By Daphne Miller in the Washington Post
Thanks to Jim T for sending this in
One minute, I was trotting peacefully along a rutted hillside path. The next, I lay in a heap on my left side, so wracked with pain it was hard to breathe. A longtime runner, I traded pavement for trails a couple years ago, and since then I’ve taken a few tumbles. But never had I fallen so fast and so hard. Moaning, I inventoried what might be broken. Then panic set in as I considered some horrifying statistics: An estimated 1 in 3 women will break a hip, and, for patients older than 60, the one-year mortality rate after a hip fracture can be as high as 58 percent. Though still in my early 50s, I thought of hardy patients I’d cared for over the years who had swiftly declined after one bad fall.
I was lucky. I had no major fractures or head trauma, and my bones, on X-ray, seemed reasonably strong. But I hobbled around for weeks, my left side turning from purple to yellow, my arm in a sling. Once I was finally back on the trail, I could not shake the fear that my next fall (and there certainly would be one) could be far worse. This anxiety quickly extended to any sport involving a hard surface, including street jogging, cycling, skating, and skiing. I was suffering from a well-described “syndrome”: fear of falling or FOF, which is especially common in the over-50 crowd. Research shows that people with FOF, regardless of whether they have experienced a bad fall, are more likely to become deconditioned, depressed and socially isolated.
At this point, my options seemed clear: confine all sports to a squishy mat, or learn how to fall safely. But what is the best way to fall, and how do we master this?
Tuck and roll, landing over the entire side of your body.