You know that dance move that guys sometimes do in the middle of a swing out, where the man goes down on his knees one at a time…
No, wait! I’ll tell the whole story from the beginning.
Yesterday I was awakened at about half past five by a full bladder. I was in the middle of a strange dream in which I went back in time and met a former landlord before I ever stayed with him and his dog was still a puppy, but that’s another story for another time. I got out of bed and relieved myself and then, since I was up, went for a run. I’ve only done one short run since the recent incident, but I decided it was early, still before quarter to six, I would probably avoid most of the kids even if I went all the way to Nguluni and back, so that’s what I did.
As I set out, it was still dark and gloomy. I tripped. Fell on my hands and knees without loosing momentum but not without loosing skin.
I find I get a huge rush of adrenaline when things like this happen. When I got knocked off my bike in Poland St in London, I got up and lifted the mangled velocipede to the pavement while the car that hit me sped away in a drunken panic; I was limping for a week starting from when the adrenaline wore off.
So yesterday morning I got up and ran the 8km to Nguluni and back, then washed off the red soil and blood off and replaced it with Savlon cream. My knees were sore most of the day. This morning the scabs had started to form on my grazed, schoolboy knees and, when I bended them and the scabs cracked, they hurted. By lunch time, however, I had stopped being aware of them.
Until, that is, I was dancing with Megan — a Peace Corps volunteer who lives nearby and who has become something of a Lindy follower in the last few months — and it was all going very well and Michael Buble was swinging when suddenly I decided to do that move where the man goes down on first one knee and then the other and then back up in the middle of a swing out. :O