Tuesday, August 12, 2008

fantasies and fibulae

I have two fantasies.
One, that I am a runner.
Two, that I am a back-up singer for a band.

I can sing, and maybe with vocal training I could be good enough to be a back-up singer . . . someday . . . you never know.
Now, running. Well, this may just not happen. I ran for a while my sophomore year in college. I remember thinking a mile is a really long distance. I also remember my knees not being terribly enamored of the process.
Here I am quite a bit further down the road, with those same knees. Last year I spent many weeks icing one knee or the other, and I should probably be doing the same now: my knees are complaining a bit about what I've been making them do.
I do not want an injury. Perhaps it's not my biggest fear, but I don't want to imagine my life without cycling. And that's where thought of an injury takes me.
An acquaintance of mine is a runner: she currently has her foot in a cast because she was hit by a car. Hit by a car is terrible, but not being able to run is worse.
Most of us try to avoid injury, but sometimes it happens anyway. A car hits us, or perhaps we're at football practice, being tackled by a teammate during a drill, and we fall, landing akwardly on our left ankle. Then we might get up, limping, realizing something isn't right, and go see the trainer. Who gives ice, asks questions, tapes it, makes us stand and try to walk, sees the failure. More ice, suggestions of an x-ray . . .
Yes, my 15-year-old son fractured his left fibula yesterday morning, during football practice. Argh. Small break, clean, no surgery. Phew.
But the piece of it I really love is this: yesterday was the first day of "two-a-day" week, the toughest week of football practice all year. The night before, my son was talking with God, saying, please help me ~ I'm going to need some help getting through this week.
God knows I've never really wanted my son to play football . . .
and I know He's always listening . . .
I believe the saying is, "God works in mysterious ways."
Now, about that back-up singer thing ~
do re mi fa so la ti do

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