When I was young about twelve years old, I broke my knee in what came to be the worst nightmare in my life. In my life I had never harmed myself so badly that I ended up in the emergency room. I was enjoying and taking my favorite boot camp class at the gym using very heavy ropes, the kind that are designed to be used by grown ups. The rope was about 2 meters long and was supporting a metal load whose weight was about 6 kilograms and was fastened in the center and you had to whip and swing the ends. Frequent cardio and strength workout was the best that my dad could think of. Sometimes I look back into my life and what happened on that fateful day and blame my father for if it was not for him my knee would still be on a good condition. As I was doing the rope jump jacks, my right foot landed awkwardly on the rope instead of the floor and my knee was twisted and malformed. I furrowed to the ground and was unconscious for a period of time- I still do not know how long, but my father and the people who were around me on that day talk of two to three hours on a comatose.
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