Here’s how it happened: I was tchilaring with my amigos at a local bar, partaking of conversation and fresh air since the $1.50 beer is a little pricey for my Peace Corps budget, when I noticed the sun had set and darkness was on its way. I go to bed around 9:00 here, and getting in after dark is like an unspoken no-no with my host family. So, I had the genius idea to run home on the lovely pothole ridden, big-ass root infested roads of Namaacha. Another PCT decided to accompany me, and we said our goodbyes. The day had been particularly successful: I had done some yoga in my room, had a lovely conversation with my pai about his cows, shared pictures from home with my host family, was able to taste food again, and I taught a Moçambican how to throw a frisbee (without breaking a window this time). Feeding off of this positive energy, I jumped off the patio of the bar to get a good start. Lucky for me, a particularly nasty root decided to appear right as I landed. My toes cleared it, my heel did not. What started as an enthusiastic leap became an awkward tumble as my leg collapsed under me and I somersaulted to the side. Luckily James, the guy who was going to run with me, was one of the few to witness my embarrassing tumble. He helped me limp back to my casa, abating my wounded pride with anecdotes about his past injuries.
TLDR: Don’t jump off of things. Also, I’m on day two of recovery, and the swelling has gone way down. I can walk like it’s my job, but running might have to wait a few more days.
At this point, it seems like this blog should be called: The Various Health Concerns of a Very Unlucky Peace Corps Trainee.