Revisiting That Decision To Trip Down The Stairs To Avoid My Morning Jog
The hospital food is sub-par.
I’m writing this from the Hospital. Room 302. Well, I’m not actually writing this since all the broken limbs. I’m actually dictating it to my nurse and new friend, Jamie. Thanks again Jamie. You didn’t need to write that. Or that. Stop writing everything I say.
Obviously, you read the title, so you get the gist. I made the decision to ‘fall down the stairs’ so that I didn’t have to go on my morning jog with Lars.
Not my finest moment.
Not my worst either.
You’re probably thinking to yourself, ‘what’s the big deal, just go for a morning jog! Have a backbone for crying out loud.’ Yeah that’s what I thought too, but the reality is different so shut the hell up and listen. Firstly, this isn’t just a regular ‘morning’ jog you bastard, oh no — this is a ‘MORNING’ jog. It’s still considered the middle of the night at this time. Owls are only just waking up.
Sure, I could’ve just gone for the run and I wouldn’t have a $3,000 hospital bill hanging over my legs, arms and eye socket. And yes, times are tough at work — they’ve made cuts. I could really use the $3,000. But you have to believe me when I say I really didn’t want to go on that jog. Like it wasn’t something I’d find fun doing, like AT ALL! So, yeah — I’m glad I did it. No regrets! Well, some regrets. I still had to wake up early to hurtle myself down those 28 wooden steps.
From where I’m sitting (well, currently lying — elevated), I didn’t have many options. I couldn’t NOT tell Lars I wanted to go on the run. That’s insane — do you know who he is? El Asesino — The Murderer. You don’t let yourself look weak in front of The Murderer**.
NOTE: I didn’t just decide one morning to throw myself down the stairs. It wasn’t a whim decision, it was actually an extremely calculated launch. I’d been on four previous runs with El Asesino and first came up with the concept of rag-dolling about 2-minutes into run one. From there, it was a matter of finessing my approach.
I did a series of tests with stuffed animals, focusing on:
- What trajectory would be most beneficial?
- What would the optimal leg placement be to ensure snap-age come impact?
- What safety protocols should I employ? None, apparently.
See, I’d planned it all out like a quarterback throwing a touchdown pass. I knew what I must do. So, I set my alarm and readied my body. But something was different come go time. I’d thrown out all pre-worked protocols and went for an impromptu toss, hurtling myself head first towards my destiny, and leaving my phone upstairs. There goes any chance of contacting a medical professional.
The body toss wasn’t my only option. Although looking at it now with sober eyes, I’m glad I made it to the hospital because most options would’ve sent me to the morgue:
- Foot impaling through way of rusty thumb tacks left on the floor. Fingers crossed for sepsis. A boy can dream.
- Leaving my window open and resting bird seed on the sill to attract local fauna. I figure that having to wrangle a rogue raccoon would get my out of the jog. Too bad it’s mountain lion season.
- I even thought about posting an ad on Craigslist saying my house was empty and the doors were unlocked so some pervert could come and mess my shit up.
Let’s say, for arguments sake, that I DID go on the run. Yayy for me I guess — right? Wrong! I’m back home at 5:30 am. Big whoop! Then what? Do I go back to bed? Seems pointless. Do I start my day? Work doesn’t start for 3 more hours. Do I go for a run? Been there done that! So, I guess my only option would be to kind of sit down and wait like a cuck. Pass!***
The whole experience has put things into perspective for me though. I shouldn’t be afraid of El Asesino. No one should be scared of their Dad. I should also move into a ground level room should the temptation persist. I fear I have a hunger for it now.
**How I paired myself up as The Murderer’s running buddy, I’ll never know.
***I wasn’t discovered for 3 hours so I guess I did just kind of sit down and wait like a cuck.
