The other day at the pool (yes, I do spend a lot of time there), I was talking to a couple of women that I swim with. We were talking about our aches and pains. (grin) One will be going to nationals in the summer and was considering competing in a swim meet next Sunday. (I would, but, alas, my daughter has some birthday parties to go to.) The last time she swam in this meet, she hurt her back. She doesn’t know how, but it happened. (When you hit a certain age, which, apparently, is fairly young, these things start to happen. grin)
I, on the other hand, hurt my shoulder swimming on Wednesday. Well, really, it’s accumulative. I’ve been out enough that I am out of shape, compared to what I usually am anyway. Yet, everyone in my lane still sees me as being faster than they are. So, every time I move to the back, they push me to the front. At which point, I feel that I have to swim faster so I push harder. Except my body isn’t ready to swim faster. And to make this happen, I adjust my stroke and hurt my shoulder. I am swimming in the slow lane for the next couple of weeks, but I digress.
As I listened to us discuss our injuries, my mind churned with ideas of how to make our lives seem more… exciting. When someone asks, “Why can’t you stand up straight?” Instead of saying, “I hurt it picking up my screaming child who threw a tantrum in the middle of the store,” you look around as if making sure no one else is listening and whisper, “Well, my husband and I were having some fun the other night, and the bed broke.” (Giggle here.) “It’s the most fun we’ve had in a long time.”
Or instead of “I hurt my shoulder swimming,” I could tell them, “Charlie and I like BDSM (we don’t, but, hey, it would probably shock them… or not. I do live in LA, after all. g), and he left me hanging in handcuffs from the ceiling a little longer than usual.”
If someone asks you why you are limping, rather than telling them that one of your darn kids left their $#*&^* wooden blocks/Matchbox cars in the hallway and you stepped on them on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, tripped, and proceeded to stub your toe on the doorjamb, you can say, “I just returned from a trip to South America. I was walking through the jungle when a jaguar padded out onto the path in front of me. I turned and ran (yes, I know you’re not supposed to do that, but instincts do take over in these situations). As I raced through the jungle, I tripped on a root and fell into the arms of a native who looked, and sounded, an awful like Indiana Jones. ‘Hang on,’ he said. I wrapped my arms around him, and he quickly pulled us up a vine and out of the reach of the jaguar.”
Not believable? Ah, well, I got a little carried away, but writers do that sometimes. (g)
Your legs are sore from working out for the first time in… well, we won’t go there. You’re gimping a little bit. Rather than tell your friends about your workout woes, you say, “It’s the wildest thing. I was driving home from the store the other day. This car swerved across the road, rolled, and pinned a man under it. Without thinking, I stopped my car and… well,” you pause, “things are a little fuzzy after this, but apparently, I picked the car up, and they were able to pull the person free. As I said, I don’t really remember that part. As I haven’t done anything else that would cause my legs to ache, I have to assume this is the reason.”
Okay. I’ve gotten a little over the top, but it is fun to imagine, if just for a little bit, a life with a bit more adventure like what I write, and read, about in books. Perhaps you can add some scenarios to aid in making your/my life seem more exciting. The wilder, the better, I say. :)