Broken Bones

I have been receiving messages of condolences from MySpace friends about my fractured ankle and I am very touched by your concern. I did have trouble at first figuring out how you guys knew about it! But it seems my brother had posted a notice on the discussion board of my website. www.natashamostert.com. Having a brother as a webmaster has definite perks but it also means it is impossible to be a woman of mystery.

Just to put the record straight: I wasn't being incredibly clumsy when it happened just incredibly brave. OK, and stupid. I have been trying to sweep my kickboxing instructor off his his feet for many years now, but in vain. On Friday, much to my -- and his -- surprise, I managed to do so. We were in a clinch, sparring and I swept his ankle. This was an aggressive move on my part but usually my feeble attempts do not even register with him. He is a champion after all and there is about a 40 kilo weight difference between us: www.myspace.com/carloslionheartandrade. But on this occasion my technique must have been devastating because he went down like a sack of bricks. Unfortunately, he collapsed on me. My ankle was still entangled with his and when we both hit the floor, it broke. The man needs to go on a diet.

I'm also sad to say my long-suffering husband has finally lost his sense of humour about the situation. I can't blame him. In a previous kickboxing mishap I cracked my nose. The effect was quite spectacular as the one half of my face turned black and blood pooled underneath my eye. The other half showed no sign of trauma. When I looked into the mirror it was like looking at a rather grisly rendition of the two theatre masks: happy and sad. My husband was sympathetic until the day the greengrocer's wife gave me a piece of paper with a telephone number, explaining that it was the helpline for battered women. When I tried to tell her what had happened she told me I needed to work through my "denial". We now buy our vegetables some place else.

I had surgery on Friday evening and I'll be on crutches until end of December. However,as I have a book to finish by February, I need to be desk bound anyway. And after pushing myself around on crutches for eight weeks my upper body strength is going to be fearsome. This doesn't mean that I do not feel incredibly sorry for myself, of course. So what I need is lots of sympathy and not messages (this is for you, John) that I have only myself to blame for taking part in such ridiculous pursuits.

Thanks for the good wishes everybody and stay safe...

BTW This blog entry was first posted in November 2007 but because I wanted to push it to the back of the list, I had to play around with the dates!