So I made a goal at the beginning of 2017 to do a snowboard jump. I wasn’t looking to launch from a rail or crouching-tiger-fly off a berm like the punks that snowboard in jeans and don’t bother to wear gloves. I just wanted to leave the ground. A liiiiittle air.
Now, you might not have guessed it, but I was more of a reader growing up. Shocking, I know. Snowboarding is something I learned as an adult when you’re smart and scared like you should be and when you can really kill yourself. So the idea of doing a snowboard jump terrified me, as it should any life-appreciating adult, especially one with my ability in sports.
And that’s why I made this goal. Because I want to be a little terrified. And let’s be honest, I really want to look cool someday.
You know what? (Cue celebration dance…) I did it! More than once! And I crashed. (…Cue awkward dance freeze) More than once. 😕
Troy is now doing simple tasks for me, like removing my shoes. (So embarrassing.) I can’t sneeze without seizing in pain. Zipping my suitcase was excruciating. And no amount of ibuprofen and red wine makes rolling over less torturous. I know. I’ve tried.
But each time I wince or whimper, inside I give myself one of those cocky little smiles.
Because 1… no broken bones (yay me) and 2… next time, I’m going to get more than 4 inches off the ground.
When you don’t grow up playing sports, you miss a valuable world lesson. Risk and pain are part of the process. Yeah yeah you say, blah blah blah. But this was lost on me before. Crashing on a snowboard (i.e. catapulted forward so fast you can’t breathe because your lungs have been freight-trained) is the most definitive form of failure. What do you do then? You get up, laugh at yourself, curse at yourself because laughing hurts like a b**** and then do it again.
Because one does not reach a level of prowess by being smart, rational and cautious. Sometimes, you have to get the wind knocked out of you.