this just in
by Debra Kamin

things fall apart (and down)

They say that when it rains, it pours. By they, I mean those non-literati types who have never seen the inside of a newsroom, let alone a copy of Strunk and White’s rules for grammer. As I am certainly not one of those linguistically-challenged, cliché-abusing types, I will instead say this: when you fall down, other things tend to fall down with you.

On page 58 of this magazine, you can read about my incredible experience of studying Krav Maga, a form of self-defense used by the Israeli army. As I wrote in that story, my experience made me stronger and more confident. I learned moves to protect myself and discipline to push myself. I made friends and realized my endurance lasted far longer than I had ever believed.

What I fail to mention on page 58, however, is the following incident:
About a week after completing my class, I was in the office, procrastinating my way through a case of writer’s block. A group of co-workers had gathered in conversation, including our Israeli account executive, when someone (it couldn’t possibly have been me) brought up Krav Maga. When the ex-I.D.F. solder/account executive , who for confidentiality purposes will be called MG, requested a demonstration, I couldn’t hold back.

Like Napoleon Dynamite taught us, sometimes it’s best to keep your flippin’sweet moves to yourself.

Mody—I mean MG—raised his arms. Stealth Krav Fighter Debra raised hers. Mr. Gorsky—I mean MG—went in for a hit. Intrepid combatant Debra blocked like a pro. He pushes! She shields! Look at that stance! Is that blood? Oh no, it’s just her red hair! Watch her go, this girl knows her stuff!

And then, after only five seconds, it was over. MG, who we all know is a bit of a clumsy fellow, had a party foul—he made contact with the back of my leg. My knee cap went “pop!”, and then I was on the floor.

I had fallen, and like they say, I could not get up.

Later that afternoon, after an excruciating drive home on I-5 (it had to be the right knee, didn’t it, Mody?), I limped my way into my apartment and fought back tears of pain and frustration as I gathered the necessary supplies: ice pack, pillow, cell phone, laptop computer, cranberry juice, serious self-pity. I made my way to the sofa, heaved my knee up, and sighed. The ice felt so good.

As I breathed deeply and began to think the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so bad (ahem, this was before the x-rays and the doctor’s-orders-crutches), I realized with despair that the TV was off. If a girl had ever needed to watch the Ellen Degeneres show, it was me. Gritting my teeth, I stood up to reach for the remote. And that’s when it happened—everything else fell down around me.

Attempting to stand up and put weight on the offending knee, my leg gave out. My hand flailed, a cup went flying, and before I knew it, my cell phone had drowned in a pool of cranberry juice.

I have now spent nearly a week on the couch, getting up only to limp my way to the freezer for more ice or to feebly wobble on my crutches into the courtyard of my apartment complex for a bit of human contact. I have watched every Sex and the City episode twice, including a four-times-in-a-row cryfest with the season six finale (I knew Mr. Big would come through)! My bedroom is littered with discarded clothes I simply cannot bend down to put away, and my coffee table is overflowing with empty water bottles and take-out Chinese.

Verizon Wireless Insurance did send me a DSL package with a new phone, and I’m happy to report that I can again make contact the outside world. The funny thing is, though, that somewhere between the anger, denial, and depression of my grief over losing my mobility, I began to enjoy myself.

With no phone and no right leg, I had no choice but to sit back, relax, and enjoy the pleasure that an icy compress and three advil can bring. The world is very quiet when you’re alone on your couch, and I had never before taken the time to listen to it. Sure, I’d had Saturdays and Vacation Days and Personal-Time-for-Myself days, but they always seemed to find me running from one place to the next, cell phone on my ear and stress beads on my forehead.

It’s nice to relax. It’s important. And if it took a gimp knee and drowned cell phone to do it, then I say thank you to MG for socking me a good one.

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