There is a moment in life where you can't do certain things anymore.
Like a glued together pixie stick some things hang by a thread.
My wife and I took our family to dollar night at the East Texas State Fair. All my girls from smallest to tallest went with us.
The smell of exotic fair foods wafted like fingers beckoning a stranger to some mysterious delight. Gigantic turkey legs, sausage on a stick, cajun boudin, and funnel cakes were devoured by the hungry mob walking purposfully towards the next ride. The girl's eyes were huge taking in the whirling dervish of lights illuminating the fair.
I knew the tilta-whirl would most likely make me loopy and nauseous, it did not disapoint. Eyes glued to my kids, the ride couldn't stop fast enough. Bow-legs trembling like rubberbands we spun off to the next torture device.
Alexis wanted to ride the Orbiter, a maniacal contraption designed to spin, toss, and hurl you into space. Believing myself superman like Lexie and I boarded the ride. The carny pulled the lever and away we went. Horizontaly spinning along the axis, pulling up vertically, and spinning like a cat in a washing machine. I realized my mistake.
There's a reason signs are posted stating pregnant women, people with heart problems, and you guessed it, back injuries shouldn't ride this ride. I figured I was healed and I am, however the g- forces of the ride threatened to pull all of that titanium out of my back. I dug my heels in to hold myself steady, my spine went the other way. It was a petulant child trying to get to the animal machine at Walmart.
I had figured those signs were just legal disclaimers. They mean what they say. Thank God all that beautiful work didn't become undone. My advice? Pay heed to the signs, else you end up next to the bearded lady and the guy who guesses your weight.
The man with the flying spine could make some bucks.
I'm going to miss roller coasters.