It turns out that the all powerful universal driving force (God / Allah / that Indian one with lots of arms / a 13 year old oik who has created me in a cosmic version of The Sims / or whatever your personal belief), has once again given me a helping hand (or bloody great shove) towards my goal of losing weight and getting myself in shape.
It all began yesterday evening. My sister's best friend and his sports-mad family were visiting and invited me to join in with a game of rounders. Now, the last time I remember playing rounders was 1984, but I figured that the basic principles can't have changed that much in the intervening years. I agreed to take part because I thought it would be an enjoyable way to burn off a few calories, plus I'd pretend it was actually cricket and imagine myself to be Freddie Flintoff at his most flamboyant, spraying that tennis ball all over the field for six runs apiece.
As I stood at the crease (no idea what the technical term is for rounders, so I'll use cricket terminology to help reinforce my role playing fantasy), the demon bowler steamed in (as much as an eleven year old girl can steam in). Given that we were playing with a miniaturised rounders bat (unless I have grown twenty times my 1984 height), I was concerned that I'd just spin round on the spot and avoid contact with the ball completely.
But just like Freddie would have done, I absolutely middled it. The ball soared for miles, taking out a couple of satellites before returning to Earth covered in space dust (as in dust from space, not as in the strange fizzy / crackly sweet powder that makes your tongue tingle). Six runs!
As it turned out though, unlike in cricket, one still had to run around our improvised diamond track made up of buckets and table tennis bats, in order to 'score a rounder' or whatever it is one achieves by so doing. So off I went on a glorious lap of honour. I accelerated at quite a pace toward the first base, when I suddenly realised that my legs were doing things all of their own accord. I was hurtling along, but very much out of control.
I knew I was going to crash to Earth harder than the tennis ball had after its journey into the stratosphere, but I just couldn't slow myself down at all. As is traditional at times of calamity, everything went into slow motion as the grass got closer and closer before whacking me flush on the chin. I honestly couldn't imagine that it would have been possible to have collided with it at any greater force.
Concerned people rushed to my aid whilst my sister collapsed into hysterical laughter - something that only made the almighty pain feel a million times worse. Her friends seemed to think that I'd literally thrown myself into the game with tremendous gusto and this was just a heavy landing from a deliberate dive. So far as I'm concerned, it's better that they think this rather than knowing that, in truth, my legs took on a mind of their own. It was like the game of Misfits where my usual upper body had been paired with the legs of a newly born foal.
I did my best to dust myself down and laugh along with everyone else. In reality though, I felt like I was about to faint, be sick and couldn't shut my mouth properly since it had born the brunt of the impact. To add insult to injury, technically I had been run out as, despite my Tom Daley-esque exploits, I hadn't even made it to the first table tennis bat.
I somehow managed to stagger back to the house despite feeling ridiculously dizzy and sick. I had to navigate through where we keep the chickens which felt especially dangerous because if I'd collapsed there, I fear they would have pecked me to pieces.
After lying on the sofa and moaning and groaning, it became clear that I really ought to go to A&E to be checked out. As well as feeling dazed and confused, I couldn't shut my mouth which felt like it was very much out of alignment.
I hobbled into the reception area like an extra from Casualty and tried to explain what had happened. Not being able to stand up straight and talk properly made communication very difficult and at first the receptionist thought I was trying to tell her that I had burned my head. Eventually the message got through and she sent me to sit with the other unfortunate souls who were destined to spend their Sunday night at the hospital.
I heard the receptionist make a phone call saying that she was very concerned about me, although I guess you would be if you thought someone's head is actually on fire. After just a few minutes I was ushered through to a cubicle where I was prodded, poked and questioned about what had happened.
For some reason, I felt a bit self conscious explaining that I'd hurt myself during a game of rounders. It sounded a bit 'gay' to me. I would have much preferred that it had happened during a more manly sport or a good old brawl.
My embarrassment was confounded when the nurse, whilst updating details on the computer, shouted across the whole of the A&E ward to check, "It was a game of rounders you were playing, wasn't it Mr King?". It was the medical equivalent of someone at a busy chemists asking for a price check on the haemorrhoid cream.
I must say that, the often maligned NHS did a fantastic job. I was seen by six or seven different medical staff and they were all incredibly friendly, patient and helpful.
After getting the results from the X-ray back, it turns out that I've damaged the ligaments of my jaw but haven't broken anything. Although this is bloody painful, it will at least fix itself in time. I was so relieved that it was nothing more serious.
Right now, as I hunch tentatively over my iPad slowly writing this, I also still get occasional dizziness and have bruised ribs and a swollen knee. But I count myself as being ridiculously lucky not to have done anything more painful (and more importantly, not to have damaged my glasses or mobile phone).
With my jaw in a bit of a state, eating is quite a painful chore. So thanks once again Higher Power for helping reduce my calorie intake by conjuring up a situation where I'm inevitably going to eat less for a while. Maybe for your next trick you could magic me a lottery win so I could afford a house with a gym, swimming pool and my own personal nutritionist. Cheers.
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