The Unexpected Hurdle

The commands are said and the blast of the gun sends a shock wave of energy through every inch of your body as you bolt forward towards the first hurdle standing in your way of crossing the finish line. Your form is perfect as your leap and bound. Nothing will stop you now, that is, until the person to your left doesn’t make it over the hurdle. As the person trips, the hurdle is catapulted right in front of you. With not enough time to react, you land on the extra hurdle tossed in your way and find yourself staring up towards the sky flat on your back.

The snowboarding accident three years ago was a lot like the image you’re picturing now. I took a trip up to Killington Resort in Vermont with the ski and snowboard club from campus. I was an experienced boarder and had taught as a snowboard instructor for some time.

It was college weekend so the mountain was crawling with individuals’ at all different levels. Some had never been on skis or a snowboard before, while others were doing back flips off the half pipe. I wasn’t at the half pipe level yet, but I carved with ease.

The first day out was hectic with hundreds of skiers and snowboarders racing across the mountain. I reached the top of the mountain, strapped in and was playing Pac-Man with the others in no time. I was confident in my skills so at that point I was worry free. Even the icy conditions didn’t faze me.

I should have been paying more attention, especially knowing what I knew as an instructor. There were too many people on the mountain that had no clue what they were doing. The next thing I knew a woman completely out of control was barreling towards me on skies. She side swiped me from the left and down I went on the hard icy surface.

Next thing I knew, I was staring up at the sky, and flat on my back with excruciating pain coming from my tail bone. The pain took my breath away and left me stunned for about 30 seconds until my friends raced over to see if I was still alive.

The girl that had hit me was already up and gone without an apology. I rolled over to my side, hoping to relieve some of the pain, but it was unbearable. The ski patrol thought I fractured my tailbone, but lucky I did not. The bone was just severely bruised and took several months to heal.

Since that accident, my biggest hurdle has been overcoming my fear of falling while boarding. It’s been three years and I have finally started boarding again. At first, I was extremely timid, but it’s slowly getting more comfortable. I have to keep telling myself to relax or I tense up and that’s when I fall. Last weekend, I visited Bristol Mountain and hit my first jump since the accident. I landed it with ease. It’s still nerve racking to snowboard when it’s icy, but I am gaining my confidence back while going heal edge (back edge).

Tonight I’ll be testing my skills at Song Mountain, I let you know if I do any back flips or 360’s.

Painful Scale

            Have you ever had to experience a deposition before? For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, a deposition is an oral testimony taken outside of court by the defendant, plaintiff or witness. Lawyers are present and both parties are allowed to question the opposing side. It’s nerve racking, intimidating and beyond frustrating.

            I’ll try to give you a little insight on a case that I am familiar with and the reason I am actually writing this for a blog post. Over three years ago someone I know was in an accident (nothing serious, just bumper hitting bumper). We’ll call the someone Jane for confidentiality reasons. The individual Jane was in an accident with, decided to sue her. The individual will be named Sam. I would classify this as a rather large hurdle. Unfortunately, Jane was at fault because she had the stop sign, but crazy 18 year-old her just didn’t see the individuals car and they went bump.

            Now, back to the present, Jane got to experience her first deposition this week. She met with her lawyer and walked into a rather friendly looking room with bright green cups filled with water for everyone to drink. Despite the cheerful cups, Jane was sweating profusely and I could actually see her heart beat through her sweater (honestly, her sweater was moving). Of course she forgot to put deodorant on to top her day off.

            As Jane faced the miserable looking individual from the accident, she almost choked on her gum. Jane took her seat and decided to just swallow the chunk already moving down her throat. Jane’s lawyer began asking the plaintiff, Sam, questions about the accident, injuries, doctors, etc.

           

            Jane’s lawyer had already concluded that Sam was in it for the money. As Sam described her “injuries”, anxiety, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that was caused by the accident (or should I say bump), Jane just let her head fall into the palm of her hand as her elbow rested on the arm of the chair. Sam began describing her pain on a scale out of 10 as a five on some days, eight on other days and 10 on most days. Jane heard this pain description and immediately began thinking of the short story, “The Pain Scale” by Eula Biss.

            How can Sam truly describe her pain as a 5, 8, or 10? Has she ever broken a bone, been starved for days, fell from a five story building, been shot or stabbed, lost a leg to a bomb or had half her body burned? Jane sat staring at the individual from the accident in disbelief. Does Sam even know what pain is?

            This one time I watched a girl face plant after tripping over a hurdle in a track meet. As this poor girl fell down, her face broke her fall first. The girl stayed on the ground for a while, but I could hear her scream in pain. The left side of her face smeared with blood and small pieces of the track. I would call that severe pain, but I couldn’t give it a number.

            Is having half your face peeled off by a track more or less painful than Sam’s injuries? I wonder how that girl classified her pain. To make a long story short, thank you Eula Biss for helping Jane through the deposition and for confusing the rest of us about the pain scale. 

Hurdling 101: The skin scrapers

On the starting line, they look more intimidating than they really are. The 10 barriers line up neatly in columns stretching across 100-meters. Each hurdle waits for a shin or knee to hit it, causing the poor sucker hopping over them to bruise or possibly even face plant into the ground.  

I used to hurdle for my high school track and field team. I have to admit; I was pretty damn good for someone who is only 5’4”. The 100-meter hurdles stretch up my leg and reached the top of my hipbones. Despite the fact that the hurdles were more than half my size, I could fly over them race after race, but I had my share of tumbles.

I began hurdling mid-season freshmen year against my will. Those stupid, awkward metal and plastic things scared the crap out of me and I had no interest in face planting. I was a 100- meter sprinter not a hurdler. Eventually, my coach gave me no choice in the matter. At a track invitational, my trusty coach placed me in the 100-meter hurdles. With no practice and zero clue on how to hurdle, I sprinted and jumped all the way to the finish line. It was a strange feeling, but I actually enjoyed scaring myself every 10-meters.

My first real tumble resulting in blood and pain happened during practice. I had just gotten used to leaping and hoping for the best when suddenly I smacked down a hurdle. As I fell, I somehow got wrapped up in the hurdle. The edge of it scraped across my right leg pealing away a perfect line of skin. As I lifted myself off the track, I looked over to the grimacing hurdle and saw a four inch long piece of skin dangling from it. I look down and the blood rushed across the surface of the fresh wound.

One would think this incident would be enough for me to say “peace out hurdles,” but instead I wrapped my leg up and wiped off what blood I could. I fixed the crooked hurdle and stepped back up to the starting line. Although I lost a bit of my pride, I couldn’t be defeated by the gawky, twisted piece of metal.

I just started an internship this semester. As a senior journalism major, I’ve acquired my own style of writing. I like hard news and pushing the boundaries with my reporting, but my internship is all about public relations. It’s lighthearted stories on promoting events and committees. I’ve written two articles that have been ripped apart. My style of writing, which is usually praised, is not good enough. Talk about a blow to the shins. This hurdle jumped at me from the sideline and smacked me down.

At first, I was angry and my pride was bruised. The comments scrawled across my article in red pen cut deep under my skin. I could feel the blood rush to my face and my jaw begin to clench. No one criticizes my writing like that. I am obviously far too good for this internship. This hurdle not only tripped me up, but also left me lying on the ground for a while. Finally I figured I should get back up because the race wasn’t waiting and neither were my deadlines. I sucked it up and took the critiques as a free lesson in public relations writing. I mean, I have another 12 weeks left of this internship, might as well make the best of it.