The Easter weekend was buh-rill-iant. Good Friday, no school. Saturday and Sunday, obviously, no school. Monday is ANZAC Day (British maybe?), so no school.
After a long-arse hike to the cliffs and DOWN (literally rock climbing in some parts) to a beach "near" where I live this past Friday, then a 2-weeks-early Cinco de Mayo feast on Saturday, and two Tongan feasts on Sunday, my weekend was well-balanced with exercise and food. (Yay endorphins!)
On Monday, I had my backpack full (with my hiking boots and other random things needed for hiking), my chacos on, my lava-lava over my pants, and I walked through the pig-hole-ridden field known as my school campus. As I do most mornings for my morning walk, I walked to upper-rib-level fence that I climb and jump over every morning. No big deal.
As I neared the fence, I realized I needed to call Kim to tell her I'm on my way. I would meet her in her village, we would hike the ravine into town, then we would try to suto down to the next-to-last village on the island, then proceed to a hiking destination we've not yet encountered.
So the phone is ringing, and I am climbing the gate with one hand. My left foot is on the high bar of one side, my right foot is pushing off the low bar on the other side, and I'm straddling the fence when my lava lava gets caught under my Chaco, my left foot collapses to the grown, and
BAM!
my girly parts are suddenly on fire as I'm in an acrobatic position, with my right leg hiking much above the fence, and my left leg is bent with trying to keep my butt from hitting the ground.
"Hello, Big Nuts," says Kim. (We have pet names for each other. She's Boo-Boo. That's another blog entry altogether."
I hop-hop-hop to my left side, trying to avoid the sharp wire my va-jay-jay barely missed, and I decide to play it cool and not make a big deal.
"Hey, Kim..." (I'm trying not to sound exasperated with pain, "I'm uhh... I'm onnnnn my--oh God--I'm on my way."
Now before that quote sounds like a racy O-moment from a Nora Roberts novel, picture me leaning over as though I'm heaving, with one hand holding the phone and the other hand holding the part of my body that is SCREAMING with ouchies. My eyes are watering, not because I want to cry, but because my nerves were going CRAZY and my eyes just reacted.
"Uhhh...are you okay, Jamie?"
"Ummm??? Y--no. No, I'm nooooot....Oh God, I just---uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-- my girly parts are on fire!"
At this point, my voice-pitch is reaching a Mariah Carey falsetto, but the kind where she's actually screaming.
"Ohhh no, are you okay?! What happened?" Of course, Kim is laughing. I'm kind of laughing myself, only I think it's because it's my body's only way to handle stress sometimes. Crush your ovaries? Oh, just laugh it off.
Anyway, I ended up walking to Kim's village Granny-style, only after Granny has ridden a horse.
Then we walked down the slippery valley, but without injury. Then we walked for a lonnnnng time before a truck finally picked us up. My parts were not too happy.
We get to Bre and Paul's village, where Bre's mother is visiting (and is tee-totally awesome), and start our hike. They welcomed my story with lots of laughter and empathy, but nonetheless, our hiking began.
And ended...5 hours later.
We saw beautiful things, of course, but the throb was nearly unbearable. My hiking boots wear heavy as bricks, my ankles hurt, my knees were aching, my hip flexers felt ready to spring out like a Jack in the Box, and of course, my girly parts were the source of all pain that made all the other pain seem bush-league.
On the way home, Kim and I soon got a suto (hitch-hiking) (praise Sisu!)to the capital, then walked to her house. It was 6:20 and getting dark fast. So, not wanting to walk home in the dark alone, I ran most of the way from her village to mine, despite what my body and ovaries were pleading.
Luckily, it didn't hurt to pee. In a hesitant attempt to analyze the situation, I found that all parts are intact, and, in fact, the pain came from my upper thigh where the tendons around the bikini line are located. Ohhhh, if you could see the bruise. I would estimate it to be 5-6 inches long and about 2-3 inches thick. It's intense!
But I go back to that moment. The moment where gravity laughed at my one-handed antics, where my parts tried to flee to my belly button, and when I swung my leg over the gate choked back a million curses (okay, I didn't choke them all back...what would you do?!), and tried to communicate to Kim in coherent sentences.
All I can say is thank God there are no testicles. Even a big, strong, coconut-tree-climbin', machete-whackin' man would've crumbled to his knees and wished for girly parts instead.
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