Birthdays & Brokenness: 2017 Version

Yes, dear reader, it happened again. Although it was not my birthday, I did manage to break myself. Five years after the original, I decided it was time for a remix. Or a sequel. And we all know, those are never as fun the second time around. You have to try really hard to give people something new while maintaining the good parts from the original. Its a fine line. A line some people (*cough* Hollywood *cough*) can’t seem to grasp. Well this sequel has been five years in production. It involves the main characters you know and love, but the setting and injury has changed in a vague attempt to recreate what made the first one so special. Is this a worthy successor, or will the fans riot? Lets see… And open scene on the morn of July 24th, a certain Simone’s birthday…
The sun rose on this fateful Saturday, a Saturday holding such promise. Plans had been made, calendar invites sent out, and people were excited for what the day held. The plan was a simple one – convene at FlipOut – the local youth center – which has now been converted to wall to floor trampolines, gather the friends, pay the penance for entry and spend the morning flying through the air, as graceful as a shoe being lobbed at a former president. This place, its magical. Hard tramps, soft tramps, tramps that launch you far into a foam pit – it had it all. Sure there were a few teacup humans which had to be minded, but all in all, it was the adults time for fun. We had signed the waiver which says we aren’t allowed to sue this place if we woke up dead, we had removed our shoes and like a rhinoceros on a mission, we made our way into the play area. The play area of doom. Of DOOM!
It started innocently enough. A jump here, a tumble there. And soon all of us were bouncing around, growing bolder and boulder with each leap. In to the air we leapt! We looked magnificent! Most of us mastered the front flip. Then the back flip. Children scattered in our wake. Some looked on with awe. Even the parents of the little folk were amazed with out boisterous grace. From one tramp to the other, one activity to the next, we darted like those filled with youth, nary a care for our old and brittle bones. And there in the distance, the instrument of my future demise. It gleaned, beckoning us to play on it. It was two trampolines, at 45 degrees to the floor and 90 degrees to each other. I know this because I measured*.  What is this contraption and what secrets does it hold, I wondered out loud**. It took a brave soul to embrace this newness and show us the secret to bouncing on it. You leap long instead of high. And your long leap is caught by the opposite tramp which then flings you long into the other one. The trick here is to bounce long, not high. This is an important fact which becomes apparent soon. From side to side we bounced. We added another person and had two people bouncing in unison. For all but a brief moment, I was Lord of the Bounce.
Until.
Until a small person wanted to bounce too. We had been enjoying this unique tramp for almost far too long so it was only polite that I move off to give this kid a chance. Oh, but the devil is in the details. Since these two tramps are up against each other, physics, by law, tells us that there must be springs. And these springs are needing a sturdy structure to latch on to in which to give the tramps their bounce. This structure happened to be a very solid metal pole. And this very metal pole happened to be in the middle of the V these tramps made. Now in my haste, for a second, my beautiful mind lost concentration, and, dear reader, I bounced high. Those that were bounce all stopped to stare at the highness I bounced. Some expected me to do a flip. Some expected me to not descend, such beauty was in this bounce. Some might have even though that I, a humble blogger, had let my disguise slip and in fact, I was Superman, forgetting to let gravity take its toll.
But alas. Gravity, that cruel mistress, claimed what was rightfully hers. Pulling me down with all the force of my upwardness. Remember how I said the trick is to bounce long, not high? Well we are about to find out why. Gravity wrapped around me. I fell. Straight down. Like an arrow. Into the middle of the V-tramps. Before I could even think, my left foot decided to sacrifice itself to ensure I remained looking cool and not ending up on my ass. And in doing so, all the weight of my hopes, dreams and chubby body came down hard on my left foot on this very solid metal beam. In my mind, the entire place went silent, the emergency services were called, the bar was bent and needed to be replaced, and I was rushed off to hospital. In reality, pain shot up through the bottom of my foot, exploding into my ankle and creeping towards my knee. I let out a small whimper and crawled off the tramp, trying hard to hold onto any coolness I had left.
I hobbled around for a bit and even, in my haste to “yay have fun” even tried to bounce a bit, but it was not to be. Alas, I wish the morning would have ended there. But it did not. I ended up hobbling along on it for the rest of the day, deciding to instead medicate with beer and board games so as to not put a downer on the lovely Simone’s birthday. What an idiot I am.
So now we sit, ten days later. Having gone for the rays of X and found no broken bones, three doctors visits and looking at a full week of physio. Yes, I did some great damage to my foot, but luckily nothing is broken. What I did manage to do though, and this interested me, until of course, I looked at my foot and got really nervous with the bruising and swelling and the loss of feeling in my toes, is put my nerves into shock. That’s right, you probably heard it here first, nerves can be shocked. So maybe don’t show them any Buzzfeed lists, because number 4 will shock you. I have what is known as Reflex Sympathy Dystrophy. Its real. I looked it up. Basically, the sympathetic nervous system is wigging out. The only way to stop them from wigging out? Use the foot in all its pain. Oh yes, that reminds me, it may not be broken, but it sure is sore. And swollen. And bruised. Its not having a fun time, is what I am trying to get across.
Now, its late (ish), and I am cold. The fire and the lovely Simone call. So I am done with this story for now. I hope you heed my call. Trampolines are fun, and if you did them more often, you probably wouldn’t suffer a disabling injury such as I have. So I suggest you go, have fun. Life is far to short to worry about what you might break or what you might harm. A good injury is a tale of a time of fun and mirth, which did not end in fun and mirth. But you learnt. You learnt to jump long, not high. You learnt that you hate crutches. You learnt what its like to learn to walk again.
—
Kyle
*I did not measure
*At no point did I wonder this out loud