Nov 1, 2016 3 min read

It was a great day to be a football fan. The weather may have been chilly and gloomy, but the crowd was cheerful and energized for another outing by the surging WVU Mountaineers.

The pregame tailgate menu was especially delicious: barbeque brisket, pulled pork, macaroni and cheese, green beans, chicken wings and a cheese plate, all complemented by your favorite frosty beverage. Everyone had a wonderful time and managed to stay warm despite a brisk breeze.

The game thrilled us all with a fumble on the opening kickoff and a big Mountaineers win.

By the end of the game, we were excited and giddy and giggling like teenagers. Maybe that’s why I decided in my mind that my body could still do things like a teenager and not get hurt … things like jumping up to touch the exit sign in a superstitious and fun ritual after a WVU win.

Let’s be clear: I’m what you might call “vertically challenged.” I barely stretch to 5-foot-2 on a good day, yet on this night I felt 10 feet tall and apparently thought I had the vertical jump of LeBron James.

This wasn’t a premeditated move and, upon further review, if it had been then the accident may not have happened.

My last-minute decision to jump and tap the sign prompted my friend walking behind me to pitch in and help this short girl reach new heights.

The trouble is, I didn’t know he was behind me. Just as I reached the apex of my leap (which in reality measured probably about 12 inches), he reached out to grab my waist and give me a boost.

It was a kind thought and a nice gesture trying to help a friend.

I wish I could see what happened next in slow-motion instant replay, because I’m sure it would contend on “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

My friend grabbing me startled me. That, combined with his lunging forward to reach me, led to him having forward momentum.

You can guess what happened.

We both tumbled to the ground with my ankle taking an unnatural angle along the way. It hurt immediately, but I didn’t hear or feel anything break. If I hadn’t been in so much pain and so horribly embarrassed, I probably would have burst out laughing.

EMTs rushed over to help, my friends pulled me up and admonished the guy who tried to boost me, and the whole time I kept thinking, “What was I thinking?!”

By the time I limped back to the car, my ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. X-rays thankfully proved negative.

I’m on the road to recovery thanks to ice, anti-inflammatories and a nifty little air cast to hold my sprained ankle in place.

Now, if I can only find a way to heal my bruised ego.

Kristin Emery can be reached at kristinemery1@yahoo.com.