Young, Dumb, and Broken Ankle - A NYC Tale of Tequila & Bad Gymnastics

I flew into New York City on Wednesday afternoon for a five day vacation with my college roommates. Flying over the iconic skyline I snapped this photo, capturing the mammoth skycrapers in Manhattan.

My friends flew into Newark Airport, and I flew into JFK. Since my plan was to backpack solo in Europe this summer, I relished the opportunity to figure out the train lines by myself and meet them at the hotel we booked in times square.

I boarded the E train, heading to Penn Station and as soon as I sat down the operator came over the intercom to notify us the train was broken and we'd have to hop on a different track.

In the confusion I boarded the wrong train and realized I was on an Express route to Babylon just as my phone died. I chastised myself for not paying better attention to my surroundings. I felt like I was starting the vacation on the wrong foot.

The good part about NYC is you can always see the skyline, so I eventually figured out how to ride east back to the city. I had memorized the hotel address earlier, so after an hour of subway and trying to find my way I finally found 585 8th Ave.

My friends were already up in the room and after we said our hellos we went to The Refinery for happy hour drinks.

The Refinery was a fancy rooftop bar filled with professional looking people. I had a tequila cocktail and marveled at the skyline opening up around us.

Then we went to the Comedy Cellar, which is a famous comedy club where the likes of Kevin Hart and others got their start.

This is where the trouble began. There is a minimum spend required with the reservation, so naturally we got pitchers of beer. After an hour of laughing, we left the comedy cellar to continue bar hopping. After three bars and a 2am stop for Artichoke's pizza, we found ourselves walking by the fountain in Washington square.

People were sitting by the fountain, playing music, and somehow I got dared to do a cartwheel.

Challenge accepted.

I geared up for the cartwheel, flung my hands down, and legs overhead... And then came the landing.

I knew right away something wasn't right. I limped away, my pride just as hurt as my ankle. Tequila + sandals + concrete = swollen ankle.

We ubered back to the hotel, wrapped and elevated my foot, put ice on it, and I was half laughing at my stupidity and half crying from the pain.

In the morning, I unwrapped it to find a blue swollen ankle the size of a grapefruit. We found the closest Urgent Care Walk-in clinic and I hopped there on one foot, through New York pedestrian traffic. I had a feeling it was broken, which was soon confirmed by the doctor there.

I had retained a sense of humor about the whole scenario until I asked how long it would take to heal.

"About 8 weeks, and you may need surgery," the doctor replied with practiced empathy.

Fuuuuck.

My apartment lease is ending and in 7 days I'm supposed to fly to Ireland for a 3 month backpacking trip. All my things are packed in boxes, I've sold most my furniture and clothes, and I had plans to sell my car this week. I've booked my flight and forwarded my mail. It was all set.

I was supposed to be leaving for the trip of a lifetime, and now I'm crippled and homeless.

Yes I know a broken ankle isn't that bad. But I can't put weight on it, go up stairs, or carry a bag while using crutches.

Navigating foreign public transportation by myself, carrying a heavy backpack, and horseback riding are now out of the question for the summer.

I have no clue what I'm going to do. I didn't have a plan B. This dream was my plan A.

I spent the day yesterday getting pushed around in a wheelchair in the Natural History Musuem, limping through Central Park, and elevating my foot on a outside table of a swanky rooftop bar.

So yes, I know I still have a good life, and my plans aren't canceled but are delayed until further notice. But I'm allowed a couple days to sulk about my misfortune as I try to come up with a plan B.

Here's a few photos from the last two days

To be continued...

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