bigger than my body.

Many people celebrate the anniversaries of blissful or tragic events.

I celebrate each injury's anniversary with a new one.

Wouldn't want to be stuck in the past, now, would we? Who wants to reminisce about last year's two hour-plus hospital visit when Cortland Memorial is a mere two blocks away?

Two years in a row, Fat Tuesday was the day. First, my knee cracked and then swelled up to the size of the early post-surgery days. Back came the ice, training room stim, Ace bandage. Even the limp returned as a touch of nostalgia. A month or so later, I made myself fine by tumbling on the Spins floor (death-defying, to be sure).

If Tanya hadn't been in the training room with me last year when they'd poked at the crepitus in my foot, I most certainly would not have gone to the hospital. Why such a hassle when clearly all I needed was ice and a day or two of taking it easy? Okay, how about four months? How about the fact that, for all I know, that damn fifth metatarsal could still be broken?

Oh, and I thought I was being clever this year. Tuesday passed. Then Ash Wednesday. No practice for me until Saturday's competition; I'd avoided giving up gymnastics for Lent this year.

Nearly a week from last Thursday, I was in a similar position to the year before: waiting waiting waiting at the Cortland Hospital, listening to American Idol, and wondering, What'd you do this time?

But this year, I knew that prayers on x-ray tables do not work. I knew that despite how much milk I drank or the "careful" activities I participated in, the bone would still heal at whatever pace it chose, and most likely not one that I agreed with.

But I'd competed on it -- and pretty decently, too. As voices approached and then roamed away from my little room, I began to almost hope that I'd done something that would show up on an x-ray. It would justify Emeline's patience in the waiting room, the tug I felt whenever I breathed (or laughed...walked...jumped...flipped...), the moments of my life that I'd spent making noise in hopes that someone would hear me and just lead me to the x-ray table already.

Just as Tanya had been correct last year, Emeline knew what was up this time. We scampered into her room and loaded the x-ray CD onto the computer. We found the magnifying glass tool. And then we searched high and low until we found the intruder: a fairly straightfoward crack of the tenth rib. Nothing like last year's lengthy and perplexing sine wave.

I'll believe "four to six weeks" when I see it. And you'll see me compete. Experience and adrenaline: stronger than any dosage of ibuprofen.

....

Lest I feared building up too much bad karma, I discovered that I have been accepted into El Paso's MFA in Creative Writing program. The one I've been talking about for several weeks now and finally applied to at the last minute. I wouldn't actually get in, of course.

I still can't believe it.

Now May is not so terrifying - I may actually do somehing that I enjoy with my life. Imagine??