Snow Days

My mom generously gave us a check for Christmas, to use for anything we wanted. We immediately decided to use it for a trip up to Flagstaff to play in the snow. We considered using it for a day of skiing, but ended up deciding we'd rather go for a whole weekend of sledding instead. It was a great weekend!

Of course, whenever you have a klutz (me) doing anything active, there is great potential for injury, and I didn't disappoint. (The very first time we went up to Wing Mountain, I slipped in an icy patch walking down the hill, and cracked my tailbone.)

Saturday morning at Crowley, Noah started playing with a boy about his age. The boy's dad and I chatted briefly, during which time he pointed out a nearby sled run with a "ramp" near the bottom, and said, "That one's fun." I had never dared to go down one of these runs where someone had built up the icy snow to make a ramp. For some reason, I dared this time. The snow was wet, and I was going at a high rate of speed when I hit the "ramp". I became airborne, tightened my grip on the handles, and experienced a jarring impact. I lay on my side for a few moments, assessing the damage. My back and shoulders hurt in a number of places. I tasted blood in my mouth; I had bit my lip. Thankfully, I found I could get up and walk, and nothing seemed to be broken. When Steven reached me, he demanded, "Why did you go down that run?" Stupidly, I replied, "That guy said it would be fun." As we trudged up the hill, I noticed my pants were a little wet. Inside. I wet my pants when I crashed! Oy. Not very dignified for a 40-year-old. Seriously.

The poor guy felt really bad; he apologized and explained, "I was being facetious." Well. Now he tells me.

Steven took this photo shortly after my crash.


This is where we were sledding. It's an area of volcanic rock, where the city digs up cinders to scatter on the roads in the winter.