Embarrassing injuries

Today I sustained an embarrassing injury. Not embarrassing because it involves private parts, or the kind of bedroom activity where you need a safe-word; embarrassing because I really should know better at my age.

It wasn't the most embarrassing injury I've ever sustained. That happened about twenty years ago, when I was teaching a karate class. I wasn't the regular coach -- just standing in for the usual guy who was sick. So none of the students knew me.

Thankfully.

On this occasion I was demonstrating a flying kick -- something I'd done many times before, and which I though I could do competently. I'd set the stage well for my downfall, by mocking the students about how hard they were making it look. "It's easy..." I shouted, as I threw my hundred-odd kilos into the air with what I thought was balletic grace, only to come down on the floor in a tangle of limbs. I broke a leg in two places. One of my students had to drive me to hospital.

Today I was demonstrating how to chop firewood -- something I've done almost every day for more than twenty years. "It's easy..." I shouted, as I brought the hatchet down on a rock-hard piece of holly. The hatchet ricocheted off the surface of the wood, and slammed into my kneecap with sickening force.

It's not as if I don't know how to chop firewood safely. I heat my home with wood I've grown and processed myself, after all. I have about twenty tons in reserve, all chopped by hand.

And yet...

I'm writing this with my knee in a brace, dosed to the eyeballs with oxycodone. Apparently, with luck I'll be walking unaided again in two weeks.

How do these things happen? Partly, I suppose, it's the penalty for hubris. It really yanks the gods' chains if mortals start to think they're good at something. Saying anything is "easy" when it could lose you a limb is never a great idea.

I suppose it could have been worse, though: it could have involved private parts.

Published 2026-04-18, updated 2026-04-18

Embarrassing injuries

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