Falling off the wagon

Last night I fell off the wagon. Hard.

Our nearest park is a lovely, lovely green place with a rolling path around it for walkers, joggers, and bikers. We try to walk it every night to get in a little exercise. There’s also a great playground that Jack loves. Last night we did our usual– walk to the park from our house, let Jack play at the climby structures, get popsicles at the stand, then walk towards home. Part of the ritual is that, on the last little hill at the end of the park, Jack and I get into his wagon and ride it down the slope. We’ve done it dozens of times. I sit in front and steer, Jack and the black pup sit behind me. (One little black face looks around one side of me while one little sticky popsicle face looks around the other…)

Last night Jack didn’t want to ride the hill. So Philbin and I were prepared to go the distance.

I’m not sure what went wrong– was it the weight difference? Did I sit too far forward? Did we start to high up on the hill? For some reason I felt like I was going faster than usual so I stuck my foot out to slow down. My heel went to my toe which then bent backwards and rolled under the wagon, pulling me out in the process.

I gashed up my ankle on the axle and my knee on the pavement. Pretty.

The boyscout took good care of me and got me all cleaned/bandaged/iced/ibuprofened up. And today I’m none the worse for wear– just a little slower and achier.

I’m an idiot, I know. It was stupid… next time I won’t try to slow down.