I had to laugh.

Ten days earlier I ascended the 5,804-foot summit of Corkscrew Peak. It is an out-and-back 7-mile hike in Death Valley entailing 3,093 feet of elevation gain and more than a few steep, sketchy segments. The “experts” — those that live for peak bagging — rate it as “hard” or “strenuous”.

But there I was on Sunday, doubled over in pain on the floor. I hadn’t exactly fallen and couldn’t get up. It was more like intense pain sent me to my knees as I went to get up from where I was seating. And every time I moved by leg ever so slightly it sent me a clear message that it wasn’t joking that something was wrong.

After taking note of my predicament it took a good 20 minutes to make it to where my smartphone was in the next room, look up the symptoms — hey, it’s 2021 and the Internet has all the answers, right — and then call Kaiser.

The nurse walked me through all of the things she needed to check before consulting with a doctor. They couldn’t rule out a hernia, a twisted vein, or pulled or torn muscles.

It was finally decided I’d take Tylenol to try to keep the pain somewhat in check and book me the earliest possible appointment with a doctor which was Monday in Stockton. But if it got worse I needed to go to the Kaiser ER in Manteca.

Given I have absolutely no over the counter pain medication in the house along with a healthy aversion to any medicine period even though for hiking I have enough first aid supplies to triage a small platoon and initially address a couple of snake bites, my first problem was getting the Tylenol.

I was in no condition to drive. Fortunately a neighbor, John Alves, was able to bring me enough Tylenol to tide me over until I could get to Kaiser on Monday.

Even with the Tylenol it was an interesting night.

I had to rely on another friend, Sharon Hoffman, to ferry me to Stockton and since then get me to and from work. Although she clearly wasn’t in that state of mind, I could understand if she thought it was more than a tad hilarious at times as I moved slower than the crooked man who walked a crooked mile and, by comparison at the time, had rigid posture compared to me.

I literally spent most of Monday when I was moving bent over at 45 degrees unable to avoid any time without pain in my right inner thigh. I was thrilled whenever it temporarily ceased being excruciating when I moved.

The nice thing about Kaiser is it is essentially a one-stop affair. In the span of two hours I got examined, X-rays which were the most painful I’ve ever had given I needed at one point to try and straighten out my right leg, a physical therapy consultation and a trip to the pharmacy.

The bottom line is I apparently have a severe groin pull. I get the “severe” part, believe me.

It can take between four to six weeks for it to heal but as the doctor said it is going to do it on its own timetable.

So how did I do it? Given I jog every day, hike when I can, used to bicycle 10,000 miles a year and up until the pandemic struck hit group exercise classes primarily aerobic based three to four times a week it likely is an accumulation of things over the past 35 years.

I’ve always had some discomfort in the leg due to hereditary issues. But to be honest the root cause was probably my ego.

When I have to resort to somewhat serious rock scrambling during mountain hikes or when making my way up desert canyons, I always ponder every treacherous upward movement. If it gets to the point I can still keep going up but am no longer confident I can descend safely, I stop and work my way down. I either try to find another way or simply make that my turnaround point.

As odd as that may sound I do that because I’m hiking alone.

When I have an audience, so to speak, I give in sometimes to what might best be described as the male ego. It’s a rare occurrence. Sometimes the lapse in judgment pays off big time to the point that people who otherwise wouldn’t give you a wide berth stay their distance. But it can also have diminishing returns.

That’s what happened about two years ago. I was taking a Zumba class following a Body Pump session at InShape. Although I don’t have anything close to dance moves, years prior when I was taking Jazzercise classes three times plus a week in a vain attempt to significantly improve my stamina for road cycling, I had become limber enough to do fairly high kicks.

So I’d exaggerate the moves. It effectively got my heart rate up and it glossed over — or I least in my mind it did — my borderline Jerry Lewis coordination level.

Long story short a substitute Zumba instructor was doing a move I’d never done before. It clearly wasn’t her fault but I couldn’t help myself. I exaggerated the move with a high kick. And because I wasn’t familiar with the routine we’d only been doing for a minute, I turned the wrong way.

It was the mother of all muscle pulls. And, yes, like an idiot I jogged home from the gym. And yes I continued my daily exercise routine although a tad less intense. It finally healed but there has been a persistent off and on pain ever since.

Speaking of pain — and Sharon can attest to this — I repeatedly on Monday made it clear to the Kaiser professionals that not only do I not like pain killers but basically eschew them. And if I’m prescribed those on the powerful end of the spectrum and take them I will literally exercise what most doctors would call bad judgment.

I did so after both my hernia operations that were next door to my latest adventure in pain, a pulled groin muscle.

Despite Dr. Jerry Weiner advising me not to do anything for 30 days, after the first hernia operation I was cutting the lawn two days later thanks to taking Vicodin.

I had a lengthy argument with nurses before the second hernia operation about being given Vicodin in the recovery room based on my previous experience. I was told I had no choice and I had to take a prescription home with me but if I used it after leaving the hospital that was up to me.

Did I mention the second hernia was an emergency surgery because it was on the verge of strangulating? I had brushed aside obvious pain for months until I couldn’t get off the floor doing stretches near the end of the step class. I managed to jog home but then five hours later I was in surgery.

Against my better judgment, I took the Vicodin for three days. On the third day I took a chain saw to a 25-foot cherry tree in our backyard. I didn’t do myself any more damage but after nearly giving medical professionals a heart attack I got rid of the Vicodin.

This time out I made sure I was prescribed a pain killer that somewhat dulls the fun stuff but doesn’t mask it.

As for how crazy I might get, the pain will remind me that it isn’t a good idea to sign up for a Zumba class next week.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com