Ski-don’t

Last day of the ski season, and my first day on the slope ever. Having a free VIP season pass, boots, and skis from my workplace, I figured I’d be a fool not have a go. Not knowing anyone else heading up that way, I just went ahead and trucked up there myself. It helps that today was the warmest of the year so far, a wonderful high 60’s in town, and nearly that warm at the base of the mountain.

First run on the green/easiest slope I only ate it three or four times. Later runs got progressively better, until I was not falling at all. Since the lift takes so long, and the time coming down relatively short, I figured I better head further up the mountain, on the secondary lift. I thought there would be another green run….there wasn’t. I also ran into a co-worker up there, which isn’t a good sign I thought, as they really are a skier. No way down but down though, and my previous crashes only left me laughing and with a swollen lip. I start heading towards the blue/intermediate path, and I fall before the run even starts…..another bad sign. So on I go, and start reaching scary speeds quite quickly. I had practiced the “pizza slice” thing where you point the tips together, thus slow down…..but that wasn’t working. Another way to slow down would be to kinda curve and make turns, but that only made me that much more instable as I didn’t really know “how” to turn (not to suggest that I even know “how” to ski.) I eat it a few more times, clip back in, laugh it off and keep going. But then the big one comes, I get shaky again and at that speed there isn’t much chance for recovery. I’m not too sure what happened, but suddenly my ski comes up and socks me in my chin, I see lights (blue lights actually) and then I am laid out, both skis and poles strewn about. Someone yells to ask if I’m okay, and as I say “yes” I look down and see red snow. I also taste blood. I finish off that run, have a few more goes at the green one again and call it a day. Several hours later, and it was still slowly bleeding, and there were pieces of fat still coming out of the hole. It really didn’t hurt that badly, so I shrugged it off and put some goopy antibacterial stuff on it. As big as the hole was though, I figured I oughta ask my neighbor, who is a doctor, about it. His initial reaction told me all I needed to know. An hour later and we were sitting in his office, which is obviously normally closed on Sunday nights, and he was pokin’ me with needles. Three stitches and good as new.

At least the only thing I got wasn’t a goofy sunburn I ’spose. I’ve also got a funny story, and a hole in my beard now. It was a blast though, and I’d rather leave my blood on the mountain than a $100 in the resort’s register. End of the day reflection: I am most happy about not biting off my tongue, as the tip of it was in between my teeth as I took the hit, and it’s looking (and feeling) pretty bad.

Here’s a before and after for fun: