“exercise is bad for you” or, “i swear i know how to use a treadmill”: a story through one-sided dialogue.

in which i tell you the story of how i became the valedictorian of ankle sprains, rendering myself immobile for an entire week, told entirely through my actual answers to the questions i was asked by 16 different people immediately following said event.

“yes, yes, i think i’m fine.  i think i may have just rolled my ankle.  you can go back to your workout now, i’m sure i’m fine.”

[minutes go by]

“hey mom, you need to come get me RIGHT NOW.  i definitely sprained the crap out of my ankle or, perhaps, you know, severed off my entire foot….i don’t know if it’s broken, and troy’s too far away and i can’t get him on the phone right now.  i could possibly pass out from the pain.  thanks.”

“hey dear, i just tried to call you…oh, you’re talking to my mom on the other line?  my car?  i think someone needs to come get me now before we figure out the car situation.   okay.  yeah, i’m going to die now.  okay, love you, bye.”

“hi sir.  yes, i think you’re right…it seems to be much more serious than i initially thought.  you’ll go get someone on staff?  that’d be great.”

[more minutes go by, then i’m suddenly surrounded by seriously half of the ymca staff]

“i usually don’t go to this ymca [the north one] but i was up here running errands, so i thought i’d pop in.”

“well, i usually run on the treadmill and have for years, so i do know how one works.  no, i didn’t fall off the treadmill.  i dropped my ipod while i was running so i stepped on to the side rails to get it and then hopped down to pick it up.  during the hopping endeavor, i caught the right edge of my shoe on the carpet and did something to my ankle…”

“…inverted, yes thank you, that’s definitely the word for it — i inverted my ankle and then ended up kind of over-correcting and inverting the ankle a bit the other way.”

“yes, i’m quite talented!”

“yes, i’m sure a lot of people saw me since i was in the very front row of treadmills at the busiest time of day.  i sat there for awhile, nearly blacking out, and then turned my treadmill off and attempted to walk out of there.”

“a few people did come help me, including this nice gentleman who watched me hobble out of the exercise room while finishing his non-dramatic workout on the exercise bike.  he originally got some help, but…”

“well, i would have asked for help when the first people came around but, well, i thought it wasn’t as serious at the time, even though it hurt like hell, but then as i was sitting here in the hallway, i realized that i couldn’t walk on it and it was blowing up the size of a small planet.  i also was spacing out from the pain, which nearly made me vomit.”

“no, i didn’t actually vomit, so there’s no need for plastic gloves.”

“it definitely looks awesome.  pretty right?  it looks like i’m smuggling oranges in my socks.”

“no, i didn’t plan on driving out of here.  my mom is a nurse and she’s on her way.”

“she lives about 10 minutes away.”

“yes, she’s a nurse, so we’ll probably be headed to the hospital.”

“yes, i have used a treadmill before, i promise.”

“well, i’ve been sitting out here for about 15 minutes, because i was hoping another staff member at the Y would come by and i could ask for help, but they’ve all been strangely occupied.  i’m glad you are…all, wow, there’s seven of you around me now…i’m glad you are all here now to help.”

“hey look, you brought a wheelchair!”

“pain level?  what range are we talking here?”

“1-10…i’d say i’m at an 8…i know, i smile a lot and seem friendly.  it’s what i do in a crisis.”

“you can let her in, that’s my mom.”

“hey mom i…..(devolves into muffled crying and yelps of pain.  good times!)

[minutes later, at the hospital]

“my name is sara derose, my address is……..blah blah blah blah….”

“well, i didn’t actually fall, i more ‘hopped’ off a treadmill…”

“no, not when it was moving.”

“no, i did not FALL off the treadmill.”

“oh, you fell today too?  that sucks for you.  it must not have been too bad if you are walking around LIKE YOU ARE FINE.  and i didn’t fall.”

“fine, whatever, i FELL.”

“yes, i would like something for the pain.  do you have a hacksaw?  perhaps you could just lop of my leg underneath the knee.  vicodin?  i suppose that’s an adequate replacement.”

[several minutes, x-rays, patient wristbands later]

“well, i’m really glad it’s just a sprain too—–” [interrupted by nurse]

“oh, a grade-4 sprain?  on a scale of….?”

“oh, the scale only goes up to 4.  so that would mean mine’s the worst then right?…3-7 weeks recovery, and at least 1-2 weeks completely off of it.  that sounds fun.”

“yes, mom, i DO like to read…just not all day every day coupled with the fact that I can’t even really get to the bathroom myself.”

“yes, i DO know how to use a treadmill, nurse*.”

“yes, dear, you are correct: i am definitely the valedictorian of ankle sprains.”

*     *     *     *     *

it should be said that despite my sarcastic recounting, i was treated incredibly well by the entire ER nursing staff, and the doctor.  the admitting person was a little airheaded, but you know, whatevs.

for insight into the judge’s deliberations granting valedictorian status and awesome photos of my quasimodo-foot (because, seriously, my foot is NOT normally that size), continue on below:

ankle view side A.

notice the nice eggplant coloring.  the judges will score that higher for sure, as well as the fact that the swelling spans both side of the ankle — that’s talent.

ankle view side B.

while the coloring hasn’t fully developed, it does span beyond the ankle to travel up the leg.  while the coloring gets the ankle sprain about a B+, the sheer deformity and size of the swelling, the pain factor, and the spectacularly lame way that the injury occurred render the judge’s grade of the injury an A+.

valedictorian status, people.