Several months ago I purchased a physio ball. You know the kind: those HUGE balls that kids love to kick around and adults love to buy because it seems like a cool, and harmless, piece of workout equipment. Anyway, I really enjoyed using it for stretching and for my abs, so when I returned to the Bronx I brought my ball with me.
Well, I had some time in between dinner and watching a movie so I thought I'd go to my room to pray. In the still silence of my room, I had a great idea: "Boy Ryan, wouldn't it be cool to pray on the ball? You could balance yourself on it like some Zen-master and look like Yoda as you commune with God." And so I alighted upon the ball, drawing my legs up underneath me and I sat triumphantly on the ball for several moments. Assured of my stability, I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
That seems to have been my mistake. For upon relaxing, the ball shifted and I began to wobble to-and-fro upon it. With my legs pinned beneath me, I had little chance to break my fall as I toppled over and fell onto my metal garbage can. I now have a nice little bruise on the left-side of my rib cage and my ego is a bit bruised.
Additionally, I did continue praying throughout the affair. "Oh God, you've got to be kidding me." "Oh God, I can't move my feet." "Oh God, don't let me break anything think." "Thank God my ribs aren't broken." "Thank God no one saw me." "Oh God, I'm an idiot."
So Zen-Master Yoda I am not. From now on, when I feel daring I'll say the rosary as I walk down Fordham Road. Otherwise, I'm going to stay seated.