Mi base herida

Sometimes life throws a curve ball at you. One of those balls, in the form of a soccer ball, smacked me right in the face recently (not literally).

Three days ago, I met two other gringos living in Ollanta. After conversing for a bit, they let me know of a group of locals who play soccer almost nightly at 10pm in the San Ysidro section of town. Having no intention of joining the game, we split ways and I went to my room, watching them walk off to the field. Getting back to my room, I realized I had already eaten, my girlfriend was at dinner, and if I didn't join I would simply be sitting in my room alone. With this realization, I grabbed my belt and meet them at the field. Soccer fields here are not what you picture in the states. They're concrete and about a third the length. That's not to say there aren't regular length soccer fields, covered in grass. Although, local pickup games are all played on the concrete fields.

Arriving, I realized what I had gotten myself into. Everybody there could juggle a ball with grace, with a handful drilling practice shots into the nets. I pictured myself getting smashed in the face by a ball and almost turned around. I had committed though and couldn't bring myself to get up and leave. The game commenced and I end up having much more fun than I had imagined 10 minutes prior. While I'm not nearly as good as most of the players, I can kick the ball around and am enjoying it. During the second game, one of the players became noticeably aggressive with me. I'm not sure if this is strictly because I'm a gringo, or if he actually had beef with me within the game. The latter made no sense, considering I was nothing to be intimidated by.

As the game continued, I became more aggressive. Running faster towards the ball, and sticking my legs out inches more with each attempt at retrieving it. Eventually it got the best of me. With the ball being passed near me, I made a very sudden change of movement towards it. My right ankle was not ready for the movement and decided to put its attention towards a chipped out section of the court. With the concrete dip being about two inches deep, it caught the toes of my foot and caused it to roll. Immediately, I knew this was no ordinary roll. Being a person who skateboarded for 10 straight years of my life, I've endured my fair share of rolled ankles. Whether it be the severity of the situation or the mere aging since then, I immediately knew this would be different from anything I had experienced before.

Walking to the stone bleachers, a bulge rose on the side of my foot after only 30 seconds. MAking the walk back to my room, it was the first time I had hated the beautiful cobblestone streets of Ollanta. With each step landing my foot on unstable ground, I cursed each cobblestone.

An hour after it happened.

The morning after.

Two days after (today).

One of the local doctors took a look at it the day after it happened. He said it's hard to tell exactly what the damage is until the swelling goes down. Possibly broke something, possibly pulled something, possibly nothing more than a bad strain. X-rays are only 20 soles ($8) so I will probably be getting that done soon. Regardless, each of us knows why I am here and it will be putting a great damper on that. While taking a few weeks off from riding is normally torture enough, it's even more difficult while living in a place that I came to for the riding. Hopefully it heals quickly. Until then, I'll be spending more time conversing with the locals, learning the language, working on bikes, and reading.

On a happier note, I made a veggie stir fry for dinner tonight and it was delicious.

Poorly captured photo, but you get the idea.

Audio delights tonight:
 John Lee Hooker - The Final Recordings