One Fracture and a Big Scratch


The last few days have been hard on my body and mind. After falling during cross-country practice last week while coaching, my right forearm would not quit hurting.

I went to the VAMC and had it x-rayed.  Yup, I broke it.

My record is looking pretty good averaging out the last three-years. I have fallen three times (once a year) and only broken stuff twice.

If I were a pro baseball player I’d be batting 66-percent.

It is a spiral fracture that left my arm feeling very tender, especially when I would bump it every few minutes. Shoot, jus’ lifting my fingers caused me pain, so typing has been out of the question until today.

Then I had a problem with my truck–twice. It was the same problem both times.

The second time I was left stranded in Gerlach, Nevada, waiting nearly three hours for the tow truck. It is finally fixed at the cost of about $900 that I didn’t ‘t really have to spend.

Virginia, Santa will be late.

Jump to this last Wednesday, when I drove with the cross-country team to Yerington, Nevada for a meet.

The weather was windy but warm–a nice day for a three-mile run. I was watching the first place runner speed to the finish line when I was run over by the second place finisher.

I didn’t even see him coming!

He ran right through the finish line and into the flagging that was supposed to direct him down to where he would find out his time.  Instead he raced right into the flagging and me.

I remember hearing a ‘crunch ‘ which I believe was my neck ‘popping’ as I struck the ground.

The other spectators told me later that both the runner and I went flying head-over-heels. When I woke up face down in the grass, the flagging and my camera were wrapped tightly around my throat.

I recall trying to remember when cross­ country races had become a contact sport.  Needless to say I have been rather stoved-up since it happened and I know my lower back HATES me.

Then today a five-year old boy decided to take a rock and rub it the length of my pick-up truck. I followed him home and talk with his grandpa and him.

He said that he did it because the two boys playing in my drive way said too. However, I had heard the conversation and knew that they were telling him NOT to throw rocks “because you could scratch the guy’s truck.”

I watched, so dumbfounded that I couldn’t say anything as he ran the rock the length of the truck.

After talking to the boy and his grandpa, I found out that little boy thought the two older kids had TOLD him to scratch the truck.  I ended walking home, laughing all the way, unable to be mad over a simple mistake like that.

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