I remember it had started to rain, but I was climbing anyway, and thought I could balance and walk up the wide branches to the trunk, and climb down that way. I started to slip, and felt like I was going to fall. I was in that mystical limbo when your brain registers that you are going to invite and at the very least sustain injury, the wide eyed disbelief at events unfolding that as a mere mortal I have no power to dissuade. In my desperate grasping, I clutched onto a branch that broke off, and propelled me to the ground with such force the wind got knocked out of me. I landed on my folded arms, like a toppled T-rex. The awesome photoshop arrow in the picture below shows the spot, 20 years later, where the tratiorous branch once was.
In all actuality, the tree was probably relieved that I wasn't climbing anymore. The picture on the left is what I looked like in 7th grade. Anyone who knows me can probably agree not much has changed. Except I don't have that yellow shirt anymore. I never really liked it in the first place. After I caught my wind back, my brother walked me over to a near-by friend's house, who let me ice my arm for a while. When I got home, my father insisted that I didn't break my arm, I only sprained it, and had me wear an ace bandage to a band concert that night (I played flute in our middle school band). When I picked up my instrument to play, the pain was so intense that I left immediately, and my mother brought me to the emergency room. I was diagnosed with a clean break, thorugh both the radius and ulna, between my elbow and wrist. To this day, if the humidity or barometric pressure in the atmosphere changes, I can detect it up to a day prior.