Two days ago, I was clearing up after dinner, and thought I'd carry the big cooler downstairs. A quick trip, no problem. So I didn't turn on the light, and I didn't hold the handrail.
And two steps from the bottom of our steep farmhouse stairs, I missed the last step and took a giant step down to the basement floor. And rolled my right ankle. I heard a loud "pop" and dropped the cooler, and landed on the floor. My foot hurt so much, I thought I was going to throw up. My first thought was to yell for DW. My second thought was that I didn't want to disturb anyone. So I sat quietly and tried to get past the pain of my rapidly swelling foot and ankle. My third thought was to get rid of those shoes.
When I could pull myself to my feet and hobble up the stairs, I grabbed a bag of ice out of the freezer, and headed for the bedroom to ice my ankle. As I passed through the living room, DW asked, "Why are you limping?" So I showed him the huge lump on the side of my foot.
Damn. In just two weeks we leave for a backpacking trip. I am not missing that trip. (And I'm not getting rid of those shoes.)