Connie Torturous, the Dog that Bit Me and in love with my knees...

Now, a couple of weeks ago, I was walking down Phinney Ridge (ave), with a volunteer, going to meet with a stylist who was working on an event for Planned Parenthood when a woman leaned out of the passenger window and yellow "Hey Connie!" waving furiously. It was flattering, it was baffling, it was also 11 a.m. on a Friday in Phinney Ridge. The volunteer knew I did roller derby, followed-up with "who was that a fan?" Hmmm... it could have been but I was doubtful "if you put a helmet on her, I'm sure I would recognized her as a derby skater." "So can I call you Connie?" (No, but you can call me Torture like everyone else.) And last week, I found out it was a skater who I knew but who, honestly, I had only ever seen once without her derby gear and uniform. This time we caught each other in a wedding dress (her) and hot little blazin' yellow piece from Mexico (me) to add to the impressions of each other.

Sunday night, a giant pit bull tore off my knee and I screamed in the worst pain ever. Well, ok. Let me explain. It was the last 5 minutes of practice. I had had a "jacked" left knee and a right one that had been injured but had recovered from our last bout. We were doing this light drill that was pretty easy, loads of fun. One of the new skaters was coming through the "pack" and I went to push her out of bounds - half paying attention, not wanting to knock her down (which wasn't the point of the drill) - when she stumbled over a cone and because I was only half paying attention, I went down with her. The pain that shot from my recovered (less jacked) knee was terrifying. I scooted backwards on my butt to get off the rink and stared at my knee like it needed to come off. Like the pit bull that was biting my knee and pulling at it, needed to win, to take off my leg and go away. And I scooted away from my leg (forgetting it was attached) hoping I could just leave it behind. I had to get away from it. But there it was - still attached. Two dozen short breaths, and mumbles of "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" later, the dog walked away. Incredible. Intense. A believe it or not, very little damage. Some angry muscles, a little swelling. But what incredible pain. What an amazing dog.

And what an amazing physical therapist I have, who with some massage, a little bit of ultrasound managed to worked the "jacked" left knee to the point that my heal could reach my butt - the first time in a month. I was thrilled, I did a happy dance - I said I would stretch and do everything (as I have been doing) to take care of it! (The knee with the dog bit needed to calm down before it can be worked on.) I danced, literally, out to the car and then call friends telling them the great news about my knee and how happy I was and how much I loved, loved, loved my knees, and my physical therapist. And derby.