Knowing How to Fall

"You need a bubble suit" an ex-partner exclaimed as we approached the end of a year together.  I was tempted.  Of course, I usually fantasized a suit made of colorful balloons.  (From here on out why don't we agree to refer to my ex-husband as my ex-Y, my first ex-partner as my ex-X and my last partner as my ex-X2.  It will make our lives together simpler and writing this blog less cumbersome.)

My ex-X2 was not the first to suggest I surround my body with protective padding.
(My dear ex-Y seemed to live in constant fear that I'd come to harm when out on my own without him by my side to protect me or at the very least to provide me guidance.)  However, she was the first to buy me my very own construction hat to wear when working about the house.  My... that was a proud moment: I always wanted to work construction.  Claire tips her hat to her dear deceased brother Michael who was in construction.

You see, I have proprioception issues.  Aside from running into things with surprising frequency, I have no idea where my head is in relation to the space surrounding me and I can move my head with surprising, unexpected (even to myself) speed.  Add to that that I can be famously unaware of my physical surroundings and, well, the combination has been near deadly.

Actually, it's a minor miracle I'm not dead.  I've hit my head severely on the average of 3 to 4 times a year for as long as I can remember.  And I have pretty impressive dents in my skull, and a number of soft spots (I'm terribly consistent in my injuries), to prove it.  The minor dent in the middle of my forehead, a mere dimple of a depression (what gave rise to the construction hat), provides me with a daily reminder to take care of my head.  Why it never occurred to me before to put a dot on my forehead so I'd remember my head, I do not know.

Now, for whatever reason, I have other talents.  Nay, gifts.

I have the most fabulous car proprioception (unless I'm backing up).  You should see me negotiate my car with complete ease into the tiny space alloted to it in my small single car garage.  In fact, when driving down relatively narrow residential streets with parking at the curb, I am often surprised by the number of drivers who drive in the middle of the road, who don't realize there's enough room for the cars parked on both sides of the street with room left over for two cars to drive AT THE SAME TIME.

And... I know how to fall.  As much as I lack the instinctive ability to appreciate where my head is in relation to my surroundings, I instinctively know how to fall and I know how not to hit my head when falling.  It's been a life-long gift.

Cases in point:  When going from my house to my neighbor's a few winters back (she shares a duplex with me and so it's a short walk across our shared driveway), despite being extra careful, I hit some black ice and went down like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel.  Whump!  Flat on my back.  Head off the ground thank you very much.

Last winter I asked my mother if I could take the small stool she wasn't using for use in my home.  What I didn't tell her is that I thought it was a step stool, when in fact, it was a flimsy pot stand that any sane person, er, observant person might have been able to ascertain by simply giving it a cursory glance.  Within days of taking it home, a lightbulb went out above the bathroom sink, and so I trotted out the little stool, thinking I would wipe down the top of the wide medicine cabinet while I was up there.  Stretching further than I ought, the wee stool snapped, gave way, and sent me flying and then crashing onto first the counter top and then the toilet and finally into the bathroom door.  I remember thinking on my way down, "This is a really stupid way to die."  But, I didn't hit my head.

As a teen, I was riding my bike to a friend's home in the development where we lived when I had the rather novel idea of trying to ride without using my hands while standing up and pedaling.  Of course, rather than seeing this as something to try while on a grassy surface or while surrounded by rubber mats, I instantly decided to give it a go on an asphalt surface, next to a curb.  Well, you can imagine how that turned out.  I ended up with the bike on top of me, slamming my shoulder into the curb, which was, most fortunately, a rounded slope of cement and not your typical sharp-edged curb design.  But, I didn't hit my head.  I also walked away with a slight scrape on the back of my elbow and nothing else.  The bike was fine and I mounted it and got on my way.

The year before I was visiting a friend outside of Raleigh (Sherry if you ever read this, I've been wondering where you are in life and I have searched the Internet).  Sherry and her brother owned a mini bike and two small motorcycles, gifts from an often absent father (one with a rather large lightening rod sales territory).  At the time, I must have been all of 14 or 15 and they were no older.  Needless-to-say, they rode their bikes through the woods behind their home and along a cement aqua duct not frequented by authorities.

Never having ridden a mini-bike, let alone a motorcycle, I of course rode one of the motorcycles that day (after a brief lesson) through the woods and all over their childhood riding haunts.  Sherry's younger brother led the way, and being a teenage boy he had to show off to his sister's friend by driving at a high rate of speed (far too fast for driving narrow trails through the woods).  And my being a girl who was out to prove that girls were every way the equal of or superior to boys had to keep up despite my being a novice.

Well, as luck and nature would have it, not to mention the fact that he had experience riding a motorcycle AND knew every turn and rut in the trail, both of which were new to me, we rounded a curve and I watched him ride up on a very narrow strip of dirt--no wider than the tire itself--to avoid an ugly gash of a rut... just a second before the inevitability of time and speed demanded that I do the same.  Well, try as I might to mimic that move, I knew in an instant that I'd lost control of the motorcycle and was headed for the trees.  I set my mind to setting down the bike as gently as I could along with my body.

The motorcycle came to a rest on its side on top of my leg, the bottom butted against a tree.  Sherry and her brother rushed to my side, figuring I'd be in serious trouble.  Despite being dressed in sandals, a sleeveless top, and short shorts and having slid through the underbrush with a motorcycle on top of me, I literally got up and walked away without a scratch.  And I didn't hit my head.  I mounted my undamaged ride and we continued on our merry way, albeit much more slowly, knowing, as we did, that we just narrowly escaped a tragic scene or witnessed a minor miracle, depending on how you look at it.

There's a lesson in all of this (other than my needing to have put a dot in my forehead years ago) and if you see it, please send it home to me.