Because of George's antics on Monday evening we missed our regular circuit training so we went last night to make up for it.
Warming up, side-stepping merrily across the hall, I tripped over my own foot and went down CRASH onto the floor. It was so loud I feared I had cracked the concrete. Then came the inevitable:
Oh no, how embarrassing! (ooh, ah) must get up quickly. (oh the pain) must make it look as if it were just a tiny (oooeeerr) tumble (ooohh) 'No, I'm fine.' (Oh, everything hurts) 'Honestly, it was nothing, I'm fine' (I must have broken something) 'No, really, I am' must smile, make it look like (oh, I don't know what hurts most) nothing hurts ... 'no, it was my own stupid fault' ... keep going (oarh) only about 50 minutes to go.
I couldn't maintain the pretence though. When I was unable to hold a weight in my hand I had to admit that, yes, my hand did hurt somewhat but, no, I was sure nothing was broken and I'd be fine.
Jules gave me an ice pack to take home with me and made me promise to go for an x-ray if it was worse in the morning.
It's much better now though although I still can't pick up a teapot.
The good thing about it was that everyone else in class had already turned and was facing the other direction when I tripped. There's something to be said for being a slowcoach.
It's Ric's fault anyway. On Tuesday he commented that I'd had a less than usually calamitous week. Of course I disputed the suggestion that I ever have anything other than a non-calamitous week, which, apart from not being strictly true, jinxed me.
Or it was George's fault for disturbing my routine. Anyone else I can blame for my stupidity?