Once when I was a young adult, I had been drinking in a bar after work with some friends, after several beers it was time to leave and move on to a club that was open for longer.
On the way to the club, we walked through a sort of promenade with bars and restaurants on both sides of the road. For an unknown reason, barricades, over a meter high, had been placed about a third of the way along the street, hindering our onward path.
In my youth I was a regional champion high-jumper, which was apart from skate boarding was pretty much the only sport I had ever accomplished something in. In my drunken exuberance, I decided to resurrect these skills rather than the more sensible option taken by my friends of walking round the obstruction.
I took a long run up to gather my speed and just before the barrier I leapt up into a sort of cannon ball formation in order to gracefully glide over the fence and land safely on the other side.
Unfortunately, in my inebriated state, I misjudged the height of the barrier.
As I passed the threshold of the barrier, my toes got caught on the edge of the rail unbalancing me and causing me to abort my carefully composed form and crash land into the hard concrete below on my chest and hands.
By this time, a small crowd had gathered to watch my attempt and provided suitable crowd noises, such as cheers during the run up, and on the land a communal ‘owww’ noise.
Lying on the ground I remember two things, the first was the incredible amount of pain I was in, the second was realising my complete social faux-pas. I decided the later was most important and in a moment of endorphin fuelled bravado, I picked my self up held my hands into the air to proclaim victory.
The crowd cheered my resilience, I was the champion of the fence!
I had also broken a rib and sprained my wrists so badly I could really use my hands for a week.
There was a lesson in there somewhere, however I’m still not quite sure what it was.