it started with an ill-fated bike ride to the Y for burn & firm class. it was raining, and i was actually half-excited to make the trip because it meant i got to rock this guy (below), which hasn't seen any action since biking in france:
cruising down hollywood blvd. in my bright red rain poncho (engineered especially for the bicyclist), i made the 1.3-mile trek without incident. the ride home was trickier because although the rain had stopped, puddles had formed. unused to biking over slick surfaces, i hydroplaned, wiping out not once, but twice - the second time landing on my chin and giving myself a nice gash.
but the worst was yet to come.
monday night was the fight crew's practice scrimmage against the tough cookies in preparation for saturday's bout. some of you may recall that during the crew's previous game - the championship match against the sirens - i was played mostly as a blocker. i suspected this probably wouldn't be the case for the upcoming bout. one of the crew's newest jammers, s'macdown, is out on injury (indefinitely), which left me, as an experienced jammer, to pick up the slack.
sure enough: first jam out of the gate on monday, and i've got my white jammer's helmet on. the first whistle blows, and the blockers take off. with the next whistle, i'm racing against iron maiven. we catch the pack, but before we even come out of the first turn, i take a hard block to the infield. my body goes flying, but my left foot stays put like it's cemented to the track. as i fall to the infield, and the pain in my ankle shoots up my leg, all i can think is, "i'm out of the game." meanwhile, all i can say, over and over again, is: "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." i start crying - not so much from the pain (though it definitely hurts), but because i've been training my ass off all through hiatus - knowing that i'd have to do a lot of jamming this game - and because in my nearly four years skating with the fight crew, i've never missed a bout. crumpled into a heap on the infield, with markie d. sod squeezing my hand, i knew those days were over.
still, i wasn't ready to give up hope entirely.
a well-meaning associate, eager to help get my ankle in shape for saturday, linked me to this web site, which promises fast rehab for sprained ankles. for $29.95, Bret Mundt, former starting center for the Memphis State Tiger basketball team (1987-1989), will share the "methods and techniques top athletes use to turbo-charge the healing process." having suffered through more than 50 sprained ankles in his basketball career, Bret claims to know his shit. some highlights from bret's site:
on bret's introduction to the super secret rehab regimen: "[My] physical therapist told me he had some theories that he would like to try out if I was willing...they were revolutionary...even bizzare...and I agreed to be his guinea pig and follow his instructions to the letter. His whole rehab regimen was not normal."
"As a special free bonus for acting immediately, I will give you a copy of a special e-book "Credit Card Payoff Secrets". This is a $29.95 value. If you are like a lot of people, you are opening credit card bills and gasping for breath at the balances. What's worse is that you probably had other cards with balances before the holidays. The challenge is deciding what order to pay off the credit cards."
"If I were you, I'd be wondering if anybody else had purchased the Ankle Rehab Program...and I wouldn't blame you either.
So here's a picture of one of my order processing accounts to prove that more than a thousand people have purchased the program...."
though intrigued, i decided to pass on treatment from bret mundt, the basketball player turned witchdoctor (and debt management guru). instead, i settled for another form of alternative medicine - acupuncture - with no discernable results.
it's now friday, and i'm on crutches, so i'm pretty sure i won't be skating come saturday. i'm incredibly disappointed, but i'm trying to stay positive and focus on getting myself rehabbed in time for the fight crew's march bout against the sirens.
a silver lining: shannon, my roommate, is having a dinner party tonight. i can't do much in the way of food prep since i'm supposed to stay off my foot. previously - because i had a game the next day - i had planned to abstain from alcohol during the party. but now that i'll be warming the bench, and i'll be completely useless in the kitchen, i have a license to get loaded. cheers to quenching my misery!
p.s. the "rock of love 2" episode featuring the L.A. Derby Dolls (aptly named "Stroller Derby") airs this sunday on vh1. check your local listings!.