Broken − 19 February, 2007
Got back from a long, wonderful President's Day weekend in Portland, Oregon this afternoon. What a great trip -- we must have walked like 20 miles around town. Also re-connected with Collaine, Renee, and Cindy from Peace Corps. Is it possible to fall in love with a town? Portland was certainly flirting with us and showing a lot of leg.
But back in DC -- which seemed even duller than usual after coming back from the Pacific Northwest -- it was just another Monday night, dreary and dark. There'd been an ice-storm over the weekend (while we'd been enjoying sunny skies in Portland!) and everything was slick. Highlights from the streetlights gleamed on everything, even at 11pm. I know this, because I was taking out the recycling.
Our building is on a raised lot with solid concrete steps leading down to the street level, where trash canisters and recycling bins were lined up in regular intervals -- brightly colored pods lining the streets of Capitol Hill. I approached the edge of the top steps gingerly, my arms full of Trader Joe's paper bags filled with newspapers, junk mail, and Coke Zero bottles. I could see how icy it was and was thinking about how to best get down the steps.
I took a step closer.
And then I was on my back, lying across the raised edges of the steps, recycling everywhere. I was shivering, gasping with a sick feeling in my stomach. I groaned. It hurt.
But I got up, gathered the recycling, put it out on the curb, went it and got into bed with my wife. Relatively speaking, I was fine.
Two weeks later, I couldn't walk without a limp. Nor sit down for more than five minutes at a time.
Sciatica.
But back in DC -- which seemed even duller than usual after coming back from the Pacific Northwest -- it was just another Monday night, dreary and dark. There'd been an ice-storm over the weekend (while we'd been enjoying sunny skies in Portland!) and everything was slick. Highlights from the streetlights gleamed on everything, even at 11pm. I know this, because I was taking out the recycling.
Our building is on a raised lot with solid concrete steps leading down to the street level, where trash canisters and recycling bins were lined up in regular intervals -- brightly colored pods lining the streets of Capitol Hill. I approached the edge of the top steps gingerly, my arms full of Trader Joe's paper bags filled with newspapers, junk mail, and Coke Zero bottles. I could see how icy it was and was thinking about how to best get down the steps.
I took a step closer.
And then I was on my back, lying across the raised edges of the steps, recycling everywhere. I was shivering, gasping with a sick feeling in my stomach. I groaned. It hurt.
But I got up, gathered the recycling, put it out on the curb, went it and got into bed with my wife. Relatively speaking, I was fine.
Two weeks later, I couldn't walk without a limp. Nor sit down for more than five minutes at a time.
Sciatica.
