Marching right along: 2 years later...

It's March, already? How did that happen?!

This weekend marks two whole years since that fateful skiing incident that kicked off this whole show. I'm reminiscing about the whole mess of stuff that has happened since then that brought me to where I am today. Sometimes, it feels like no time at all. Two years isn't really that long, in the grand scheme of everything. Other times, it feels like for-ev-er. Wendy Peppercorn, where you at?! Has is really only been two years? Because it feels like fifty. I think I've lived more in these past two years, than in the previous twenty four combined.

Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?


Here's my lift ticket from that day.


Ordinarily, first-timers aren't allowed on the lifts. However, after impressing my instructor with my hubris and mad skiing skills; and having mastered, in a few hours, all the goals of the day lesson, they bumped be up to the next lesson level. By lunch, I'd mastered all the goals of the second tier, as well. It was decided that I was a natural and got approval to ride the lift. This is when karma came in and put me in my place.


If you know me, or have read my posts, you already know I'm a stubborn asshole, who loves a challenge. You also know that I throw myself headfirst into pretty much everything I do. You also probably know that throwing yourself headfirst into skiing, might not end well.

You're also probably thinking that's what I did and that this is a classic case of flying too close to the sun.

I wish I could say that. I wish I could say I tackled that mountain with such fury that I went out in a blaze of glory and smashed my face in the process. Instead, I leaned too far getting off the lift and face planted, my skis locked behind me, and I rode down the hill on my face. I was relegated back to the bunny slope after that.

Here's my raw nose before it scabbed over.


It doesn't look that bad right? It's like a sunburn, or a skinned knee, just on my face, right? That's what I thought, at the time. It didn't seem like that big of a deal.

I wish the story was more glamorous or colorful, but this isn't Hollywood, nor am I the one writing the story. I'm just turning the pages.

This weekend, ironically, the family I live with is going skiing. There's a part of me that wants to go, to show skiing who's boss. Instead, I'll be at home, in my warm bed, thankful that my nose isn't raw like this anymore.

I'm keeping my wings from melting, this time.