Leaping from rock to rock without a care in the world, I was having the most perfect afternoon with my boys up at Cataract Gorge.
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Having grown up living right on the cusp of this magnificent reserve, it feels like an extension of my own backyard.
As a teenager most school holidays and weekends were spent climbing all over the rock faces, finding the best swimming spots with friends.
However leaping over rocks as a teenager is a little different to leaping over rocks as a 48-year-old.
It seems my slightly older body is not quite as lithe as it once was, and the moment my foot hit a wet rock, down I went.
Completely unable to get my balance, my body fell from one boulder to another until I finally came to rest on my face.
My boys looked at me in horror as blood began to drip from various parts of my body. Rushing over, they attempted to scoop me up and work out how much damage had been done.
They were also a little concerned that I had dropped our swimming bag which had all their food inside.
Within a short time, we were back home and the drama was over - or so I thought. It didn't take long for my hand and wrist to start aching. Shaking it off, I headed off to work thinking it couldn't be that bad.
But halfway through my shift, I was in real trouble. The only makeshift ice packs were a couple of icy poles my boss found in the boardroom fridge.
Sitting at my desk with my lime and raspberry-flavoured ice blocks resting on my hand, even Panadol was failing to make much difference.
So straight after work it was off to the medical centre and before I knew it, I was wearing a temporary plaster cast.
My boys were rapt. I was not.
There were no broken bones, but for the next week my aching, wounded hand gave me such grief.
Trying to get dressed in the morning, with my husband in the shower, I asked my nine-year-old to do up my bra.
He started making ridiculous noises indicating what I had asked was disgusting, but tried unsuccessfully for quite some time before giving up and calling his older brother.
He too said it was disgusting, but gave it his best shot.
Standing in my bedroom now with four little awkward hands fiddling around my back I realised how many things I simply couldn't do. Zips were painful, using cutlery impossible. I couldn't wash or dry my hair.
It's funny how you don't appreciate different parts of your body until they are out of action.
Might need to curb my enthusiasm for carefree afternoons bounding over rocks.
- Jo Palmer is a newsreader with 7 Tasmania.
