A Bloody Mess

It was day 4 of our Mexican cruise. Just a quick run on the track, then we’d be off to sip tropical drinks on white sand beaches.  

There were only a few of us on the Deck 17 track: My husband, Steve, who was relaxing on a lounge chair, and Speedy, a gangly teen, who looked like he could run forever.

Speedy was decades younger than me, but who says I couldn’t keep up with him?

“On your left,” Speedy said, as he lapped me.

Around 3 miles in, the Captain announced a Code Blah Blah Blah. Two crew members immediately hung signs (attached with rope) across the track that read DO NOT SMOKE, REFUELING IN PROGRESS.”

Without missing a beat, Speedy hurdled both signs and continued his run.

Well, if Speedy could do it, so could I.

Also, not to brag, but as a former PE teacher, I once taught hurdling to 6-year-olds.

I picked up my pace as I approached the signs, and timing my footwork, I leapt, clearing one, then two signs effortlessly. The agility with which I performed this feat was nothing short of amazing, and begged the question…

Was it too late for me to become an Olympic hurdler?

I pondered my future Olympic career as I finished another lap.

Do I have a say in the outfits?

Do they still put your face on a cereal box?

Do I want my face on a cereal box?

And that’s when it happened…

My front leg gracefully cleared the hurdle, but my back leg caught the top of the sign, and then suddenly…

Instead of hurdling, I was hurtling!

The silver lining was that I fall regularly: The trail at Malibu Creek Canyon, the puddle in the Costco parking lot, our family pool (fully clothed) in front of a group of snarky teenagers.

It’s called practice, people.

Quick-like-a-cat*, I positioned my hands to cushion the blow.

Unfortunately, the sign (which appeared to be made of razor blades) scraped my entire left shin as I went down.

So, there I lay on Deck 17, a bloody mess.

And not in the fun British way (insert accent): Well, ain’t she a bloody mess!

I tried to get Steve’s attention but he was wearing ear buds. Plus, I was on the starboard side and he was on the port side. (Kudos to me for remembering navigational terms while impaired.)

As Speedy approached, I whimpered, “Excuse me, could you help …”

But Speedy hurdled me and was off before I could finish my sentence.

Now that I was merely athletic equipment, he didn’t have time for me.

Neither did Steve, who was listening to a podcast as I desperately waved my arms at him. A few minutes later, he looked up, smiled, and waved.

Apparently, he didn’t recognize “My leg looks like hamburger meat, please get help,” wave.

I continued to motion frantically.

Steve waved back.

Remind me not to pick this guy for charades.

Finally, he took his earbuds out. “Are you okay?”

I lifted my bloody leg (again, NOT in the fun British sense). “NO!”

He rushed over. I pointed to the sign that ended my career.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Recognizing that I may be mistaken for roadkill, I hoisted myself into a lounge chair. Now, I was at least roadkill getting a tan.

Forty-five minutes later, he returned.

“Sorry about that,” he said, pulling out medical supplies. “Everything was locked down because of the drill.”

Note to self: Do not injure yourself during a Code Blah, Blah, Blah.

He examined my leg. “I think some alcohol will help.”

Like a Piña Colada?

Steve proceeded to wipe my shin with an alcohol that was not at all tropical.  

But the fun didn’t end there.

Unable to find antibacterial ointment, we headed (hobbled) into town.

Sure, maybe we didn’t get to sip Piña Coladas on the Puerto Vallarta beaches. But we did find antibacterial ointment (also known as Neosporiña) at the Puerto Vallarta Walmart.

And that’s how we spent Day 4 of our Mexican cruise.

All in all, we still had a bloody good time, and I do mean that in the fun British way!

*An aging house cat