Day 4

Mary and Bob walked up to church; Gary and I took a walk together.  I had been reluctant to head out with the crew because everyone was so svelte, not that they would have discouraged me.  And some of the trails made deer trails look like flat superhighways so it was nice to meander with Gary. The kids run everywhere and the realization of how sedentary we and children in America are becomes painfully obvious.  There are men building adobe bricks, they stop to chat with us.  We learn the weather is perfect for the bricks, not to hot not too cold.  They use the gray soil from the river to form a barrier that keeps the fresh bricks from blending back into the soil they came from.  Telling this makes me realize how patient the people were with, explaining things in simple terms and overlooking our total lack of correct verb use. They were happy to take some time to talk.

There is a smiling man coming down the trail with a load of firewood that dwarfs him.  ‘I have seen him everyday’ Gary tells me.  Today he has three young boys in tow, each with a large branch balanced on their shoulder.  When I take a photo of the man the boys strike a pose as well.  Farther up the road we see two young girls in the river, dancing away when they see us, like a pair of startled deer.

That evening we, as in the racers and volunteers, are invited to the Raramuri camp for dinner.  It is across the river via a 200-meter suspension bridge, I make a mental note that I should cross back over before it got too dark.  Food is being prepared in huge cauldrons; beef, cabbage, potatoes and beans.  It is a bit awkward as the people wanted to feed the racers, but were so shy they were uncomfortable serving.  Gary ate everything, the racers talked excitedly, the Raramuri sat on the outskirts watching.

As I start to leave I manage to get in a bottleneck between a stonewall and a brick cooking unit.  In the darkness I fail to notice some gnarly firewood stacked between them.  I fall.  Like a 5 year old. Unfortunately I no longer have the bones of a child.  I biff my nose on the bricks and land on my right arm.  I know it was broken. 

There is a crowd around me almost instantaneously: wide-eyed Raramuri boys, the race directors, Gary…I try hard to act like it is nothing but they don't buy it.  Julie, from our camp, is an ER nurse and independent thinker.  She finds a dished piece of wood and splints my arm, Flint calls the nurse with the clinic and a few racers empty the bridge and spot me as I cross, walking stride for stride to keep the rocking to a minimum.  It was that bridge crossing that had me most worried and what a relief to have such a good crew to help.

Lucy, the nurse, is waiting on the other side.  She drives with me to the clinic, opens it up, splints my arm, gives me meds, wipes away my tears and kisses my forehead.  When I ask ‘how much?’ she brushes it away, ‘de nada’.  Mary has come with me and Lucy explanes it is fractured in at least one, maybe two, places.  I don’t know what to do.