I’ve worked in radio for the majority of my life, much of that sharing my not-so-proud moments on air in front of the entire city of Atlanta. However, I have never truly embarrassed myself in front of colleagues the way I did at Chateau Elan a couple weeks ago.

 

My company held a weekend getaway there as a way of saying thank you for the efforts of 2018. There weren’t many planned activities for the guests, allowing us all to roam the grounds, spa, and golf course as we pleased with only an organized dinner and dance held that Saturday night. There was also an open bar that evening.

 

When I made it out to dance, so did several of my colleagues I had spent the weekend with thus far. Having our rapport fully engaged and a few cocktails well underway, we were showing our best moves and having a great time. Then the DJ began to play music with a more African-themed percussion, which inspires you to dance a little lower and really get those thighs into play. And here’s where the problem began.

 

I haven’t worked out consistently since my son was born. Prior to his birth, I had been in decent shape, especially right after my transplant. I realized I hadn’t really pushed my legs in years until I tried taking it low, stepping hard with the beat along the way. Yes, I had been drinking. Yes, I was dancing close to the edge of the now-full dance floor. But I can honestly tell you those two things became a convenient excuse rather than what really happened, which is I’m out of shape.

 

I was making eye contact with a colleague and took one of those hard steps when I felt my thigh betray me and give up all efforts in a matter of seconds. My other leg was nowhere near in a position to save me, and I knew I was going down. Did I mention this was a formal event? My mind immediately went to two places: where am I going to land and how can I make sure my dress doesn’t move in a way that I’m embarrassed even further? So, instinctively I tried to push myself back with whatever muscle capacity that leg had left and landed flat on my ass.

 

The seemingly slow-motion look of horror on the nearby women’s faces as I began to fall is branded into my memory. Once I landed I took a quick mental check of my bone structure and internal organs and I found I was ok. Then I simply continued to dance sitting down, realizing there was nothing else I could do to ease the tension of the moment. That’s when a woman I was dancing with plopped down next to me and mimicked my floor moves.

 

I and my dress would like to thank the horde of people who ran behind me to lift me back up onto the floor, people I didn’t see nor recognize at the time. I am also thankful I work at a private company whose people dismissed my actions as alcohol-induced rather than racing onto social media to report the plunge. And I would also like to thank the exercise equipment I am about to abuse to make sure this never happens again.

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