Twisted

It was a week of punishments. My hiking boots had seen the slot canyons of Zion. Trekked up the vertical trail of the upper pools. I had scrambled down into caves, over rocks, down into the canyon floor, to the top of the grand staircase. Driving over 700 miles across Utah, Arizona and Nevada was a mere drop in the bucket. Stones and cliffs could not stop me.

No, I am mountain goat! Hear me...bleet.

I had hiked all week. Explored every inch of the natural wonders of Utah and finally I reached the end of the trek. The final leg. The North Rim of the Grand Canyon was a mere five feet away. Just beyond the path was the great expanse of that world wonder. Just a few steps away, nothing compared to miles I had racked up in the days previously.

And I stepped.

And I tripped.

And my ankle twisted.

I had made it the entire trip with not a single blemish. I was healthy, happy. No sunburn, no blisters, no injuries. Not even a single bite from a mosquito. Heck, I hadn't even broken a nail! And now, now as I limped over to the edge of the Grand Canyon I realized I'd just been done in by an uneven sidewalk under a gazebo.

Now that's twisted.

And my ankle hurts.