Dumb injuries, part infinity plus one
You, know, my own personal Neverending Story. Except it's about me being stupid and injured, not magic, and there's no flying dog. (I don't care what Butch says. It looks nothing like a dragon, and everything like Clifford's big, white, fluffy flying cousin.)
Anyway, Wendy asked a question and I promptly dropped to the floor to figure out the answer. Except years of yoga have rewired my brain and muscles, so although I intended to do a [boy] push up, I did the ugly bastard child of Chaturanga Dandasana and, like, Downward Dog. On my second Chatty Dandy Dog, something popped in my left elbow.
So, yeah. Worse than racking myself because I forgot my age or tried to bake a pie? Hurting myself on the internet.
(Ouch.)
Anyway, Wendy asked a question and I promptly dropped to the floor to figure out the answer. Except years of yoga have rewired my brain and muscles, so although I intended to do a [boy] push up, I did the ugly bastard child of Chaturanga Dandasana and, like, Downward Dog. On my second Chatty Dandy Dog, something popped in my left elbow.
So, yeah. Worse than racking myself because I forgot my age or tried to bake a pie? Hurting myself on the internet.
(Ouch.)