Ice hockey is for masochists, as I believe I’ve mentioned before.
In addition to the 4 stitches that were inserted to hold my lip together about 3 weeks ago, and the cantaloupe-sized bruise just above my right knee that I got as a souvenir for stopping a puck a week after that, I’ve got an entirely new happy memory to share with my grandchildren.
Last week I blocked a slapshot (entirely inadvertently, I must say) with my ankle. Ouch. Don’t try this at home, kids.
In addition to the puffiness, which you can’t really see, this is the result:
No my ankle is not usually that fat. Or black, blue, and yellow.
The most painful part, oddly, is above the actual ankle joint, which is not very black and blue. I was able to finish the game, but only because I never stopped to take off my skate. If you do that, forget trying to get it back on – your ankle will be too fat and too sore.
Hopefully it will feel OK for next game … tomorrow.
. . .
. . .
The scar, by the way, is from a previous incident involving renovation, toilets, falling, and pain. Don’t go there.