Last week I was dancing in my hotel room as a form of exercise. It had started as yoga, then organically morphed into dancing. It’s one of the ways I get exercise in and my endorphins pumping.

I’d been reading about Parkour lately.

For those of you not familiar, it’s rather like a freestyle running. The World Freerunning Parkour Federation (WFPF) defines it as ‘the act of moving from point “a” to point “b” using the obstacles in your path to increase your efficiency.’

I know what you may be thinking.  It’s not exactly ideal for a overweight forty year old woman with cancer, but according to this beginner’s guide, anyone can do it.

Moving around, I noticed how much furniture was in the room. I wonder if you can see where this story is going.

I arranged things around so I could hop from one piece to another. From the bed, to the chair, over to the ottoman, then the couch and back again. I went back and forth several times, feeling giddy about my mad Parkour skills.

On my last go, instead of heading back to the bed, I stepped onto the desk. It felt solid and I stood there for a moment feeling like the king of the world. I did have a brief moment of guilt. This was not my stuff and perhaps it was rude to use it like a jungle gym.

To my left was a window ledge. It sat at a right angle to the desk. It was deep set and I was struck by the urge to complete the course by hopping over to it.

Later that evening I would stand in front of that desk and ledge and wonder what the hell I was thinking. It was further away then it had appeared from my original vantage point. I shouldn’t have been surprised my toes slipped from the edge while the other was still in mid air. Though I was lucky things didn’t turn out worse.

It’s strange how these things happen. I thought falling happened in slow motion, but it felt more like a pause in the middle. As I heard my ribs crack, I had a brief moment to register it before I slid to the floor.

I told quite a few people it was a dancing injury because I felt a bit embarrassed about the whole thing. The EMT raised an eyebrow when I gave him this line. I’m sure the level of my injury and my Fight Club shirt told it’s own story. When a friend from Hope Lodge saw me, she burst out, “What kind of dancing were you doing?!”

As I watched this video last night of girls doing Parkour. I focused on their landings. I wondered if I would have the courage (or the stupidity) to practice jumping again. If in time the memory of the pain will fade enough so I will be tempted to do it again. Rather like the way a woman forgets the pain of birth so she’s inclined to continue procreating.

I guess the lesson here is to start smaller, and from the ground up. Maybe it’s also a reminder not to skip steps on the road to learning a new skill.

Though it could be a cautionary tale of what happens when I am left unattended and to my own devices.

Still. I’d like to think I would do it again. That may not be reassuring to most of you, but it is to me.