I broke my fucking collar bone. God damn it. When one skis, one is supposed to be able to fall down and get up again and continue skiing. I skied for a day and a half without even falling and the first time I fall, I break my collar bone. I didn’t even hit a tree this time. My ski caught and I just fell. I’m batting .333 over the past three years .500 if you count the first time I skied a decade or so ago. That sounds better than it is. I really need to up my average. And with 3 ½ more days planned for, it seems like wasted vacation days, but at least I’m not working. And I do have a book I can read. And I can write. Maybe I’ll work on my novel. Or maybe I’ll plug into netflix and catch up on Justified.
When I’m sitting still I can almost forget that I’m hurt. I start thinking that I’m fine and I’ll be able to ski after all, until I try to move. And the longer I stay still, the harder it is when I do move.
I’m kind of bummed about the whole thing. I was really starting to enjoy myself. And I was skiing well, with one exception, obviously. I did something I shouldn’t have done. Why do I always have to learn the hard way? And then wait another year before I can put what I learned into practice.
“What happened?” about a dozen people asked me. I fell. That’s what happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. There weren’t any witnesses. The people I was skiing with were ahead of me, and they didn’t hear me screaming (well, cursing, I can’t remember exactly, but I know myself well enough that we should assume that while I was lying in the middle of the run, wondering how I was going to get up, I was cursing. Then I managed to work through the pain, get my remaining ski off, stand up and walk to the side of the trail before anyone else even came by. By the time they did, I didn’t look like I was in distress, so no one stopped to help. It was hard just getting my phone out of my pocket so I could call for help to get off the damn mountain.