Up until now, I have never really sustained a bad injury. I never broke any bones or sprained anything growing up, though I did have my share of bad accidents. With the exception of three surgeries, I have never even had to get stitches. But just recently, at the age of seventeen, I suffered a laceration that was finally worthy of serious medical attention.

Transition sentence. After a series of races, I began to make my way to the lodge. Ski racing is an utterly exhausting sport, especially slalom, which is an even more exhausting variant when compared to the rest. Once at the lodge, I still had two more challenges to get through before I could depart. The first would be less exhausting than the last: hiking up four and a half flights of stairs in full racing gear. Wearing ski boots and walking up stairs will never complement each other. Once I lumbered my way up the steps, I dragged what was left of my legs over to where I had put my shoes and began to take remove my boots from the burning mass of flesh and pain that had once been my legs. After I had finally taken off my boots and outer clothes, I slipped on my backpack, put my helmet bag over my shoulder and attempted to get my feet into my shoes. Eventually, I navigated my feet into my shoes and was off to complete challenge number two.

Now, at the bottom level of the lodge, I only had to get my two bags full of heavy equipment, my boots, skis and poles to the car which was located 300 feet away in the parking lot. Now I truly lumbered with the large amount of awkward weight that I was supporting. My backpack, helmet bag and boots were all on my back, my skis were on my shoulders and my poles were in my free hand. I had made it about two thirds off the way their when It had happened.

There is a special spot in the parking lot that is neither dry nor touched by snow. It is a magical transition spot of solid ice and death. At least twenty different people tumble in this spot during the same week and I made the greenhorn mistake of walking right through it in my $12 sketchers. I never stood a chance.

The fall which wouldn’t have been a terrible one, was worsened by my defiance. I fought gravity and lost. When my second foot was on its way to plant its self on the ice, my first foot was already on its way out. To compensate for the loss of my weight bearing support, I rushed my second foot to its destination, only to have it leave my control as well. By the time my second foot was gone and out from under me, my first foot had returned to assist me, but it too slid out, yet again. All of my dancing around failed to prevent my fall. In reality it only increased my velocity. Eventually both feet gave up, due to their prior exhaustion, and I was helpless to prevent the fall.

Slalom skis are very sharp. I they had a hilt, they would be swords. Therefore, it is quite important for one to not fall over when they are carrying slalom skis. When my body hit the ground, my slalom skis, which had been on my shoulder, fell on my head and wrist. The ski that fell upon my head had hurt more, but the one to the wrist was the more problematic one. As I pulled myself up, I found that my hand was instinctively clutching my wrist. I pulled it away to reveal a pretty significant gash in said wrist. Before large amounts of blood rushed out of the cut, I could only see a yellow substance and a white line. I later learned that the yellow was fat and the white line was actually my thumbs tendon. They cut its self didn’t actually hurt too much. However, the massive amounts of blood I was losing convinced me that I had better have a chat with the ski patrol. They patched my up a little bit, I drove home in agony (my cut had decided to start hurting after all) and I went to get stitches and taco bell.

THE END.