Dearest Rachel –
With Kris’ help this past Monday, I swapped out the bedding (I think I mentioned how queen size sheets don’t seem to fit anymore – I may need to either ask for king size ones for Christmas, or get some for myself at some point thereafter; I hear January is good for sales on such things), including adding a blanket (to my side, at least – it doesn’t really matter if the vacant side is warm or not, now, is it?) and rotating quilts, from creeds to fandoms. It occurs to me that I mention this every time this happens; I’m not sure what this says about me. Still, I do appreciate having these pieces of you left behind to display this way.
At the same time, there’s a certain forlorn realization that some of the shirts that make up this quilt you never got a chance to wear. Some of them were presents from what turned out to be your last Christmas, and January is no time for one to be wearing T-shirts. So, the one displaying Reki from Haibane Renmei, Rebecca Parham from Let Me Explain Studios, and this manga panel design from CoryXKenshin’s YouTube channel never got brought out of the back we brought them home in after celebrating Christmas at the folks’ until I dug them up and sent them to the quilting company:
I’m going to have to confess, I rarely watched this guy’s channel with you and Daniel; like most of the gamers you two followed, what few episodes I saw could work on me like a soporific, I’m afraid. So while this includes something that I take to be his catchphrase at the time, I’ve no idea what it’s about; the inside joke is lost on me. I get the upper exchange (“You are already dead.” / “Whaaaat?!”) as a reference to the classic Fist of the North Star anime, but what’s this about getting one’s ankles “broke”?
If Cory were older I might think of it as a reference to the great Detroit Lions running back Barry Sanders (you mentioned that Cory made it abundantly clear that he was a Detroit native, and presumably he would be a fan of his hometown team). The man was an artist on the field, misdirecting opponents with moves that could be considered almost balletic. It’s a common phrase in the sport that, when a defensive player would fall down from having been faked into aiming in the wrong direction and having to course correct mid-step, he “got his ankles broken,” so maybe Cory would say that of opponents he would combat in the games he played. It seems a reasonable enough connection, in any event.
Then again, the manga panels suggest a more literal interpretation of the phrase. Perhaps it’s just a more family-friendly take on the manga and anime the first couple of panels is referencing: rather than having his head explode from being punched, Cory’s opponent simply breaks his ankles moments after being swiped by Cory’s blade. I really don’t know, and without you here to explain it to me (and with me not having the patience to go back and watch his old – or new – videos), I’ll probably never make the connection.
However, I will say that yesterday left me rather feeling like the guy standing against Cory. Not that I found myself squaring off some dude with a shinai telling me I was already dead, but rather that my ankles were in sorry shape, and I just didn’t realize it at the time.
Indeed, if someone were to tell me about their situation, I might as easily react the same way: “‘Whaaat?’ What are you talking about? They’re fine, I’m just a little sore from the exertion.” I would probably have conceded that my calves were a little sore, especially after that last mile or so from the Glenview Road crossing back to the parking lot – at that point, I’d covered over ten miles between the hike with Lars and my gym routine earlier in the morning. To suggest that my muscles were as pristine as when I’d woken up would be to drink deeply of the waters of de’Nile. But actually paining me? I would have snorted in disbelief.
Only, as we stood up to leave the restaurant we had chosen to have lunch at, I felt myself wobbling like a newborn fawn. My left foot – or, more to the point, my left ankle – was suddenly having difficulty figuring out how to support the half of my weight I was trying to put on it as I tried to get to my feet. I did what I could to not make a big deal out of the situation – I didn’t want to draw Lars’ attention to my plight, as we were about to head our separate ways – and I don’t know if he noticed, but I was as unsteady on my feet as if I’d had something considerably stronger than iced tea with my pizza.
And while getting into the car – and most importantly, sitting down in it – felt so nice in the moment, it occurred to me that I might have difficulty even then. I’m not one to use one foot on the gas and the other on the brake, so that wasn’t so much of an issue, but I couldn’t figure out what to do with my left foot. It’s too long to leave dangling, but even resting it on the wheel well made me aware of… whatever it was that was bothering it. To be sure, despite the title of this letter, I was pretty sure I hadn’t broken, or even sprained, my ankle, but it was painful enough in the moment that I wasn’t altogether sure, and I didn’t want to do anything that would aggravate whatever it was that was causing this in the first place.
But it was problematic, insofar as neither sitting nor standing felt comfortable anymore. Worse yet, I’d planned on doing some shopping on the return trip, as I still need to stock up for my contribution to Thanksgiving dinner. Then meant, however, that I would need to stand up and walk through one store or another, which would be a less than pleasant situation. All I could do was to try and ignore it, and just power through the trip.
Oddly enough, that actually seemed to work. I was sufficiently focused on the things I was looking for that it actually slipped my mind as to how much it hurt – which I suppose was an indication that it wasn’t nearly the level of injury it felt like at first (and made me glad that I didn’t concern Lars with it). Oh sure, by the time I got home, I was more than ready to collapse into my bedroom recliner and not move until bedtime (which would be sooner than usual, even for the weekdays you remember), but I made it through my day and my errands. I was even able to get out and work out this morning… although I’m still feeling enough of it right now to be able to finish telling you about the sensation I went through at the time.
I do hope this is an outlier for the foreseeable future, though; I still have a long way to go, both in terms of things I need to take care of between now and the end of the holiday season, and in terms of continuing to exercise. The last thing I need is something to sideline those efforts like this. So with that in mind, I’ll have to ask you to keep an eye on me honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 