Jason Gallic – Opinions in Paradise Outside my living room window, I see a couple jogging. I can’t watch for long, though. I’m already sick of their fluidity. NBC is into its fifth hour of Wimbledon coverage this Monday morning.
Jason Gallic – Opinions in Paradise
Outside my living room window, I see a couple jogging. I can’t watch for long, though. I’m already sick of their fluidity.
NBC is into its fifth hour of Wimbledon coverage this Monday morning. I don’t why it’s still on my television. All that hopping and sprinting makes me downright sick to my stomach.
See, I can’t bend my right leg today. It’s been extended – via a brace – for the last 40-plus hours as if Viagra was injected directly into my thigh.
But it wasn’t. Instead, a doctor at the Wilcox Memorial Hospital Walk-In Clinic set me straight.
“Looks like you’ve torn some of the fibers in your medial collateral ligament. You’ve got to keep that leg extended. A wrong move and you might snap the MCL altogether.”
Despite the wear and tear I heap on my body, I can say with naive certainty that I never imagined I’d suffer an injury to my knee ligaments. Now, I can say with more informed conviction that it’s impossible to control the outcome of every threatening situation.
I’ve been fortunate, like many athletic sorts, and smart, like many others. I do my best to avoid mad scrambles for the ball. I try to roll with a pending ankle sprain rather than cut back from it. I understand the importance of hydration.
But Sunday afternoon, during a basketball tournament at Kaua’i High School, I let my guard down.
I went for a loose ball against someone who outweighed me by 40 pounds. I planted myself to grab the ball, expecting him – seeing I had position – to tip-toe around me. But he lost his balance and rolled onto my knee. Under his weight, I couldn’t pull my right foot free and began crumbling to the ground. I saw visions of all the agonized faces that make the SportsCenter highlight reels – knees flapping like bird wings.
Then my foot dislodged. I felt the pain instantly, but managed to spin out of what might have been a complete shredding of the ligament. I got up, and for a second thought I might be all right – every competitor wants to believe this. I tried to jog, but folded to the ground. From the knee down, my right leg felt like jello.
I hate doctors. Or maybe it’s the weakness I feel in having to visit them that I hate.
Either way, I’d seen enough mangled knees to know not to mess around. Five years ago I would’ve walked it off and let it heel – perhaps out of alignment – on its own.
But I’ve got a little more life perspective now. I understand that even with the advances in medicine, each of us is still granted just one body for this life. Treating it like I do, and like many of you do – running it hard both on and off the job – means treating it right when it breaks down.
I’ve been very lucky.
One broken finger, a pair of weak ankles and a handful of topical scars are all I’ve got to show for 20 years of body mismanagement – I only count myself smart on the court.
Off it, I don’t stretch properly, don’t necessarily eat right and haven’t always given myself enough rest. In return, I’ve asked my body to play basketball for hours at a time, run distances of eight to ten miles against the clock, swim endless yards and bang shot after shot on the tennis court. I’ve asked it to hike and lift weights, play volleyball in the sand and boogie board.
Maybe it finally had enough.
Maybe this knee injury is my body’s way of saying, You can just watch others exercise for awhile. Maybe you’ll appreciate what I give you and start taking better care of me.
Well, I think my body may be right this time. Because I’m nervous. Nervous that the next time I take a basketball floor, I’ll be starting behind the curve – my MCL already weakened. Nervous that I may never again be inclined to tackle the squat rack in the weight room.
And apprehensive about the debilitating affect of certain future injury. Sunday and Monday, I dragged my straightened right leg behind me like it had fallen asleep from the butt down. It was useless.
Just standing up has become an event.
One would imagine the easiest thing to think right now is, Hey, it could’ve snapped altogether. But the doctor said the healing process takes two to three weeks minimum, so that thought barely makes the top five. Instead, it’s, I can’t give up hoops for three weeks, followed closely by, How will my leg respond when I do return?
Another couple just went jogging by. I have to hobble over and shut the blinds.
