Yeah, but you should see the other guy.

I'm spending the weekend on the couch under strict doctor's orders not to put any weight on my foot. Why, you ask?

It was a brutal bar fight with a man who insulted my family's honor. Next thing you know, we're brawling. He sprained my ankle with a kick from his steel-toed boots, but I at least broke his nose.

It was a shark attack off the California coast. I was swimming along minding my own business when a shark approached. I tried to swim away but it caught up and took a bite out of my foot. I struggled and managed to wrestle it away with a deft blow to its slippery snout, but I still needed twelve stitches.

It was a dance from hell with a woman who never figured out you're not supposed to waltz in stilettos. I'm not one to turn down a lady for a dance, even though she was obviously a beginner. Something possessed me to try a left waltz with her, and as we were changing directions, she stepped on my foot. Hard. With her heel.

Actually, it was much less exciting a story. Back in December when I went to NYC for New Year's to visit Cheng and Rose. Being New York, we walked everywhere, even places we could've taken the subway. Now, I've spent days walking all over cities like San Francisco, Bangkok, and Tokyo. So I didn't think this would be a big deal. But apparently I aggravated some old injury, because by the end I had a sharp pain in my ankle and was limping around. I was all set to brave the subways to the airport like a true New Yorker, but by then I was willing to pay whatever fare a cabbie could dream up.

So far, my doctors have determined that there's damage to the ligaments in my foot (bursitis and maybe tendinitis as well). So I started doing physical therapy. Once or twice a week I'd go in in the morning to see a series of therapists, who invariably spoke only Chinese. Which is just fine when you need to communicate something like "Ow!" but not so much for things like "It hurts here when I put weight on it" or "the voltage is too high, turn it down please!" (Yes, this apparently involves shock therapy too.)

The original plan was to have me back on my feet in time for Viennese Ball. And indeed, I was able to semi-gracefully dance the opening waltz, if not the pivot- and redowa-laden polka. Gradually I grew more adventurous, doing a little more swing and light polka. But I couldn't stay on my feet for more than a couple songs at a time.

Now it's been almost six months, and though I'm not in pain all the time, it still hurts more often than it...should after six months. I finally went to go see a podiatrist, who recommended cortisone. By this point, my doctor has decided this has been going on long enough too. So today I got a pleasant injection of lidocaine and cortisone. And this weekend I'm on the couch. With any luck I'll be back in action in time for Waltz Weekend and our trip to Crater Lake next month.

So beware of drunk guys in bars, sharks, stiletto-clad dancers, and... the streets of New York.