Breaking your leg in Norway, and the work life it makes you lead
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At the end of September last year, I was cycling home on Oslo’s city bikes after watching a friend play football. It’s a route I was familiar with, passing through Oslo’s hip area. There’s trams in that area, with high-raised sides of the pavement. As I got onto one of these streets, I thought to myself “careful of the tram tracks”, so I passed them over so I could cycle alongside them. Except, my bike tire slotted neatly into the tram track, throwing all my momentum into the wrong direction, wobbling my bike and leading me to crash into the high-rise pavement with my leg sticking out. My headphones went flying, my bike was in the middle of the road, and I was on the pavement. A man who had been watching came up to me, started asking me questions in Norwegian, questions I knew how to answer. But I was so dazed that I couldn’t really focus on him. I had immense pain in my leg. I managed to focus on him and say in English “I don’t understand”, he then asked me if I was okay, and all I could reply, clearly, was “my leg is fucked”. I didn’t know what was wrong with it, but I knew it was wrong.
Breaking your leg in Norway, and the work life it makes you lead
Breaking your leg in Norway, and the work…
Breaking your leg in Norway, and the work life it makes you lead
At the end of September last year, I was cycling home on Oslo’s city bikes after watching a friend play football. It’s a route I was familiar with, passing through Oslo’s hip area. There’s trams in that area, with high-raised sides of the pavement. As I got onto one of these streets, I thought to myself “careful of the tram tracks”, so I passed them over so I could cycle alongside them. Except, my bike tire slotted neatly into the tram track, throwing all my momentum into the wrong direction, wobbling my bike and leading me to crash into the high-rise pavement with my leg sticking out. My headphones went flying, my bike was in the middle of the road, and I was on the pavement. A man who had been watching came up to me, started asking me questions in Norwegian, questions I knew how to answer. But I was so dazed that I couldn’t really focus on him. I had immense pain in my leg. I managed to focus on him and say in English “I don’t understand”, he then asked me if I was okay, and all I could reply, clearly, was “my leg is fucked”. I didn’t know what was wrong with it, but I knew it was wrong.