coosh

Taste of Our Own Medicine

It seemed smaller than usual. I'm used to lines out to the street at Freestyle Session. We set-up in a corner of the venue. We forgot to register when we got there so we were the to last battle. I was in the funk room most of the time, staying fresh with locking, my legs feel good when I keep them moving. In the first battle, on the first day, of course I got all mad at this other guy because he used my move. I went a step too fast on all my runs. Five minutes after the battle, I was like what the heck is that in my ankle? If you've ever had a pinched nerve you know it starts small. And I'm like no, this isn't happening right now. I couldn't be the kind of person I wanted to be after that. It immobilized me, and made me hesitant.

When we lost I couldn't do it. I saw the moments meant for me when I could take the ball back for our Crew, the parts of the music that no one else wants. We could have won without using routines. Wasting that minute and half killed us too, because those long routines they used against us was a taste of our medicine. It just ate up all the clock. I was sitting around afterwards displaced in time. Trying not to be upset. Then we are leaving; I'm already having my bracelet cut off when the Zulu Kings battle starts. I was gonna post up. Then they tried to punk Jo Rawk. I wasn't gonna dance, and then I tried hitting stuff where my ankle just flopped around. When I tried to do elbow baby swipes I ruined it right there. The good thing is I found out I could dance on it. But I knew I would hurt myself because I didn't have that lift, that spring. It flattened out my style. I don't think I tore anything. I've had way worse ankle injuries doing graffiti... one time, jumping over fences, I landed funny and had cankles bigger than my calves. I never saw a doctor, and I was breakin on it. It helps my style to dance with an injury.