How it all began....



What on earth was I thinking? View from the top of the Nastar trail at Stowe.

 So, this morning I was remembering how this whole knee affair began, and it's actually pretty funny when I look back at it. I thought I would share.

I grew up in Ocala, a small town in North Central Florida. As you can imagine, there is no snow there - other than seeing snow in Missouri when I was an infant (which I totally don't remember) I had no snow experience. When I was 14, my dad told us that we were going to Stowe, Vermont for a skiing trip, I was super excited. I had always been pretty athletic and skiing sounded like a lot of fun. It also looked kind of easy.

We went to Stowe in mid-January, and it was a fun, rather uneventful trip. My parents signed us up for skiing lessons, and we spent a couple of days on the bunny slopes under the watchful eye of our instructor. I picked it up fairly easily and was whizzing down the beginner slopes in no time! My dad saw a sign for a skiing race that was open to all ages, and suggested that we enter since we were all learning it so well. Being the competitive group that my siblings and I are, we eagerly agreed. The race was our last full day in Vermont before leaving, and it seemed like the perfect way to end the trip.

The morning of the race dawned, and we headed for the slopes. We checked in with the Nastar (!!) officials and got our numbers pinned to our ski bibs. That should have given me my first clue that I was in over my head. We went over to our usual ski lift, and the operator, seeing our numbers, pointed out that we needed to go to a different ski lift. He pointed towards a lift that seemed to go all the way up into the sky. At that point, my stomach dropped and I realized we were in big trouble - but didn't want to let on and be made fun of by my siblings. If I was going down, I was going down with lots and lots of pride. The picture at the top of this post is one that I found online of the Nastar trail at Stowe, so you can see why I was crying on the inside. Below is a picture of me and my siblings - you can tell I know this won't end well.




My face says it all. From Left: Will, Brian, me, Kim


We rode the giant lift into the sky, and were deposited at the top of the biggest mountain I have ever seen. They organized us into the lineup, and there were other people in between my siblings and me. I finally tearfully confessed to the woman beside me that I was really scared - she pointed out that she was a beginner as well, and had only skied for 3 or 4 years. OMG. As we got closer to the front of the line, I discovered that as an added bonus there were gates to go in and out of. Oh my God, this was a slalom course? It just got worse and worse. I think my brother Brian went first, and just shot straight down, missing all the gates. At least he was alive. I think Kim went next, and even though she went down on her tush the whole way, she was okay. I started to gain hope. Maybe I did have a shot - I was going to do it as legitimately as I could and make sure I did all the gates. Even if I was slow I wouldn't be disqualified.

I got the front of the line, and positioned myself into the little gateway, leaning into the door. It opened and I shot out, quickly positioning my feet into the pie piece that our instructor had taught us. This slowed me down to a crawl, and I felt better. I carefully weaved in and out of each gate, and started to think things weren't so bad. I was doing it and it was awesome! That is when I hit a patch of ice and flew off the side of the mountain.

I don't remember anything about the fall or what happened or how I fell, exactly. Nor do I know how long I was knocked out. I don't think it was very long, because I became aware of people on the ski lift above me calling down and asking if I was okay, and that I had a really bad fall. I looked up the mountain and quite a ways up was my right ski. My first thought was, "There is no way in hell I am going to retrieve that ski and put it on." I looked around and was in a bit of a wild area, just off the ski path. How on earth was I getting off that mountain? My heroes on the ski lift hollered that they were sending help for me, and I relaxed a bit. I definitely needed some help. Nothing really hurt badly, but my left knee just felt funny. I figured that was because a ski was attached to it. My little brother, Will, sailed by and asked me if I was okay - I told him to carry on.
Buck and Andy with the ski patrol arrived, and they cheerfully asked what had happened. I told them I was fine, and when they asked if I was hurt I informed that my knee felt funny but that my father was an excellent doctor and would be able to check me out. They asked for my name and my father's name, and I couldn't tell them either of those. They determined I was in shock and wrapped me in white blankets as they loaded me onto the stretcher. I still think it's hilarious that I couldn't tell them my name, but I still remember that they were named Buck and Andy.

I was nervous as they zipped me down the giant mountain in a toboggan, but we quickly got to the bottom where I was put into some ambulance-looking vehicle from the ski resort. I found out later that when they brought me off the mountain, the blanket had flown over my head and my mother, seeing my little covered body, thought I was dead. Nope, just in shock and ready to go back home. At the hospital, they X-rayed my leg and determined that I had cracked the top of my tibia, right up to my growth plate. For that reason, they didn't pull on it or do tests for my ligaments as they were concerned that if the growth plate was damaged my leg wouldn't grow. Little did they know, I wouldn't grow any more anyways. We would find out when I got out of my ginormous cast that my ACL was torn.

My last night in Stowe was awesome. I was not in pain, thanks to the medicine they gave me, and we attended the awards ceremony at the resort that night. I was awarded a purple heart award, and the resort gave me lots and lots of presents. I couldn't decide if they felt bad for me for my injury or for being so clueless. "Really? This was your 3rd day on skis and you entered a race? Really??" Yes, yes I did.