My Mother always said, “Trampolines mean trouble with a Capital T.” This mantra echoed in my head to the tune of Shakira’s World Cup Anthem “Waka Waka” which was playing in the background at the Internet Lounge of the Euro Youth Hostel in Munich, Germany. I was paralyzed by pain, unable to move any part of my body below my lower back. I claimed my territory on one of the shrunken, black leather couches laying stomach down, legs in the air unable to extend fully, and a bag of ice on my ass. I was quite the sight to see; helpless, miserable and wet from the bag of ice leaking more so than numbing. I replayed the event that led me to this pathetic state. If only I had gone to see Shrek 3 in 3D with the other group of students I could have avoided this whole debacle. Earlier that morning I had decided to go to the Olympic Park to jump on the Olympic size trampolines, knowing right from the start that this was not a smart move being the accident prone individual of the group. Sophomore year of high school I sprained my ankle jumping on a trampoline… with a net. If I hurt myself on one with a net, I would surely hurt myself on one that bounced 10 feet in the air. As predicted, I did. I was flying high in the sky showcasing my old cheerleading toe touches and back tucks; then suddenly I came tumbling down 10 feet in the air onto the metal perimeter of the trampoline. Ouch.
Absolutely love this post, Christine - love the SCENE re-telling and your WRITING, that is - not the pain you were going through!
ReplyDeleteGreat job all the way around on this - choice of experience, description, organization of the tale, writing.