by, 01-04-2012 at 06:23 PM (758 Views)
I am forced to do something I sometimes long to do- sit down and do nothing. Sunday morning, I wanted to do nothing more than stay in bed and rest. I find it very strange how trying to stay busy is exponentially more tiring than constant, directed labor. But, Monday morning I was up and ready to hit the post holiday crowd-less mountain. I don't give a **** about snow conditions- I want to recklessly tear down the mountain without having to worry about clobbering some three year old their first time on skis. So I did go. Strapping in, I tore past the few straggling Texans still polluting my county and flew down the hill.
It was fixing to be a great day. I did forget to tighten my bindings down and had one almost come loose, but I caught it before any catastrophes and continued on my regimen of riding too fast and trying to avoid the patches of gravel.
I was headed to another lift that would take me to a different part of the mountain. I was attempting to pass a family that wouldn't care for my reckless carving, when a fellow snowboarder cut right in front of me, forcing me to turn. As I did, I saw a member of the family I was trying to pass fixing to occupy the space I was going to be passing through shortly. I tried to stop, and the result was my weight way too far forward and slamming my left shoulder into the ice. Had I been on anything steeper than level ground, I probably would have been fine. But, I felt the pop and let myself slide a ways whilst yelling obscenities at the top of my lungs. Nobody stopped. Nobody said anything. That same family even stood right behind me discussing things Texan's discuss, ignoring the guy that just faceplanted trying to avoid destroying their son. The kid stared straight at the ground as he snowplowed past nine inches to my left. So, I tried to shake off the fall, made sure my arm still moved, and I tried to get down the mountain. Thirty feet down the hill my head spun and my vision started going black, and my shoulder was starting to hurt. So I sat down and buried my face in the snow. The next thing I knew there were two ski patrollers next to me. They got me in a sling, put me on the sled and wrapped me up in a tarp, and that was the funnest ride I've had going backwards down the mountain.
The verdict is that I've got a grade 2 acromioclavicular separation. That's the term for a slight stretching and tearing of a ligament. I think.
Anyway, I'm laid up for a bit. Which really pisses me off, considering the next time I'll be able to ride might not be till February.