I can barely walk...

Yesterday I bought a new sled, and I'm glad to say that it's amazing. When sledding with some other people, my sled was considerably faster, and constantly slid about twice as far at the bottom of the hill as all the other sleds. That may have posed a problem, though, tonight.

My friend John and I went sledding in Rock Canyon park. The snow had fallen perhaps a week before, then had been repeatedly melted, refrozen, and compacted by other sledders. Consequently, Rock Canyon park was essentially a large bowl of hard ice. John and I began by sledding down the hill that was closest to where we had parked. It was pretty much amazing, but we were drawn to the hill on the opposite side of the park that seemed to be much higher and somewhat steeper.

At first we had trouble even climbing the hill. It was too steep and too slick to walk up, and we had to try sprinting up different parts. After a few failed attempts of trying to climb the hill and then sliding back down on our feet, we were able to find a good spot to climb up where someone had walked and left footprints back when the snow was still soft. We flew down the hill, and my sled was probably able to slide an additional 75 or 100 feet after reaching the base of the hill. Unfortunately there were a lot of bumps at the bottom of the hill and a few jumps that we had to avoid because we always hit them pretty hard at that speed, and our sleds didn't really provide much cushioning.

On what turned out to be my last real run, I found a spot on the hill that was very high, very steep, and had a nice smooth bottom that was completely void of bumps. The downside was that it was next to the largest jump of all, and it was a jump that everyone was trying to avoid at all costs. I figured that I probably wouldn't hit the jump, that I would be able to steer away, and if all else failed, I would be able to roll off my sled and come to a stop before I reached it. Apparently I was wrong.

As I shot down the hill, I realized that my sled was turning towards the jump. I leaned. It made no difference. As my speed continued to increase until I could barely make out what was happening around me I realized that I was in trouble. I tried to roll off the sled, but all I accomplished to do was turn the sled sideways... a rather unwelcomed event. I hit a large bump which nearly knocked me from the sled, then looked down and saw that the massive jump was moments away and thought to myself "oh, crap...". According to John, at this point everyone on top of the hill went silent and locked their eyes on the impending doom. I closed my eyes and prepared for the impact. The force was stunning. I felt a huge burst from the sled which nearly knocked the air out of me. Then all I felt was the sled disappearing from underneath me. I opened my eyes again and looked down. At this point I was standing vertically in the air facing backwards, the base of the jump was several feet beneath me and I was beginning to spin so that my feet were getting higher and I was nearly on my back. I took a moment to analyze the situation. I was screwed.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Classic, eh? Then I hit the solid ground, landing on my tail bone and bouncing a couple of times until I started rolling. Eventually I came to a stop on my stomach and took a couple of minutes to lie still and relish life. Ah sweet life! I was still alive!

A minute later, John was able to regain his composure and yelled to see if I was alright. Then he came down the hill, and I slowly got up. Oh, what agony! I hurt all over! We made our way up the hill, I couldn't stop laughing, except for every time I took a step forward with my left foot, at which point a sharp stinging pain shot up my spine and made me shout and take a quick breath.

I don't know why I was laughing so hard considering the condition that I was in. I hurt all over, and every step was very intense. Still, it was hilarious.

I tend to laugh at a lot of things. When something bad happens, I often find myself laughing about it or just shrugging it off. A lot of things just aren't that important that I need to worry about them. Unless the pain is unbearable, I often just ignore it or laugh it off. I have my limits, I'm sure. Some things are too painful to laugh at, and too difficult to endure, but for everything else you might as well enjoy it!