As anyone who knows me will understand, I’m incredibly accident prone.
I fall a lot, and generally, I just bang my head and move on. Bruises and scrapes always adorn my hands, legs, arms, but I don’t mind. Each knock and bump is a war wound, a badge of honour, another symbol that I did something today – even if that something was just walking into the counter or the door frame.
I always hurl myself into everything.
My parents have spent their lives in despair, not daring to look, carefully peeking between their fingers in a mix of awe and horror as I continue to throw myself around in complete abandon.
I’m not scared of pain.
I don’t mind hurting myself, because there’s always a story to tell.
Perhaps I should have known where my day was going when I spilt my coffee.
It was bloody good coffee too.
I’d just missed my tram – it was pulling off as I ran to the stop and no amount of frantic gesturing was encouraging the driver to stop for me. I perhaps could have just made it to the next stop down the road, but I still had time, so thought I’d wander down to Chapel and get a coffee along the way.
Lydia and I had been to Market Cafe for brunch the other day, and both had to run out to the cash machine because we didn’t have the dollar to pay (and they don’t accept cards). Jokes were made and we sheepishly went on with our day, vowing to leave enough time between visits that it would be forgotten.
I thought enough time had passed, so popped in for a long black to take away.
The rather attractive guy who’d served us before was there, and remembered me. It was amusing, once I got over my low level embarrassment, and yes, I did have the money to pay you today.
Coffee in hand, jokes about it finally being Friday made, I gleefully went to find a tram, tripping slightly on my way out of the cafe.
The tram was late. But they’re always late at that time in the morning: the school run slows everyone down and the traffic around Chapel and out of the city can be tricky.
I hopped onto the tram and as I sat down managed to spill half my coffee all over the floor, seats, walls and window of the front half of the tram.
Sheepishly looking around, there was only one other guy on the tram and he just smiled quietly to himself and turned to look out of the window, music blaring. The tram journey itself was entirely uneventful.
I stood up as we sailed passed and pressed the button: mine was the next stop.
Tram speeds past Edgar Street and slightly horrified, I make a small noise and press the button a further two times.
The next stop isn’t too far down so I can still make it to work on time.
But he goes passed that stop, and the next.
Horrified and increasingly panicked about being late, I rush to the cab, knock on the window and demand to be let off the tram. He tells me to press the button if I want to get off and I politely tell him I’ve tried 3 times and he keeps ignoring my wishes to alight.
Emergency stop the tram.
I fly forward and headbutt the window of his tram cabin.
Turn round to see headphone guy still on the tram and chuckling at me as I jump off.
Attempt to run to work in a swimming costume.
Ladies, you’ll understand.
You just don’t run unless you’re strapped down, and my swimming costume just wasn’t cutting it.
T-Rex running is less than attractive, or practical.
My a small miracle, make it to work on time.
Feeling incredibly pleased, but also slightly flustered, I recanted my tale to Megan who proceeded to laugh in my face – to be fair it was pretty funny.
Apart from losing half of my coffee.
Work finished for the day, Sport Lived was having another social for us at Bounce – which is essentially a giant room full of trampolines.
I could almost hear my parents groaning from across the globe.
Megan warned me not to play dodgeball, because that would dislocate my shoulder, to stick to the free trampolining and to be careful.
I’d double sports bra-ed. I was strapped down and ready to go.
I jogged from work to Bounce (a few blocks away), so I was warmed up and ready to go. I was incredibly impressed I’d managed to job that far, with my heavy, wet work gear on my back, so when I got to Bounce I was already pumped.
Sticky socks on, valuables locked away and bags dumped: we were ready.
Lydia and I busted out some moves on the free trampolining for a while, while the boys were playing dodgeball. The music they had on in the background was like listening to my iPod, I could still do some star jumps and sit jumps and you could jump from one tramp to the next and then onto a squishy platform in the middle.
It felt insanely cool, like free running.
I wanted to tag in on the dodgeball, but Megan’s voice kept ringing through my head and it’s never nice dislocating your shoulder. I was weighing up being employed and having fun and arguably being employed was winning.
Then I saw the stunt trampolines, with the huge air bag at the end that you launch yourself into.
I’d wanted to do a front flip since we’d got in, but had chickened out because it had been so long and also, that was asking for trouble, but if I flipped into this giant bag, that’d be fine!
The boys were faffing with their next trick, so I cut in to do my flip.
In reality, I ran, did a little bounce and then jumped head first into the bag, laughing at my incompetence the whole time.
Lying on my back I started to roll over and pull myself out and a horribly familiar crunching sound, followed by a horribly familiar drop in my right shoulder.
I looked up at the faces staring down at me and just said one sad, soul crushing word: