"Check out my armpits!"

Now that I have partaken of some sustenance, I can share the story I've wanted to tell since 1:40 this afternoon. Are you all at the edges of your seats? Good.

Today, I took The Challenge. I've taken The Challenge before (haven't I told you that story? No? Ask me about it sometime -- it's hilarious.), and I just had to take it again today, because it was going to fulfill one of my childhood dreams. Plus, the Powers That Be were going to throw in a free t-shirt to sweeten the deal, and we all know how I can't pass up one of those. (And it's actually a free t-shirt that I might even wear in public! Those are few and far between.)

I suppose I'm being a bit vague. Allow me to explain: Every semester (I assume), BYU sponsors an Accessibility Awareness Week, in which students spend two hours with a disability, such as using a wheelchair, or wearing an eye patch, or having their hand taped up so they can't use it. When I participated winter semester, I chose the wheelchair.

This time around, I knew that the crutches would be my disability of choice.

You see, when I was a wee tot, I was envious of all the kids who had to use crutches because all of the other kids were especially nice to them and wanted to be their friend. I used to jump off the slide in an attempt to twist my ankle so I could use crutches, too, but all that did was hurt my feet and get grass stains on my knees.

So today was my chance to use crutches, once and for all. And let me tell you, it was not nearly as fun as my six-year-old brain imagined it would be.

Part of the problem is that this particular set of crutches was made for individuals taller than myself. Even adjusting the legs to the shortest setting made it so they would accommodate an individual that was 5'10".

I'm 5'8" -- on a good day.

Cramming the crutches into my armpits, I set off to do one of the tasks -- going down a flight of stairs. Never mind the fact that my backpack was about 85 thousand pounds today (note: if you're going to hobble around on crutches, do not pack your laptop, a large book, and a set of scriptures -- and we're not talking about any small-print fun-size set of scriptures, either; this is the full-size quad of goodness -- into your backpack. It will only cause you grief.). I could suddenly see why they had me sign a release form. With my luck, a real broken leg or possibly even death was a possibility.

Five minutes later (pathetic? Yes.), I managed to maneuver my way to a couch to do a bit of studying. Already, my armpits were protesting the abuse. I told them to suck it up and I set about my business.

After I had recovered sufficiently (read: a long time), I decided I should tackle the second part of the task and go up a flight of stairs. This intention was quickly dashed when I realized I would have to raise the crutches another 4-6 inches to go up a single step, a feat that was rendered physically impossible, as I would've had to raise the crutches through my shoulders, and there's quite a bit of flesh, bone, and sinew that got in the way. So I retreated and took the elevator instead.

In the end, I spent way more time studying than I did using the crutches. Was I a whanny? Perhaps. But I have the battle wounds of a warrior now -- my underarms are marked with nasty red lines even four hours after I returned the crutches.

I don't think I've ever had welts there before.