So, they tell me that I’m a black belt in tae kwon do. Generally, I’m willing to believe them. After all, I’ve got the belt, embroidered with my name, and the certificate, the previous belts, etc.
But they also tell me that black belts have some traces of coordination, balance, and timing. Or, at least, they can demonstrate basic gross motor skills without causing themselves grievous body harm.
Hah, my body says. That mind may be a black belt, but I am a foolish amateur!
I was in the dojang today, during class. We were doing some basic gymnastic-ish drills; nothing I haven’t done before. Shoulder rolls, cartwheels, that sort of thing. I have never claimed to be great at these things, nor have I been great at them, but I’ve been able to get by.
Only today, my wrist decided it didn’t want to be a black belt wrist. Or something; you can never tell what those sneaky joints are thinking. No, it decided it wanted to be, perhaps, a 90-year-old wrist.
I sprained my wrist two summers ago, and I don’t think it ever fully healed properly (perhaps this is its revenge?). It clicks and cracks when I rotate it, and if I sit with it still for a while (as in typing), I then need to ‘pop’ it (just press down on the back of my hand with the other hand, wrist goes ‘pop’) before I can really use it again. But it’s never been a problem, no pain.
Hah. Did you know that knees aren’t the only joints that can spontaneously ‘give’? Wrists can, too. Even in the middle of a cartwheel.
Perhaps it was my knee’s fault. The drill was jumping over a partially-folded mat, do a cartwheel, jump again, run to the end of the line, repeat. Went fine the first time - my cartwheel was actually identifible as such. But I suppose that the second time around, I came out of the jump slightly off-balance. Cartwheel became cart-pop-OW. I became “The dazed black belt lying on the floor gasping in pain”.
So, I got to drive myself home one-handed. I’ve busted out my ‘previous experience’ wrist brace. Then I had to get a friend to go buy me ibuprofen, since I was ready to kill someone for it. He also got me chocolate chip cookies, because chocolate has endorphins, and they make pain go bye-bye.
King-size bottle of ibuprofen: $13.00
Chocolate chip cookies: $2.99
Gas money to get to free clinic tomorrow: $5.00
The look on your instructors face when he asks, “Was that your wrist?”: Priceless.
Spending forever typing a one-handed message of pain and humiliation for the Teeming Millions to share: Also priceless.
Good night, all, I’ve got a hot date with a nice, soft, mattress and pain-free sleep.