The fight had been going fine; that is, until I fell.

I work at a summer camp where we do a lot of acting, and we had a continuous fight going on while the kids were driving in. The loop fight had gone through about six rotations by then, and we had been going on for about ten minutes with no problems. I took a punch, dodged a kick, and then jumped on our bad guy’s — Ringo’s — back.

When I thought we were in the clear, I jumped off Ringo’s back. My right ankle dropped to the ground and the air left my lungs in a huff. Oh no, I thought. Pain spread up my leg and down into my toes. I knew I had sprained my ankle. This was it, I was going to die a slow and painful death.

Then I found out that I was wrong. There was a car coming, so we had to finish the fight. I leapt back onto Ringo’s back – sprained ankle and all – and stumbled through to the end of the fight. Once we had finished, we ran into the forest and ducked behind some bushes, waiting for the ‘rescue crew’ to save us.

Once the kids and a few counselors got there, it was time to walk back to the dining hall. Walking back, I grimaced and limped my way to the finish line. After we got back, I was able to bandage my leg and sit down without worrying about the kids realizing that this particular sprain was real.

It wasn’t even my first time spraining my ankle – I’d actually had two similar injuries previously at this camp – but it was the most painful by a mile. But, I still looked really awesome during the fight.