Ankle Crash D+23

23 days after the crash, the fog in the horizon of my ankle's fate is starting to lift. I made the most of my travelling to France (for a Team France training) to make a detour and get other diagnoses than the dubious conclusion of the hospital I went to for my x-ray check-up.

Serious sprain. A whisker away from breaking the fibula. It seems that my lucky star had other plans for me!

Three weeks have passed and my ankle still needs another week for the ligament to heal. At that point the ligament will be fixed but stiff with cicatricial tissue and will need another 10+ days to soften with the reappearance of collagen. That's the crucial point where I should be very careful as an accident at the 'stiff' stage would be tragic: Try to bend a spaghetti when it's raw, and you get an idea of what should be avoided. Works better when it's hydrated, uh.

I've already missed two training games with Berlin, a 5-day training with Team France, and I'm going to miss the Berlin / Crime City game next week, that is to say the public start of my very first Bombshell season. Although it's not my fault I feel like a deserter standing my team up.

I feel guilt, and frustration as a bonus: like a fish out of the water, missing my natural element.

All in all, the ankle needs 6 weeks of recovery (and not 10 days of rest as recommended by the hospital).Now, at three weeks, I can start soft workout of the muscles around the ankle ligaments to protect them. I can also ride a bike, which makes me independant again! That's the positive part.


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How My Superman Resurrected

You know those revelation stages that you have to face from time to time in your life? Those kinds of disillusions that murder all your heroes one by one... It generally starts at the age of 6-7 when you realize that Santa Claus is just an illusion. And the Easter bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Killed them all in a two-minute pitiless interrogation to my mum.

HOW MY SUPERMAN DIED

But the harshest revelation of all is probably the moment when you realize that you're not invincible, that you're no more special than your neighbor. Even if you theoretically know that you're not, it may not be enough for you to believe it.

I lived a quarter of century with a little superman inside me. He died two years ago when I broke my knee. Not immediately. It took me a month after I tore my ligament to realize that it was broken for real, and that I was consequently breakable. That is to say, not invincible. I too could be seriously hurt.

Two years and a good fixing later, I've learnt to deal with the loss. Rather than relying on a fake idol, I trust myself, my body and my mind. (And my lucky star - that one is not dead... yet.)

Lipsticks & Mouthguards

 "Rouge à Lèvres et Protège Dents" was the title of the bout opposing the Paris Rollergirls B Team, the Quedalles, to Anvers's One Love Roller Dolls (10 A-players out of 14) on Saturday 14th, for the Titanic's 100th anniversary and my dad's birthday.

It was organized in Lille, half-way between the two cities, on the occasion of the "Quinzaine de l'Entorse" (Two weeks of the Infringement Association) in partnership with the "Rencontres Féministes" (Feminist Encounters Association). These Two Weeks, the aim of which is to highlight links between arts and sports, have been perpetrated for a few years now...

With Wonka, we were put up at one of the organizers' apartment, a two-storey place she shares with  three other flatmates. Great place, great people!

News of my Knee for Nosey People

Before dedicating an article to the World Cup in Toronto, I’d like to share an unfortunate consequence: My knee didn’t survive the tournament, which led to a couple of misfortunes…

I know the question is burning your lips: How did it happen?

I took a hit, fell on both my knees like a rock’n roll guitar player (hell yeahh). And basically that’s it: hyperflexion and bad luck.

It didn’t hurt. My leg just wouldn’t respond – which is quite annoying when you’re in the middle of a jam. Made me think it was not a big deal at first. But seeing no improvement whatsoever and still feeling no pain as days went by, I started wondering – eh!

As soon as I came back from Toronto, I followed the advice of the physiotherapist: I saw a good bunch of practitioners (thanks dad) and did a MRI.