I've never broken a bone, but I inherited my mother's weak ankles and have had some incredible luck with them.
By which I mean the exact opposite of luck, naturally.
About ten years ago, I'm walking home from my buddy's house across town and I decide to take a shortcut across the train tracks. I step down on a railroad tie the wrong way, and hear a nasty CRACK echo out across the neighborhood as I collapse. Boom, sprained ankle. I limp home and stay off of it for a few days until it stops hurting to walk, and then I go about my normal business again.
About three days after I hurt my ankle, I'm walking down the street from my buddy's house--this time having gone to the grocery store for bread and stuff. I decide to take the dirt path towards the train tracks, this time making a mental note to walk very carefully over them.
I literally take one step onto the grass, not lifting my foot high enough, and...CRACK.
Same damn ankle. Same damn noise. It's worse this time, though--I'm pretty sure I fractured it that time, and this time I wasn't able to walk it off in three days. I wasn't able to walk without limping for about eight months.
On the other hand, I can comfortably roll my feet 90 degrees inwards, which is fun to freak people out with. So there's that.