aici<\/em><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n
I haven’t been to the doctor’s to get a proper diagnosis, but I think it’s a strain–I’m almost certain it’s not a break. Oh, I hate being hurt. We had planned to go out to salsa–it was Saturday night after-all.\u00a0<\/p>\n
But, I forgot why, we ended up playing soccer on this Saturday night, and, unfortunately, I spent the majority of my warm-up time driving to the gym.\u00a0<\/p>\n
So, for three days now, I have been avoiding ice, too many stairs, and sudden movements–allowing my pulled muscles to mend, especially the big one that feels as if it is ready to be fashioned into a schnitzel! It hurts a lot still.\u00a0<\/p>\n
We were thirteen players–perhaps an unlucky number–with me being the extra player on one of the pick-up teams-ours had seven players–all of us wanting athletes.\u00a0<\/p>\n
After some fierce and not so fierce ball chasing (I was only running after it if absolutely needed), I scored a goal and assisted with three other attempts.\u00a0<\/p>\n
After some time, we led 2 to 1, even though I was rather lackadaisical in my play.\u00a0<\/p>\n
One of the opposites smashed his cleat on my foot just as I had tried to score a cushion point–an extra winning point. I let out a scream, which was undoubtedly the most energy that I had exhibited in this ‘sporting outage’.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I hobbled to a side bench and sat mutely–afraid that I might let out another scream–very unsportsmanlike and quite feminine in sound. That was the end of the game for me, so I made my way to the locker room, dressed carefully, and hobbled out to my car.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Why are you home so early?” Asked my sweetheart.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Let’s say that, even if you have changed your mind about dancing and want to go, I cannot. I’m damaged goods now.”\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Pretty dangerous, this football of yours.”\u00a0<\/p>\n
“My foot was smashed with a cleat, and I’ve strained muscles that I never knew I had; yes, this game of mine–one which I take no pleasure in owning–is dangerous.”\u00a0<\/p>\n
Life went on—theoretically. I hurt.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I hardly dared using the car on Monday– pressing in the clutch bought forth a yelp that sounded particularly girlish to my humbled ears.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Tuesday was much better, my leg and foot barely throbbed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Wednesday–I nearly slipped this morning as I was clearing the snow off my car–it wasn’t a lot, either. I almost slipped and got so scared that I might re-injure myself.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I almost was blessed with a recurrence. I decided that I would continue my humility course-NOT the football one.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Thursday–it turned out to be a false alarm–I had not re-injured myself!\u00a0<\/p>\n
Friday–I didn’t use the elevator–neither at work or home.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I was almost completely recovered.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Saturday–I’m ready to go sledging today.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“So, what happened to you?” Asked my loved one–a smirk on her lips.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Nothing.” I said, masking a grimace.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Are you sure nothing happened?” She asked, raising her perfectly manicured eyebrows.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“Nothing special.” I said.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I tried to gather speed with my good legs, because in my dreams, I’ll always be OK.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Sorin-Mihai Grad [Germany] Translation from Romanian by Carmen Gaspar, MTTLC student edited by Robert Fenhagen pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click aici \u00a0 I haven’t been to the doctor’s to get a proper diagnosis, but I think it’s a strain–I’m almost certain it’s not a break. Oh, I hate being hurt. We had planned to go […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[704,22],"tags":[675,1151,403,25,1116,116,312],"class_list":["post-5910","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-29-30","category-short-story","tag-carmen-gaspar","tag-egophobia-29-30","tag-mttlc","tag-robert-fenhagen","tag-short-story","tag-sorin-mihai-grad","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1xk","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5910","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5910"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5910\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6326,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5910\/revisions\/6326"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5910"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5910"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5910"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}