I have never been the most coordinated person. The number of times I’ve gotten unprovoked injuries from toppling over while just standing there is laughable — literally, I have learned to laugh at myself. Mind you, I tend to be just fine when doing something you’d expect injury from, like using tools or carrying heavy things around. It’s solely when it makes zero sense for someone to get hurt, that I get hurt.

Today was the first break in a long string of days that were well above 90F, so I decided to take a nice, long walk outside and benefit from the fresh air. I spent an hour marching through a well-maintained trail, part of which is paved, and taking in the sun and air on my skin. Then at the end, walking down a ramp to the parking lot and within the last 20 or so steps to my car, I went down. Just dropped like a rag doll. I realized on my way down that my ankle had given out, and once I was satisfied from my new vantage point flat on my belly that I hadn’t done real damage to it, I sat up and took the rest of the inventory: profusely bleeding finger, scraped knee. Minor damage, and not sure I would even call it that. Luckily, no one saw my wipe-out! I got back up and cleaned my cuts with my first aid kit I keep in the car, and came home to shower the sunscreen, sweat, dirt, and blood away.

Battle scars. Something to show for the trudge through hazy humidity.

I’m fine. Not even my pride is hurt.

Let’s go!