Every year around spring, I decide I should exercise more. Due to this annual spring epiphany, my husband and I have an outbuilding… a chicken coop, to be exact… full of the fitness machines and good intentions we’ve purchased over the years. In the spring.
Around four years ago, that time of year came, and I again decided to give fitness a chance. (World peace might be more achievable.) So that day, I asked my husband to go out to the coop and get the elliptical machine and bring it to the house for me. Being the good man he is, he did.
So, he put the equipment on the patio as it was covered in dust and cobwebs and I set about cleaning it up. Once clean, it was time to bring it into the house. I thought about calling him, but it was nice of him to do the major heavy lifting. I figured I could surely get it in the house on my own. Couldn’t be that heavy, right?
Turned out, it wasn’t. Nope. Weight wasn’t the issue. Its collapsible construction, however, was. When I grabbed it by the back bar and tilted it toward me it collapsed like an accordion being thrown in its case by a polka band member. Front bar met back bar with a slam… my fingers crunched between the two.
I screamed, and being the big baby I can be sometimes, started bawling like Lucy when Desi told her she had some ‘splainin’ to do. I worked to pry my fingers out of the contraption. Then I jumped around holding my throbbing hands up in the air like if I performed a super-duper dramatic pain dance and cursed loudly, somehow my fingers would be cured.
Of course, it didn’t fix a thing, and when I finally slumped down on the back step all I could do was stare at my waffled fingers and continue to sob. But quite honestly, I wasn’t really crying because my hands hurt, although they did. I was crying because I was dead sure my fingers were all broken and darn it if I wasn’t right in the middle of writing a novel. If my fingers actually were broken, I would never be able to finish typing it!
And, that’s when I knew… I am a writer.
FYI. Didn’t get fit. Didn’t break my fingers. Finished writing Casting Stones. Made millions. HAHAHA. No. Not really. But hundreds. Absolutely hundreds!