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A little broken...

Last week I tore a tendon in my knee while pulling on my socks.

While pulling on my socks.

No, that’s not funny.

Ever since I had my knee replacement surgery, I’ve worked on progressing toward easier sock installation. It’s not my only goal. After twenty years of limping, teaching myself NOT to limp has also been a challenge, but pulling my socks on was a good gauge of my progress.

Even on my best days, I’m not very flexible. I was almost kicked out of Boy Scouts because I couldn’t sit cross legged around the campfire, but recently I’d reached the point of being able to fling my right leg across my left and put my socks on with a minimum of disturbing noises. One morning, I stretched to get my sock over my toe and heard “pop.” Or maybe it was “snap.” If could be there was no noise at all, just an internal disagreement followed by a tendonal surrender.

After that was pain - a yelping amount of it.

I regularly get mail from readers telling me to stop doing stupid stuff to my body.

Just putting on socks, people. I live in Minnesota. Other than nine days in August, socks are pretty much a requirement. My conscience is clear with this particular injury.

I’m not sure where to go with my life from here. I’m forced to do some serious reevaluations. I’ve already trimmed a lot of my expectations.

For instance, I’m no longer planning to run with the bulls in Pamplona. It’s never been a huge priority, I just figured if I happened to be in Spain at the right time, I’d be willing to give it a trot. I spent a quarter of a century sorting livestock of one kind or another. Running down a narrow street with a herd of bulls isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but close.

Another thing – I’ve stopped arranging my retirement goals around winning the grand prize on American Ninja Warriors. Granted, the million-dollar prize is a big motivator, and I have a real shot at it, but my new knee cost $26,000.00. It’s hard to guess what kind of tab I could run up with the orthopedic docs. That money would all come off the top and the math isn’t exactly working in my favor.

Now that Sean Connery is dead, I might have a shot at Sexiest Man Alive, but there’s no cash prize, so forget it. I mean, a man’s gotta work, right? Glory don’t buy the groceries.

Climbing Mount Everest might still be on the table, because I’m pretty good at going up stairs. There are two small issues – it hurts to go down stairs and I’m scared of heights. I’d either need a helicopter to come pick me up at the summit or I’d need a Sherpa to carry me down.

I can’t imagine what the tip for that would be. I’m guessing they’d charge extra for a blindfold to stop my whimpering.

The doctor said I don’t really need that particular tendon and it should stop hurting in a month or so. Maybe I’m premature in changing my life goals.

American Ninjas…save me a spot. If worst comes to worst, I can compete without socks.

Copyright 2020 Brent Olson


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