My Turn to Say It...

In the 10 or 11 years I've been doing winter mountain sports I've heard the phrase several times. I usually disagree with those who have said it, arguing that it's the person not the sport. I've probably had the phrase uttered at me a few times in the past, but I have NEVER actually touched anyone else while riding my snowboard. (I may have buzzed by some skiers maybe a little too fast where they fell on their own, but I guarantee you I never touched 'em.)

But on January 2nd -- my last day in Tignes, France and my first day telemarking by myself -- I yelled those words so many other skiers have yelled in the past....

"F@(*ing SNOWBOARDERS!!!"

That's right... the sport I've loved so much for the last 10 years I cursed in a long sequence of

profanity.

Why?

Meg & I were skiing together on Friday but she left just before lunch to go do some school work. So I continued skiing, grabbed a bite to eat and was just finishing another run in the same area, figuring it was probably going to have to be my last before I head in for the day. (A 1-2 hr ski/ride to the right part of the resort.)

I was still working on a lot of fundamental technique for telemark turns so I had pulled over to the side of the slope to collect myself, think about a few things and get ready for the upcoming section. All of a sudden I heard the sound of large volumes of snow being scraped off the mountain just moments before this French snowboarder clobbered me from behind at full speed. I swore for a very long time as it became quite apparent that my face was bleeding profusely and my noggin' hurt like crazy.

He didn't understand a word of English, but I'm pretty sure he understood I was pissed. He and his other snowboarding buddy stuck around long enough to make sure I was conscious, and informed me I should get my lip looked at my ski patrol before leaving me.

So there I am, on the slopes bleeding profusely, checking my mouth to make sure all my teeth are still connected to my gums. (They were.) You know how facial wounds go, there is blood, EVERYWHERE. All over the white slopes. Looks like a total disaster. After a while, I figured out that the only piece that was damaged was my upper lip which appeared to have caught the edge of the snowboard and had flapped open.

I skied down to the base of the lift (about 2-3 minutes away) and found some ski patrol there who put a bandaid on it and said I probably needed a stitch. If I wanted to get a ride on the snowmobile to the medical clinic it would cost 400 Euros from where I was. (I didn't buy the insurance w/ my lift ticket.) I decided I'd ski to a different town (another 5 minutes down the slope) and take the bus to the medical center.

Less than 20 minutes later, I was with a doctor in the medical center. (Might have been in the check-in area for 5 minutes! Really fast!) The doctor said he thought I probably needed 2 stitches, but wound up putting in 3. He gave me an antiseptic mouth wash to clean out my mouth 5 times / day and sent me on my way home with blood and iodine all over my face. I got some interesting looks on that walk.

Mind you, during this whole process, Meg has no idea what's going on, because her phone didn't work in Tignes. Imagine her surprise when I walked into the hotel room with a face that looks like it's been through a warzone.

A week later though, and it's been very clear this doctor did a great job. Nothing ever really hurt, and two of the stitches have come out already. The third is buried so deep it will just have to dissolve on its own. Right now, you'd hardly know anything ever happened to me unless you find the exact right spot. All the costs should be covered by my insurance too.

In the end, my face is fine, but I'm sure to have mixed feelings the next time I get back on my snowboard. (Bound to happen at least for a few weeks, as the snow is apparently good in Gudauri, but it'll be a few weeks before I have the last pieces of gear to telemark here in Georgia.)