I sit in my 3rd period anatomy class. It’s Thursday. Tomorrow we have our big test covering all of the skeletal bones. Mrs. Stewart put us into lab groups to study one last time. We start going over the skeleton from head to toe, but when we reached the clavicle, I stopped, looking over at one of my lab partners, Maclean. “Hey Maclean! Remember that time we went skiing?” I said, trying to get his attention. “Oh yeah…”, he replied with a smirk.
I believe it was the winter of 5th grade. My friend had invited me to go skiing with him at Willamette Pass, an opportunity that couldn’t be passed up. The time comes and we start heading up to their family friends cabin. We ate ravioli and sweet sausages. The collage of thyme, rosemary, and sage emanating through my mouth. We try and go to sleep, but the excitement that awaits us tomorrow is too much to contain. Eventually we drift off and go to bed.
In the morning, we got suited up and ready to hit the slopes. I couldn’t remember if we ate breakfast or not, but it didn’t matter, we had to get to the mountain as soon as possible. We stood outside in the frigid morning temperatures, waiting for the car to heat up before clambering in with all of our gear. We arrive at Willamette Pass, it’s only my third time ever skiing here since my family preferred to ski at Hoodoo. Although Maclean’s a better skier than me, I decide that I’ll just push myself a bit and get out of my comfort zone, an idea which didn’t work out the best for me. We spend lots of times skiing through the trees, something completely new to me, and something I learned that my skis were not quite adept to handle the deep snow. I’d get going for a few feet, before slowing to a stop, getting enveloped up to my knees in the white powder. We take a left turn off the mountain, out of the ski area boundary, and into a steep and deep forest. Maclean skis ahead of me, waiting at the bottom. I decide to take my time. Nearing the bottom I fall, needing to take my skis off to regain a manageable position. After a good while, I make it down to Maclean. He seems pissed off, but I don’t care, he knew what he got me into. We start making our way toward the lodge to get some lunch.
We head back out again after eating, going to this one particular spot on June’s Run that had a natural ramp. I can’t remember if we tried the jump before or if we had even thought about it, but I just remember screaming toward this jump, and sending it as hard as possible. I landed, successfully, and attempted to stop, but the outward edge on my ski caught the snow, acting like a lever sending me straight onto my shoulder. I wasn’t sure what had happened at first. I thought I had just wiped out like normal, but there was this sharp pressure in my shoulder, and I knew something was wrong. I tried to talk to Maclean about it but he didn’t really bother to listen. When we made it back down to the lift, I was telling him that I wanted to go to the ski patrol building to be checked out, but he had just happened to run into one of his other friends, so he left me to figure out how to get back down on my own.
Given that I had only skied there twice before, I didn’t remember anything from those previous trips, so the only way I knew to get down was a shortcut through the trees, followed by a short hike, and finally a ride down Good Time Charley, a black diamond. Now normally sending a black diamond is a simple task, but when you think you’ve broken your arm and the adrenaline rush begins to dissipate, it becomes a completely different challenge. About a quarter of the way down from scooting on my butt, I notice a very distinctive shade of purple coming down the mountain towards me. I can’t remember how she noticed or what prompted her to stop, but the next thing I knew, my mom’s best friend was there with me helping me get down the mountain. We made it to the ski patrol building, they wrap me up in a butterfly sling, telling me I most likely have a broken collar bone and a possible dislocated shoulder. At the end of the day, Macleans dad comes to pick me up, feeling terrible about what had occured. I make it home, where my dad promptly take me to urgent care, and I learn that I’d fractured my clavicle. The inconvenience didn’t last for long though because I was back skiing in four weeks.