I've never had my feet fail me before. There have been years of dancing in studios, across the stage and even down the grocery isles. Years of training, years of trusting, and years of knowing that my body knew what to do. 13 years to be exact. Unlucky 13, as it turns out. Oh sure, I've taken falls before. But my feet always found a way to get me down to the ground safely without injury, or at most a minor one. Not this time. I've replayed it in my head a thousand times. I know exactly how I landed on my foot, and I've got the x-ray to prove it. I know the sound of a sprained ankle, having done my right one a couple times. The closest thing I can equate to that noise is the sound of popping a balloon with a pin. But this, this was definitely a crack. I knew as soon as the rest of my body hit the ground that I wasn't going to be getting up right away. My first thought was of work. Being injured means I don't work. If I don't work, I don't get paid
Bring it on, world.