A series of unfortunate events

I think my favorite part of talking with other people is finding out their stories; the little bits and pieces of experience that have lead them to this place and point in their lives. Every person is made like a quilt, with large and small pieces of time stiched together with multicolored threads.
So here is one of my squares for your enjoyment.



Downhill Date

Ive been sledding on many dates, having lived in Utah for most of my late teenage and early adult years. My first sledding date ended up being a two month fling with a guy in my classes. My next sledding date--a deliciously illegal midnight ride down the hills of the Deer Valley Ski Resort--ended up being my fiance a year later (and six months after that, my ex-fiance). The last sledding date was with C and as we were flying down the hill we caught air, flew off the sled and he landed on my ankle: spraining it and I had to keep it wrapped for three weeks. However, this particularly memorable sledding date was not because of the guy (my last boyfriend before my now husband) but because of a rare sense of wild abandonment I experienced.

I am terrified of many things, and sliding wildly down icy slopes is one of them. So is jumping off anything higher than a step stool. Therefore, sledding wasnt always an entirely comfortable experience (nor was that one time I went skiing--never again).
My then-boyfriend J, his best friend J.P,. J.P.'s date, and I went to a man-made sledding hill course outside of the town where we lived. Me, being the scaredy cat I am, was nervous with anxiety about yet another sledding fiasco. When we arrived I pleaded with my bf that we try the smaller hill first. After realizing that it was par with most turtle's average pace, I decided I was ready to try the bigger hills.

At the bottom of the course there was a barricade of bright orange plastic fencing with metal poles holding up the fence to prevent riders from dropping to their deaths into the lower parking lot--about a 20 foot drop. On the hills themselves, flashing lights indicate where riders must firmly drag their feet to significantly slow the inner tubes before reaching the bottom of the hill to avoid injury.

At the top of the largest hill, the four of us linked our tubes together and began to slide at an ever increasing speed down the hill. I was laughing with exhilaration by the time we reached the flashing lights and I going downhill headfirst, facing uphill at my boyfriend. He kept yelling for me to drag my feet but in my happy delirium I decided to ignore him. CRASH!!! We slammed into the plastic fencing. Inner tubes, boots, limbs, and a significant amount of powder flew into the air. I was laughing so hard I didnt realize I had slammed into one of the metal poles. J was frantically yelling at me asking if I was ok, if i was hurt. The tears in my eyes prevented me from seeing his face and I bent over in the snow, clutching my sides in waves of mirth. Finally he grabbed me and turned me over and saw that I was laughing, not crying, and he collapsed beside me in the snow, giggling. The attendant came rushing over and began waving an admonitory finger in our faces and told us that if we pulled that again, we would be ejected from the course.