Chatting with a friend the other day, I realized folks don’t know about my brush with the brush. And by brush, I mean foliage on the trail.
It all started when I saw that Coke commercial. You know the one with the chick roller skating? This is a special kind of skating. Quad skating with a twist! I used to do that shit when I was all badass back in da day. Rex-style skating with T and S. So I immediately bought a pair and had them shipped.
Now, I didn’t buy smart shit like wrist and knee pads – oh no no no. Not this gal. I be invincible. I am after all BOLD.
Anyhoohaw, my coveted skates arrived and the hubby tells me not to use them til I buy protection.
ME: Of course not. Have a nice day.
HUBBY: I mean it.
ME: *smiling* See you later.
So I worked from home back then and my boss worked in Texas. So at 3p pacific time, I grab my skates and head to the trail. Schwing!!
I’ve got my iPod on old school R&B and it’s all fun and games until I hit the fucking acorns. I’m ass flying through the air and I know this aint gonna end well. I land wrist first to protect my precious backside.
I’m sprawled half on the trail, half in the foliage. I knew my wrist was shattered about 30 seconds after I landed. And I’m winded.
Dude on a bike goes riding past me. Doesn’t try to stop. I squeak out “helllllppppp” in this tiny voice. But he hears it thank the good lord baby Hayzeus.
BIKER BOY: Oh, I didn’t see you there. I thought you were a dead dear.
ME: *ok, I’ll let that go* Hey I broke my wrist. Can’t move. Do you have a phone?
BB: Yeah sure.
I call 911. Panting miserably now the shock has worn off.
ME: *spying his water bottle* Can I have your water?
BB: Yeah sure.
In his defense, what a great guy, but a man of few words.
911 drives on the trail with sirens blazing. Ambulance dude refuses to give me an IV and some serious drugs. I’m begging. I’m pleading. I’m crying. I might have tried flirting, but I think it would have gone unnoticed because of the twigs and pebbles in my hair.
At the ER, they jack me up on morphine. For the record, this is NOT my drug of choice. Not that I have one. A choice that is.
Turns out my trip down memory lane and into the shrubs along the trail were gonna require surgery, 2 (yes tw0) titanium plates and 8 (eight, yes 8!) inch long (yes 1″ long) screws.
So while I’m held together with sooper strong hardware, my software (aka brain) could use some better parts. And by parts I mean better common sense.
The irony is this: After crushing my wrist, I put the skates in the spare closet where they are now collecting dust and holding the memories of misplaced trust. And maybe some dirt and pebbles from the trail. I refuse to visit them. They are on time out. Like me.