So, I've had a hard time deciding what my best injury is. It comes down to two incidents, really. The first, when I got a black eye in fifth grade (just in time for the school awards ceremony) is funny but pretty anticlimactic. The entire story involves me, a softball game, and my inability to judge _where_ exactly the ball is going to land. Apparently it wasn't going to land in my glove, but on my eye instead. End of story.
The real winner, though, has to be when I broke my stupid arm. I had made it 25 years without a broken bone, but that didn't stop me. I was up in Utah for a visit and Megan and I decided to go snowboarding for a half-day at Sundance. We had free passes, so why not? Well, we hit Sundance and it started out okay. (Alright, probably less-than-okay, seeing as I can't seem to get off the chair lift without flailing and/or falling into someone nearby.) We went down our first run and it took me forever. Whenever I started to feel I was going too fast, I just sat down to slow myself down. Then I got back up and did it again. Towards the end of the run, I sorta got the hang of what to do if I started going the wrong direction, etc. Enter the second run. I did much better. I would still sit down if I started going too fast, until I realized that was dumb. Everyone was going much faster than I was and they were just fine. I told myself I was just going to suck it up and go. That may not have been my best decision. I started going somewhere other than where I wanted, but instead of panicking, I tried to correct my course. Then I caught an edge and fell. Hard. Lucky me, I fell right underneath the chair lift so I got a lot of, um, encouragement from people overhead. Megan (a really good, patient teacher) stopped about 15 feet in front of me and looked back to make sure I was okay. Megan yelled back, "Are you okay?" I said, "I think I broke my arm." Megan: "Did you really break your arm, or does it just hurt?" (valid question.) Me: (slightly loud) "I think I broke my freaking arm!!" The rest is a bit of a haze -- several people offered to send the ski patrol up, but being a Stratton, I figured I could do it on my own. That is, until I realized that even sitting up made me want to hurl. I finally relented and the ski patrol came and I rode down the mountain on a snowmobile -- no toboggan for this Stratton! After a stint at the ski patrol station and several trips to different urgent care/emergency rooms (trying to figure out what wouldn't cost me my firstborn), I ended up at good 'ol Dr. J's for a splint and sling. The rest is history. Or just too boring to blog. Enjoy the only two pictures I think I have of the ordeal!
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