Oh, what a weekend of adventures I had.
Saturday, I took the kids to Willow Springs Water Park. Had I known this little jaunt would result in injury, I might have reconsidered. But given the powerful effect of my children’s
whining pleas, I’m sure we would have ended up there at some point this summer.
Don’t get me wrong. We had a blast. Of course, “having a blast” involved me piggybacking the E-man from one play area to another (he’s still working on endurance swimming) and several rides down the slide.
Oh, yes. The slide. This is where my troubles began.
Here are a few photos of people on the slide from the Willow Springs website:
At first, I sent the children trotting up the hill alone with their mats. But each time they popped into the little pool at my feet, happy and laughing, I flashed back to my days at Shlitterbahn, remembering my former prowess as a waterpark slider.
This, my friends, is when my fate was, proverbially, sealed.
I grabbed a mat, and, for the rest of the afternoon, careened down the slide with my children, congratulating myself for my maternal hipness.
If only I hadn’t insisted on “one more time.”
For it was then that things went terribly awry.
Somehow, an unexpected swish of water managed to turn my mat around, and I went from sitting cross-legged and facing forward to hurtling backwards down the slide flat on my back.
Desperate to turn myself around before reaching the bottom, I employed a burst of super-human strength to stop and turn myself around using only my left foot.
I’m convinced it was all of my self-congratulating that determined how this would all end.
By Saturday evening, I was feeling a “twinge” in my lower back.
By Saturday night, I was contorted and frozen after bending up to pick up the E-man’s socks.
Sunday morning, I hobbled around, clutching my back like a little old lady.
Still, somehow, I planned on heading to the gym for Zumba, reasoning that I could “work out the kinks.”
Then, on my way to the shower, I bent to pick up more dirty clothes and veered into the door frame.
Hubs was at a “Cousin Reunion” in Louisiana, unaware of the fact that I had rendered myself a cripple.
So I texted him: I am all kinds of sexy. Hurry home!
By Monday morning, my pinky toe was swollen and purple.
Let this be a lesson:
Once you hit 40, it’s paramount to understand that hipness can be achieved only in small doses.
In other words — that “one last slide!” — well, it’s likely to be your undoing.