new stompers.
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