Danger Is My Middle Name

Here’s why I’m an idiot:

Last winter I tried snowboarding for the first time. I was all about that shit - you can read about it here and here where I was all “snowboarding is the best thing in the world,” and “I am a snowboarding GOD” and then I actually pasted my head onto a picture of someone winning the X games for snowboarding, because I am nothing if not modest.

And then…I fell.
Hard.
Really hard.
Really, really hard.
Really really REALLY…okay you get the point.

I pretty much fell hard enough to give myself a distal radial fracture and wind up on the business end of a scalpel.
This was after the doctor walked into the exam room, threw my X-ray up on the screen and said, "Here is where the bone should be...and here is where yours is."

Nice.

One metal plate, seven screws, and a boatload of oxycontin later, I found myself laid up for 6 weeks while my wrist healed around my newly acquired hardware. Granted, it wasn’t all bad. Especially I discovered the magical land of short-term disability in which I was paid a handsome sum to sit around, watch TV, and have people wait on me hand and foot. Oh yes, sponge-baths were included. It was like a dream come true, except for the fact that I smelled because I couldn’t properly shower.

Or, at least, that was my excuse.

Anyway, after it happened, I kept hearing people say, “well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson and won’t try such a dangerous sport again.” And for a while, I really had learned my lesson. Hey, that break was CRAZY PAINFUL, and there were all these unanticipated consequences and repercussions, like my company scrambling to find a freelance writer, and Brian having to call out of work to stay home and take care of me. It’s not like when you’re 10 years old and breaking your wrist sucks only because you can’t go swimming; adult injuries are a more inconvenient.

That said, uhh…I’m ready to snowbard again?

Doesn’t Learn From Her Mistakes: Party of one

Sure it’s dangerous. But it’s fun. AND it’s a good work-out. AND it’s a great way to enjoy the outdoors in the winter time. So other than the remote chance that you could fall and injure yourself, I don’t really see a bad side. Plus, what are the chances of me seriously hurting myself two years in a row?

(Do me a solid and don’t answer that question)

This insistence of participating in dangerous pastimes seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I sustained numerous injuries from horseback riding while growing up, including a fractured ankle and a mangled face after a crazy horse clothes-lined me with a tree branch. And yet, I never learned from those mistakes either. As soon as I was better, I was right back in the saddle (I love when I can be figurative and literal at the same time).

Meanwhile, my parents were developing ulcers from constantly worrying about my safety. Aah, the joys of parenthood.

So this is me, in a nutshell. I get hurt and go right back out there as soon as I’m healed. I’m like some Pavlovian experiment gone horribly wrong.

Somewhere out there, a traumatic brain injury has my name written all over it. Luckily, the latest test results suggest that I’m boarderline retarded to begin with, so other than a decreased vocabulary and an excessive amount of drool, I don’t think anybody will notice a difference.