Pride goeth before the fail

I'll begin by saying that our bodies have a way of reminding us when we have attained a certain ....ahem...age. If you currently arise from bed in the morning and NOTHING HURTS, treasure that experience. I wish I had enjoyed it more. Still, aside from the occasional ache and pain, I've had a pretty good run into my 50's. (Note to reader: I don't actually run). Nothing had seriously broken, at least not until Easter Weekend of 2021.

If you know Brantford, you are familiar with the main entrance to the Lynden Park Mall. That's where it happened, after a quick stop at Laura Secord for some Easter goodies. To this day I couldn't tell you if I tripped, was pushed, or had a brief out of body experience. All I know is one second I was upright and the next I was face down on the sidewalk below the sign for Food Basics, with the chocolate bunnies and contents of my purse surrounding me. I am not a graceful human at the best of times, and I can only imagine what this descent looked like to the audience. While in my prone position, I could hear the concerned chatter of onlookers around me and become aware that I was a public spectacle. Someone helped me get to my feet, someone else gathered up my belongings, and a lovely lady who I estimated to be 10-15 years older than me insisted on escorting me to my car. "You'll want to have that looked at", she advised me solemnly, regarding my bloodied left hand. "I've had a few bad falls like this. It's probably broken". I thanked her politely, inwardly dismissing her concern. She was elderly, of course her brittle bones would snap at the slightest pressure. I was a vibrant woman in my prime with wine and ham to buy. I zoomed away from the shame in the general direction of the LCBO.

In my 20's, my ungracefulness did result in a couple of minor broken bones. There was, for example, the time that I slipped while hiking with my boyfriend (now husband) and he used the last of the ice in the house for his cocktail, convinced I was being dramatic. (it was a hairline fracture). This time, I enjoyed the full fracture experience. I was discharged with a cast and a pamphlet titled "make your first fall your last" which I took as an age related affront.

I started telling people that I broke my hand street fighting, since I had what was called a fighter's break, which is usually sustained while hitting something, like a wall. And to be honest, it had some upsides, such as being temporarily excused from annoying household chores like moving my daughter back from university, changing the garbage, weeding the garden, etc. And although my golf season got started late, I had a built in excuse for every lousy shot (grip strength compromised). If the fall itself wasn't graceful, in the end, it was a lesson in grace - being able to recognize my limitations, accepting help when needed, and slowing down the pace.