I stubbed my little toe on my left foot on Sunday. A relatively slow crunch with a chair leg has made my flipper look like I dropped a bowling ball on it.
It's your basic black-and-blue imprint on an unfortunate case of wrong place, wrong time
While it's not in the league of a broken leg, ovarian cancer or even swine flu, it is the type of seemingly minor injury that has become a major nuisance. It has put my old-person's hockey career on hold, kept my feet out of hard leather shoes and put me out of action for the 40-minute treadmill run at the Y.
And, oh yeah, I'll never drive a golf ball straight again. (But never did that before either with healthy ground digits.)
I'd like to kick back at the chair but it would hurt too much. I suspect it's a bad sprain. Of course, I went to the web to find out what constitutes a broken toe. Apparently, the battle between a sprain versus a break is a draw. You can't put a splint or a cast on it so you just stay off of it and tough it out.
I will man-up with this malady and move ahead by reading a book and talking to people on the phone -- two things that are on the short list of endangered human activities in a world of Tweets and texts.