Down Time

I was training a week or so ago, in the garage with the gymnastic rings and I tried to do something that I knew I was ready for. I felt the head of my humerus jam up into my shoulder cavity. I screamed. Nobody heard me. The door to the garage was closed so I could keep the heat from my space heater inside. I was all alone. I was hoping, praying that my arm would slip back into the joint. I tried to move what little I could to spur it along. I screamed again. My eyes burned. I fell to one knee. Somebody help me, I thought. I looked at the garage door before me. I tried to clear my mind of the pain long enough to figure out how I'd lift the garage door and get outside of it before it crashed down upon me. It seemed so impossible, as if I'd taken for granted what a monumental achievement it was all the countless times I had effortlessly opened this garage. I figured quickly that it was much more likely that I'd pass out from the pain in a few moments and someone would come and find me lying there some hours later. I even thought of how I should position myself so that I didn't fall on the ruined arm. Then all of a sudden, the joint slipped back into place. The range of motion of my arm was almost nil, but the pain had subsided considerably. The room stopped spinning. I could breath again. I smiled in spite of myself. A moment ago I was so scared and alone and now...I'm not. Relief can sometimes be just on the horizon. I honestly can't remember feeling that way ever before -- but I know one thing for absolute certain. There is no worse feeling in the world than being hurt and knowing no one is coming. I always thought I would die alone. But now, I don't think I'd mind some company to make the time go by.