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Sometimes I am convinced I should not be let out of the house without training wheels and a helmet, there are days when I have above-average klutz tendencies.  Most of the time I trust myself indoors, there’s cushy things like couches and armchairs to break my fall(s), and most of the time a carpeted floor can be counted on to alleviate the bruises on my knees and elbows.  (It should be noted, I am usually only klutzy when I am barefoot or in flat shoes…when I’m in heels I generally come across as put-together and refined.  I think heels ground me, or at the very least make me more aware of where I put my feet.  I usually only trip when I’m in flats.)  Moving on.  In honor of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, I had every intention to write a post detailing my time as a volunteer for the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics in 2002.  But, those stories will just have to wait.  Today, class, we’re going to learn why you should never ever EVER skip down a flight of stairs.  Are you ready?  Ok.

Once upon a time, right around 9:00 this morning, yours truly was skipping down a flight of stairs without a care in the world. 

Skippity-skip-skip.  Tra-la-laaa.  Skippity-Skip-GAAAAH! 

Suddenly, my heel slippedand my legs went skee-wampus out from under me.  Time slowed down and I started to slip, and slide, and tumble down the stairs; not two or three stairs, closer to 12 or 13.  I whacked my left ankle against something hard and unforgiving, my left hip took the brunt of the force with my left shoulder blade jabbing into several hard and bumpy things (stairs, I presume), and the carpet gave me a stinging rug burn from my elbow to my wrist.  I lay at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, trying to decide if I was hurt.  Um, yeah.  I was hurt. 

Handsome–who had seen the whole thing–rushed down the stairs to see if I was broken.  Check, heidikins was broken.  As the initial shock of falling down the stairs wore off, all my hurty parts began to really hurt.  My ankle was achey, my hip and bum were throbbing, my shoulder and back hurt like crazy and the raw skin on my arm was turning bright red.  He gallantly carried me to the couch and got my some ice, and I remained there watching Law and Order until my ankle and hip were numb.

I am now back from the physical therapist, who packed me in more ice and popped my hip and pelvis back into place.  Um, this alone should be reason enough not to skip down the stairs.  Your pelvic joint can crack, just like your finger joints or your spine.  The CRACK! mine made–and the one or seven curse words I yelped due to the pain–brought people in from the hallway to see if I was ok. 

So, kids, if this story had a moral–which I’ll be honest, I doubt–it would be to never ever EVER skip down the stairs, or fall down the stairs, or attempt running or even walking down the stairs.  Actually, one should really never do anything other than gaze appreciatively at the stairs, a look of awe on your face at seeing such a dangerous element up close.  Also, never do anything (car accident, hurdles, splits, whatever) that could possibly end with a highly trained/slightly sadistic physical therapist cracking your pelvic joint.  Because seriously?  It hurts like a bitch.  Now, if you will excuse me, I need more ice and a couple more ibuprofen.  Happy Weekend to you, watch out for the stairs.