Oops

I had been kicking ass at the gym.  I ran more than 6 miles on Monday, then Tuesday I met with Lisa, my trainer, down at Vida on 7th Street for an intense upper body workout.  I gathered my things, and started walking down the two central flights of stairs, while checking my email.  I completely missed the last step, rolled my right ankle and snapped the tendons.  I know because I did the exact same thing almost ten years ago in a club called San Lorenzo in Italy, wearing my Steve Madden platform boots, about two weeks before my wedding.

And just like then, my embarrassment threshold was way lower than my pain threshold, even though I knew very well that I was seriously hurt.  I managed to make it to the metro, back up home and flop over on the couch with a bag of frozen peas.

Meanwhile, Massimo was entertaining our good friend and master pecorino maker Guido Pinzani, who was in town for the Fancy Food show at the Washington Convention Center.  Guido dropped off about 8 pounds, or three wheels, of different types of his aged pecorino, shipped from Volterra, for Massimo to bring home to his injured wife.  Massimo excused himself a little early, telling Guido, "mia moglie ha  fatto una stortaccia," or basically, my wife really hurt herself.

Now I've been to the George Washington University Emergency Room many, many times.  It's kind of been my primary care for the last five years.  I was even born there.  So I wasn't looking forward to another trip down there to wait 5 hours behind a guy scooting along with one shoe in a stolen wheelchair.

But my neighbor Lisa Amore came to the rescue, taking me to Simplicity Urgent Care on Columbia Pike in Arlington.  There was no one waiting, so they got me right in for x-rays, a wrap and crutches.

So now I'm on crutches.  And my damn armpits are killing me.