The Hobbit Vs. The World - Volume 1

I have decided to start a new little feature here in my corner of the blogosphere, 'The Hobbit Vs. The World'. This will be a place for me to get out my crankies about the things that get under my skin, from the ridiculous to the sublime. As usual, it's your choice to read... and comment as the case may be. These are just thoughts of little consequence...

The Hobbit Vs. Old Man Winter

I'm sure if you've read any of my posts over the last few weeks, you will have recognized a trend.

I can't stand winter! I want it to be spring!

When I was a wee little hobbit, knee-high to a cricket, I loved winter. I loved the snow, I loved toboggining, mittens, seeing your breath when you walked outside, and frost on the windows. I would watch anxiously for the first snowfall, and would jump around like an idiot when I would wake to a few centimeters of the white stuff on the lawn. I would dawdle all the way to school and home, throwing snowballs and sliding on the ice. I was notorious for wearing out the knees on my snow-pants because I loved to run and slide down the ice on my knees.

When I got a little older, I still loved the snow. I didn't understand when my mom would gripe about the winter. How could you not love watching the big white flakes falling on the mountains?

But somewhere between my late teen years and my early twenties, something changed. Maybe I became more klutzy. Maybe it's because I became 'too cool' to wear winter boots. Maybe I just got tired of landing on my backside in the snow. Whatever it was, my relationship with snow and ice changed. It became my enemy.

To say that I am accident prone is an understatement. If someone is going to get hurt doing the most mundane task, it's going to be me. Heck, I almost gave myself a concussion a few weeks ago doing laundry (but that's a tale for another time). And as the world's biggest klutz, I see every snowfall as another opportunity for Old Man Winter to cause me bodily injury.

Over the years I have aquired a collection of tensor bandages , ripped trouser knees, and ice packs to rival any midget hockey team. My tendancy towards winter injury is legend at my workplace. Last year was no exception. Twice in the early part of winter I wiped out on my way to work. Once, I actually made it to work, only to wipe out on the tile inside the entrance due to my wet shoes.

The final insult combined with injury happened last year in April. This region of the flatland is notorious for freak snowstorms in the spring and fall, and last year our final snowfall didn't come until the last week of April, after the trees had finally started to bud. We got a ridiculous amount of wet, sloppy snow, and it took a few days before it warmed up again enough to melt the white poop away.

The day after the snowfall, on my walk to work, I encountered a section of unshovelled sidewalk, where the slush and snow had frozen into a trecherous mess. Knowing my ankles, I wouldn't make it ten feet before a sprain would ensue. So I made a choice. A dumb choice... but I will admit that it seemed reasonable at the time.

I looked at the street to my left. The cars had packed down the snow. There were no frightening lumps of ice to navigate. I stepped off the curb, intending to avoid certain bodily harm, only to feel my heel hit a exceptionally slick patch of ice.

I can see it in my mind's eye. I'm sure if anyone was watching, they got a good chuckle out of it. A plus-sized hobbit, bundled up to the eyes, going ass over tea kettle, purse flying in one direction, mp3 player in the other.

The only thing to differentiate this particular fall from the thousands previous was the way I landed. Normally, I would land on a knee or twist an ankle. But not this time. This time I landed square on my pride. Yep, the old derriere. More specifically, my tailbone. I was so stunned by the pain that I wasn't even able to catch myself before my head hit the ice.

I think I laid there for a good two or three minutes before attempting the oh-so-gracefull job of getting myself up, collecting my things, assessing the damage and getting back on my way to work, all without landing on my ass again. I was only a block or so from work, so I hobbled the rest of the way, and that is the end of my sad tale.

Almost...

I had cracked my tailbone. It took a month before I could sit like a normal hobbit (or human) and even now it gives me uncomfortable twinges. Especially when it gets really cold. How ironic.

So, today when I heard the weather advisory for a winter storm warning, predicting 10-20 centimeters of new snow, I said a few words that should never be heard from a hobbit. I have, miraculously, made it through this winter without hurting myself. No falls, no spills, no twisted ankles. But with every snowflake that comes, I know that the odds are just getting higher and higher against me. *sigh*

As of 11:00 tonight, the storm hasn't arrived. I'm hoping we've missed it. But in case you don't hear from me tomorrow, look for me in traction.

Update - When I woke up this morning, I found the snow had arrived. About 10cm. *shudder*