You wouldn’t think writing is something that is fraught with danger but there are perils just lurking, waiting to pounce on you from the shadows.
I say this even as I limp following my book premiere at Magness Library on Monday night. By the way, thanks to everyone who came out and bought a copy of my newest novel, "Paradise Ranch" during the release party. If you didn’t, you can get a copy at the Civic Center Craft Fair this week.
So, why am I limping? That is where the perils of writing combine with getting older to produce a recipe for disaster. However, before I explain my limp, I need to first explain an earlier injury to my shoulder.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve been a gym rat for many years. I work out quite a bit, mainly lifting weights and working on my upper body. My legs, well, they are popsicle sticks since I tend to skip leg day most of the time.
However, I have to admit, I’ve been slightly remiss on getting into the gym in recent weeks out of laziness. So much so that I got a call from the gym asking if everything was OK, something editor James Clark – who claims to work out – unfortunately overheard. Actually, I’d been going in after hours and not signing in but to hear James say it, I’d been wasting away, sitting on my couch eating Cheetos for a year.
With that being said, I decided to force myself into the gym, lazy or not. I did this last week, taking my youngest son Henry with me, you know, to try to get him interested in working out once he gets older.
So, there I am, in the gym where I’ve worked out for a decade. I put the bar on the weights and go to step over the weight bench when I catch my toe on the bench. I go flying over the bench and onto the floor on the other side. I hit the ground and immediately hear a tearing sound in my shoulder. By the way, you don’t want to ever hear that sound.
“Did you fall down?” Henry asked as I bounced up off the floor as if nothing had happened.
However, I immediately realized the damage was done. Whether it’s a tear or just a sprain, I can still feel it a bit nearly two weeks later. It’s not dissimilar to an injury I’ve suffered before, lifting weights, not falling down by them.
This is where the writing injury takes place. With the injured shoulder, I’ve been careful to lift with my legs when I can. So, that’s what I did as I boosted the box full of "Paradise Ranch" books up to the second floor the library.
“You know there’s an elevator,” a woman reminded me as I walked the heavy box up the stairs.
“I’m fine,” I called out just as I felt my groin muscle tweak.
Writing is a dangerous business. Thankfully the box was lighter coming back down or I may have pulled another muscle.
Standard reporter Duane Sherrill can be reached at 473-2191.