Ow, ow, fuck.
*sigh*
Nobody would ever dare to contradict you if you were to ever point out that monstres get carried away sometimes.
Yesterday, fifteen minutes into the afternoon, ten minutes after the phone had rung, I was suddenly showered and thrilled to be climbing into Seb's car to go pick up Maja and Sophie and take them rollerblade shopping.
The sky so bright and the air so crisp and my collection of black v-neck t-shirts finally jumbled about the wardrobe like everyday clothes.
We tried all the stores, the big Decathlon and Go-Sport, and then Ootini, the little shop with little groupie boys, just like John's community mountain-bike store, where the salesman are great guys, we say "tu" to each other, and talk about things other than price an colour.
I was trying out insoles, thinking that on such a beautiful day next I'd try a pair of Solomon Crossmax freestyle skates just to see what I'll be aiming for in a couple of years.
But ahhh, before then, I headed out the store with my own blades on, a little tired of Maja's "but those ones are prettier" inanities, to try to see if I really had more control over my skates with those insoles clinging to my feet.
Of course, still high on my Friday's discovery of speed, I took off down the street and did a 360 spin to stop.
Nice.
I tried it again, spinning around a meter before the storefront.
There was a kid in the way.
I was going FAST.
I didn't hit the kid, I hit the sidewalk.
Hard.
With my already premanently tender knee.
I wasn't wearing pads for the test-drive.
My head swam with nausea, sitting on the store floor, they brought me ice-packs and clucked over the strangely dark black and rapid bruising.
The girls bought their skates, we went elsewhere for their pads, my knee aching and my teeth gritted not to complain.
We bought a handful of groceries, cooked a rushed dinner at my place, rushed but still full, salad with strawberries and fresh gnocchi with spinach and tomatoes, a beautiful St-Emillion and we were off to meet Cristal and Daniel for Resident Evil, my token brainless flick.
We were running late, we raced, we clambered out of the truck to search for parking spots on foot.
Several blocks away, everyone broke into a run for the theatre.
I broke into a hop, Guillaume urging me to climb onto his shoulders.
I finally gave in, feeling utterly ridiculous riding piggy-back, my knee screaming with every bounce.
I hopped the last few blocks, hugged Cristal and kissed Daniel and we settled into the seats, and I forgot my knee for a couple of hours, laughing as Maja ran out of the theatre, Seb following her like the gallant fellow he is.
They saw another flick, we met up in the bar across the street, and talk was good and all was fine.
Climbing up my stairs afterwards, was slow going.
This morning, I can't walk, putting pressure on the leg puts stars in my eyes.
My knee is a lot larger than it has ever been.
And a lot blacker, despite the ice and contusion creams.
We're supposed to leave in an hour for our own intimate (only 20 people instead of 10,000) marathon along the Quaies de l'Ourcq.
I was so excited about it, too. Tired of the too-slow pace of the habitual Sunday marathons, the private randonn�e was my idea, and all the most wonderful people are making the effort to be there.
Last night in between vegetable chopping we prepared picnic lunches to take with us, sandwiches and fruit and juice and granola bars...
And there's no way I can go.
*sigh*
There'll be other marathons.
But fuck do I feel stupid. I should have been wearing pads.