Sunday is the half marathon and we are already up in Green Bay for the weekend. The hotel we are staying at has really long hallways, and my husband has already reminded me that I should do nothing by walk down them. Here’s a rerun from 2006 that explains why:
I can’t resist a really long hallway, there is something about long hallways that make me want to do cartwheels down them one after another. Okay, I’m lying, hallways in general make me want to do cartwheels down them, it doesn’t matter if it’s really long.
The Kalahari has two skywalks that we had to walk through in order to get to from our room to the waterpark, or the restaurants. They both were really really really long, and the urge to do cartwheels down them was far too great. On Saturday night I dared my husband to do cartwheels down the skywalk, then I did cartwheels, and then it was our daughter’s turn. We still had about half of the skywalk left, so I suggested that the two of them race to the end. The kid didn’t want to race and suggested the he and I race.
Ready! Set! Go! And we were off!
I had a head start and was running at a pretty good pace, then he came up from behind, passing me just as my flipflop shifted on my foot …. and then it happened. I tripped over my flipflop and did a nose dive right into the carpeting. I was spread eagle, on my face, and laughing my ass off. My husband turned around and said to me, “what are you doing on the floor?”
Uh, I just tripped over my flipflop and fell!!!
In his defense he didn’t see me fall, and thought I had thrown myself on the floor in defeat.
Here is a picture of the damages.
I desperately needed some boo-boo cream, the kind with pain reliever in it.
I stopped by my mom’s room first. No boo-boo cream. Then my sister-in-law’s room. No boo-boo cream.
We got back to our room and I called concierge to ask if they had a first kit, or even some Neosporin at the front desk. She said they did, and then I inquired if I was calling my front desk, versus the big front desk which was at the other end of the resort, where I had just come from. Of coure, I had the big front desk, and she transferred me to my front desk.
Front Desk Guy: Front desk.
Me: Do you have a first aid kit?
FDG: Uh, no.
Me: What about Neosporin?
Me: Are you sure? The big front desk says you do.
FDG: Huh? I guess I could check.
Then he put me on hold for about five minutes. I finally hung up and called the big front desk again. She assured me that my front desk had Neosporin and that he should let me into the gift shop to purchase it if he couldn’t find it.
So I ventured down to the front desk, where the FDG must have been no more than 20 years old. Good grief. He couldn’t find the Neosporin to save his life! I finally walked straight over to the shelf and pointed to the box that said “Neosporin”.
“Oh, I didn’t see that.”
Ya don’t say.
How is my leg? Well it hurts. I’m wearing a lot of shorts and skirts because I can’t have anything against it, it’s far too painful. Not even a bandaid, not that they make one that is big enough. It’s tough to sleep too. Poor me.
Do you think the security cameras got my fall on video tape? What are the odds that the entire Kalahari Resort hasn’t seen me do cartwheels and then race down the skywalk only to trip on my own flipflop and skid to a stop like an idiot?