ESPN recently did a poll of various sports scientists and other experts to rank the most difficult sports using a variety of factors – strength, flexibility, endurance, hand-eye coordination, etc. etc. In the end, boxing came out as the top sport across all categories but was followed closely by ice hockey.
Which leads to my next sad piece of news. I stupidly managed to break my leg last night playing rec league hockey. It’s one of those unfortunate accidents that was probably totally preventable in hindsight but happened so quickly at the time, you never see it coming.
I was playing forward and one of our defense missed me with a hard pass to get out of our zone. Their defenseman turned to chase down the puck and I followed after him. (Here’s where the hindsight comes in.) We have no refs to blow down icings so if I’d just backed off and let him skate down the ice and get the puck, especially since there was only ten minutes left in the game and we were losing pretty badly anyhow so even if I got a goal, it wouldn’t change anything.
But I gave chase pretty hard – I think in my head thinking “Well, the game’s almost over – let’s get one last good skate in” – and of course as I come down the ice at full throttle, he retrieves the puck and turns left. I go to turn right away from him but lose an edge crashing *really* heavy into the boards. I lay stunned for a second as players from both teams gather to ask if I’m okay.
Of course, being a big tough hockey player, I get up, “yeah, I’m okay” and hobble off. I sit on our bench, hoping that it’s just a really bad sprain but knowing on some level that’s probably not the case. The game ends and I even go out to do the end-of-game handshakes (again, stupid) then make my way gingerly off the ice. I get my equipment and skates off and it appears that there’s a DENT in my leg, above my ankle just over where my skate covers.
I pack up and again, being a tough guy, carry my equipment out to our van rather than asking someone to carry it for me. I drive home and now my ankle’s swollen up and climbing the stairs into our house (the equipment stays in the van!) nearly kills me. I wake up Shea and we debate going to the hospital but she’s scheduled for a busy day at work the next day plus we’d have to wake up Pace and drag him out for what could be a few hours in Emergency. So she gets me an ice bag and I crash out instead.
Up this morning and take Pace to his daycare then go to the clinic for X-Rays which confirm that it’s a break. Fuck. That means a cast and all the crap that goes with it – lack of mobility, worries about how to move around if more snow comes, not being able to help out around the house as easily.
But yeah, the next six to eight weeks are *not* going to be fun but hopefully they go fast.
(Funny story – Shea was taking me to get my cast and I go “I wish I had a time machine so I could push a button and be six weeks in the future with all of this over” and she goes, “If you had a time machine, why not just go back one day and be less of an idiot?” Good point.)