This is why I quit. This is why I quit. This is why I quit skateboarding. The blinding pain in my hip pushed me up off the ground, gotta move, can’t let this stiffen up. This is why I fucking quit. I hobbled out of the sun and into the backyard clutching my wrist and side like I’d been hit by a truck. I felt like I got hit by a truck. I still feel like I got hit by a truck. Just keep moving keep it all moving.

My initial impulse was to deal with it myself but in the end I brought my wife in. I need help. I fell REALLY hard. I tried to take stock of my injuries. The hip wasn’t broken or at least didn’t seem to be after the initial shock let go. My knee was bleeding badly but for some reason I couldn’t feel it even when Emily applied an alcohol pad directly to it. My wrist was swelling badly and my elbow. Something was definitely not right there.

Don’t get hurt. Can’t afford to. Not worth it. This isn’t worth everything I’m going to have to give up and deal with if I can’t walk away from this. I’ve been playing risk assessment games with myself as long as I can remember. Perhaps it comes from the crossroads of having an overly cautious parent during my childhood - meeting the recklessness of the later teenage years and early adulthood. I got hurt a lot. I felt incredible guilt and shame sometimes adjusted my approach but seemed unable to escape the clutches of injury.

In my thirties the urgent care and er visits ticked upwards. Broken ribs, smashed teeth, torn rotator, AC joint strain, pillon fracture of the tibia (broken leg), broken hand, Rabies vaccine(s), corneal abrasions. With each visit my anxiety and blood pressure a lot higher, the shame of fucking up and getting hurt a bit greater and the sense that maybe I was a little bit cursed.

My wife applied some sort of herbal poultice, we wrapped the elbow, put on an ice pack and I downed a handful of ibuprofen. Taking stock for the umpteenth time everything seemed to be working. Id taken a fall on my other elbow 8 or so years prior and I remember that pain, the stiffening, my arm hanging uselessly for at least a week while I tried to carry on with life. This felt similar.

An hour later my right arm was almost completely locked up with inflammation and I was feeling a pain that told me this needs to get seen asap. Sunday, which urgent care is open (I won’t go to the er unless I’m bleeding out anymore, want to talk about strong feelings). My dad offered to drive me across the valley and wait with me. Painful x rays. Waiting. The NP came in the room with a CD in her hand I knew what that meant. Fuck. Fuck me. A fucking fracture. Splint, sling, ice cream on the way home.

Being self employed has some perks. If I remember what they are I’ll share them with you. I’ve been self employed as a builder/carpenter for 20 years full time. Paid sick time and a boss to manage the void while you’re out is not one of the benefits of self employment. Filling in my partner, making calls to other friends who might be able to help out, trying to explain to my customers what happened and why their job will be taking a short hiatus all the while feeling that nagging shame, you fucked up Ben. How can you expect people to accept this. You’re letting them down. You’re letting yourself down as you won’t be able to do most of what keeps you sane for the next month plus. Won’t get that much needed solo trip to the Maine Northwoods mid summer to recoup from the insanity of being self employed and a step parent and a human in 2026. This is the cost of injury. This is the cost of a botched rock and roll on a 2.5’ quarter pipe at age 42. Mid life crisis tour over.

Failure is an opportunity to reevaluate

Enoughness