View From a Height
Commentary from the Mile High City
Monday, February 02, 2004


Nice morning. The kind that sneaks up you from behind with a bit of lead piping. In this case, with a bit of ice.

I'm walking the dog, I step off the curb onto apparently solid earth, and pretty much exactly this happens:

Minus the football, of course. Followed by pretty much exactly this:

Now, as I'm sitting there on the ground, wondering if I'll ever actually breathe again, a nice woman, walking her dogs, casually, almost languidly asks, "Are you ok?" I must say that at that moment, having just let out a yell that had people in Boulder opening their doors to catch a glimpse of the Civil War re-enactment going on, that did strike me as a faintly preposterous question. "What do you think?" Or words to that effect.

Lying there on the ground, I took a quick inventory of limbs, stopping at four so as to reassure myself. Nothing bleeding, nothing numb. Yes, I could turn myself over using each of the aforementioned limbs. Yes, Sage, it's ok, we're not going to expire within sight of the park.

I will say that I'm sore. And I have a new appreciation for rugby.

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