A Bizarre Contraption

My leg blew up yesterday. I was playing baseball. Correction: I was playing softball. The distinction between the two should be made by each versions compared ball size rather than their softness because one is hard and the other slightly less hard but not so much that it should be called soft. If I had company staying the night and I was short pillows, I'm not sure how appreciative said company would be if I offered them a softball in lue of a pillow.

Regardless, my leg blew up while I was running to first base. It didn't blow up literally obviously but between me hitting the ball and arriving safely at first, something went horribly wrong. It felt like, 'streeeeeeeeeeetch pop.' Then I almost barfed.

I hobbled back to my bench where I sat pissed about the whole situation on a number of levels. Let's explore them. First off, most directly, immediately and obviously, it really hurt hence my stomach panicing and very nearly emptying itself of its contents.

Second, the stupid injury occured in the first inning of my first at bat on the first pitch meaning that I not only would I miss playing that rest of the game but I had injured myself so early on that I would miss the maximum amount of playing time possible. The only way I could have missed more of the game, outside of not showing up at all, is by somehow crippling myself on my way to be third base coach before my at-bat. To my credit I managed to pull myself together enough to be able to pitch and still bat, albeit with a pinch runner.

Third, and most important of all, is that I injured the only decent set of muscles in my whole body. The rest of my muscles work at at cost; literally running at the bare minimum operational requirements. You need those muscles for your arm to function? Okay, friend, you got it but that's all that they will do! Medium to heavy lifting? Out of the question. You're pushing your luck with light lifting, pal. You should have thought it through before you decided that your arms would be doing more than lateral movement.

But my thighs, no, they're different. They're well toned and built for walking and running yet during the act for which they're perfect they failed miserably. My left one, anyway. It would be like if Cornell built a robot that was designed to go to the deepest parts of the ocean but the robot itself wasn't water resistant. Also, what's up with wind breakers?