Well, here I am, lying in bed, unable to move my lower back and a few other parts, and oozing blood from my sides and tummy.
It all began with a small pebble in my shoe, and a small cat named Squeaker.
I was running late today when I dressed for work, so I did not trouble to empty the small pebble out of my shoe after I had put it on. I just chopped my car’s tires out of the ice (another sad story for another time), and zipped off to court. I guess the pebble must have moved forward in my shoe, for I quickly forgot about it.
I had a couple of hours off between the morning and afternoon sessions, and this being spring skiing season, you can guess what I did. Yup. Played hookie in the sun and snow. I had boots, skiis, bib-pants and jacket in my locker at the hill, so off I went. Unfortunately, I did not have my inner layers (e.g. long johns and sweater), but hey, its spring; who cares about being properly clothed. I simply hauled off my suit and shirt, and crawled au naturel into my shells.
Due to a thaw and re-freeze (thus my car having been frozen overnight into about four inches of ice), the hill was bulletproof. Not that I mind. I enjoy skiing in any conditions other than flat light, so on a sunny day like today I was not complaining.
Due to the ice, I had the hill to myself. Whoopee! On went the 215s, and off I went, having a whale of a time at warp speed. We’re talking flying! Such are the days that dreams are made of!
After about an hour, I was getting pretty wind chilled due to the lack of undergarments, so I swapped onto some 201s and ventured into the bumps. Again, it was magic. Gently edge in, step out into space, land and absorb and gently edge in, and so on, and so on, and so on, down and down and down through the field. Truly sweet skiing on the ice.
And then I felt it. The pebble. It must have stayed in my dress sock when I changed from shoe to boot. I didn’t just feel it, really felt it, thought “ow”, and the next thing you know, I missed a landing. Just one brief moment of distraction, and there I was, no longer on my skiis.
Lickety-split, one ski was riding up the inside of my ski jacket along my back. You see, I ski on telemark skiis, which are best described as cross country skiis with metal edges and very strong free heel bindings. The benefit is enhanced versatility, but the down side is that when things go wrong, they sometimes end up in really strange places. In this incident, inside my clothing and behind my back.
So there I was, no longer such a happy camper, dropping down through the bumps with one of my skiis pushing my jacket over my head. I was eventually able to self-arrest with my pole, but that took a couple of hundred feet, so I was pretty bashed up by then. Eventually I got untangled, and in the process noticed a rather odd tinge to the ice where I had come to a stop. What can I say, by not having anything under my jacket, when it was pulled away, the ice did a nasty job on my epidermis. “Ick,” I thought; and then I went on for some more terrific casualty free runs before suiting up and heading back into court. By mid-afternoon I was stiffening up. By late afternoon I was just happy to make it to my car and tootle home.
Fast forward to this evening. Motion was beyond being difficult, and was getting close to being impossible. I popped a couple of muscle relaxants, and literally crawled into the tub. The hot water stung like the devil, but after half an hour I was beginning to feel somewhat human again, and was able to breathe comfortably for the first time in hours.
And then entered Squeaker.
Now let me tell you about Squeaker. He is a fine little fellow, who’s thing in life is to sit at the end of the tub and drink from it when I am bathing, and then hop in once the water has drained and squeak and squeak and squeak. Unfortunately, since day one he has had difficulty surviving. There was the time the tub, full of water with me in it, collapsed upon his tail, crushing it. Then there was the time he went missing for an afternoon and evening, only to be found inside the grand piano which my sister and I had been pounding on quite fiercely for that same afternoon and evening. Then there was this past week, when he went missing for the entire week. His brother Yoda came in a couple of nights ago with a large bite in his side and a sizable patch of skin missing, and his other brother Pol spent the week barking like an agitated seal, so I feared the worst for Squeaker. I feared that he was et.
But as I said, and then entered Squeaker. Only Squeaker did not just enter. He burst through the cat door, tore into the bathroom, and hurled himself onto me. Only, of course, I was pretty much submerged.
And he wasn’t alone. Yoda and Pol and the mom cat Cu all came bursting through in a chain. I don’t know what was outside, but it sure freaked them something fierce. They all came flying in, without looking to see what they were jumping into.
So there I was, in a tub full of hot water, barely able to move, scraped to a pulp, along with sixteen legs, seventy-two claws, and four walnut sized terrified brains. It was not a pretty sight. The next ten seconds seemed like an eternity.
Now I’m back in bed, with four damp cats curled up against me. I don’t want to have to move for a good long time. I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a good long time. Serves me right for playing hookie.
But Squeaker and the gang are purring.