I fall onto my arse a lot.
Brad the Tradie calls me 'The Cluster'. My parents reckon I was born a baby elephant. We lived in a split level home in Bush Boganland, with stairs everywhere. I used to fall up the stairs all the time. Like, every couple of days. SPLAT. I walk really quickly and when this is combined with stairs, it means I trip. I've fallen down a couple of flights here and there. I was always crap at the Hurdles at the school Athletics Carnival too.
So when, in my mid-twenties, I decided to learn to rollerblade as part of a get-fit-and-therefore-gorgeous-and-hot kick, there were many who merely cringed. My mother, with the advantage of watching me grow up (and down) as well as 620km of distance between us, suggested that it may be cheaper in the long run to purchase a helmet... and wrist guards...and kneepads...and private health insurance. Pfft. Ye of little faith.
It only took two weeks or so for my then-BFF (Squirt) and I to master rollerblading. Kind of. We would drive to a long stretch of concrete near the Boganvillea Art Gallery, roll up and back a few times and help each other stop. That 'turn' thing where you zoom one blade in front of the other wasn't exactly mastered, but hey... as we'd say, you can always "jump onto the grass or fall on your arse".
The problem, as I reflect now twelve years later whilst holed up in bed with a back problem, was not my blading technique, but my lack of stunt work experience. And vanity. Squirt and I were determined to be health goddesses. We went to Aerobics (yes, it was the 90's OK?) three nights a week at the local school (cheaper than the gym, only two bucks for a whole hour of huffy puffy!), we'd ride our mountain bikes chasing my kelpie dog (who always won, but then again she was built to chase sheep) and we'd gleefully consider going shopping as exercise. Obviously the lack of carbohydrates (bloody Atkins diet) drained our brain cells because we decided to rollerblade the bike path around the lake one perfectly sunny Sunday. Wind in our hair, swooshing along, turn... glide... crack in the path... airborne... holy crap...jump on the grass...where's the bloody grassssssss..... SPLAT!!!
Fall on your arse it is then. "Ooooo", exclaimed Squirt, "that's gonna bruise". Recent fat loss had also taken away the extra padding on my butt. Grrrrrrreat news for the little mini-dress we'd bought to 'go clubbing' in. Not such a good look with a purple, yellow and black stain from my arse down my leg. I did feel a bit like an athlete, a bit like a wounded elephant. There goes my place on the Australian roller-blading team. Bugger. I'd shown SUCH promise. So I took up a less extreme sport. Baking.
So, over a decade later, I blame the rollerblading accident, recent box packing marathon, years of trotting around in ridiculously high heels and .... well... AGE (there... I SAID IT!) on my current situation of being laid up with a bulging disc. Adding to the mirth, the Winter bloody Olympics are on. So I can watch mad people fall on their arse all day long. In SLOW MOTION.
Winter Olympians are insane.
I noticed that the Sunday paper focussed on Aussie snowboard queen Torah Bright's clean lifestyle and 'determination' rather than the three concussions and a shoulder injury. She can't possible claim all those teeth as her own with a profession like 'snowboarder'. And man, those aerial ski jumpers! There's some SERIOUS landing on your arse. You'd think it wouldn't hurt so much landing on the snow. It does though. I went to Thredbo a couple of times and ummm... landed on my arse. And I wasn't even landing from twenty metres in the air. I ended up tobogganing because, well, you're already on your arse so there's less to hurt (unless you get all tangled up and land in the orange safety netting around the perimeter... yeah...embarrassing....)
The ice skaters have NO padding on their bum. These people must go through some serious painkillers. Do they dress up in feathers, go out and twirl, then hit the drug cabinet backstage?? And what's with bloody Ice Hockey? What a stupid sport that is! SMACK! SPLAT! CRUSH! They reckon the Canadians were playing for pride today, but quite frankly from what I saw, I think they were just trying to keep some of their own teeth and nose cartilage. These cold weather people do some strange things for fun. Must be all that running from bears and stuff. Am suddenly quite patriotic about Australia's love of swimming. And lack of ice and compacted snow.
But i think the pain prize has to go to the Aussie bobsledders. A fantastic feat, to train for the Olympics in a sport that no one actually does in Australia. I mean, you get a free tracksuit and everything! Do you have to audition, or just like... show up? In front of an audience of millions, they stack the little cart thing RIGHT at the top of the track. And slide on their heads all the way down. What do you say to them? "Good one mate, nice stack. That's gonna bruise."
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'The Danger Zone' - 1986, Kenny Loggins.
I hope you and your tushi are feeling better soon!
ReplyDeleteHelen
Here's wishing you a speedy recovery and all that. Loved the blog as usual. Maz from USA
ReplyDeleteBob sledding can't pay that well - those lycra suits don't even cover all of their legs!!...
ReplyDeleteHere's hoping your back holds out another week and a half...(cryptic!!)
Fitz
Hey glad you are laid up and enjopyign the Olympics while the rest of us are working hard as you can see by the reply above and this one (at work)
ReplyDeleteHey I caught up with Jo Burke and Jan Gow and Mandy Taylor at Sue Barrett's husband funeral last week. Talk about old times. No one listened everyone talked. It was great
Jenny M (ex CCPS SLC)
Blossy is pleased to see that y'all enjoy reading my blog at work. Good use of government resources. Well done!!
ReplyDelete