Twist and Shout

I haven't twisted my ankle in about eight years. You see, difficult as it may be for most of you to believe, I lived my life until the age of eighteen or nineteen at a full sprint. In the country, if you're running, then there's nothing moving faster than you, and you can get things done faster. There's more distance to cover, too. And the ground is uneven, so I'd twist my ankle about once every three to four months, and think nothing of it. I move slower these days - moving fast in the city leads to running into things and people, possibly vehicles, and breaking things. Last night, however, on the way back from syleth and natural20's rather excellent Bad Friday celebrations, I managed, while moving at a normal pace on a bit of plain, unremarkable pavement, to wrench my ankle pretty damn well. It's now actually swollen, although not as badly as the time when I was sixteen and contrived to get it stuck between two branches in a hedge I was jumping over. So today, my ankle feels teenager-y.

Weekeeeeeeeend

And the best bit is, there's still two days to go.