Colorado: The Sunshine State
Its always a pleasure to wake up to sub-zero temperatures in New York, knowing that the rest of the day stands absolutely zero chance of bringing the same excitement that the previous weekend with such temperatures brought. Of course, when I say pleasure, I refer to the type of pleasure one might experience while watching The Devil Wears Prada on a Friday afternoon (which, unfortunately, did take place on this trip), an experience which I’d like to compare to brain surgery without anesthesia.
(Yes, I was conned into watching this movie after first watching Hitch and inadvertently declaring my appreciation for a good romantic comedy. For some reason, the girls on the trip thought I would “enjoy” it. I didn’t. It sucked. Yes, I know – Oscar nomination or whatever, blah blah blah. I don’t care. A movie must have one of three things for me to enjoy it – comedic elements, things blowing up, or boobies – and unfortunately, The Devil Wears Prada has neither.)
ANYWAY, Colorado was, to use clichéd snowboarding adjectives, awesome, gnarly, and radical. It was awegnardical. We rented a condo in Breckenridge – four stories, 3 bedrooms + loft, hot tub – for the 12 of us, and the four days there were nothing short of, well, awegnardicalness.
Much like the rest of Colorado, there are no Indians in this picture.
I’ve delayed this post all week, hoping to find time to give you a full write up of the weekend, but unfortunately, skipping out on 3 days of work (5 if you count the weekend) during literally the busiest time of year lends itself to a hellish return.
Instead, I’ll cut right to the chase, to the video you’ve all been waiting for. Though not as exciting as last year’s, it does build upon last year’s theme of my not-quite-good-enough snowboarding skills.
If you happened to watch the video with sound, you might have heard me yell something to the camera. Did you catch it? Watch it again…
In case you didn’t hear it (or can’t make it out), I said:
I think I just shit my pants!
When I took that spill at the end, I slammed my ass pretty hard against the snow, and then slid down the rest of that hill that way. I’m not exactly sure what physics or biology (and for the hell of it, let’s throw in chemistry) took place – the scrunching of my abs as I braced for impact, the friction of cold snow against my ass, the shifting around of my undergarments from all the falling and sliding – but when I stood up, I got an eerie feeling that perhaps my poop chute had let a few things loose. I literally thought that the impact had caused me to involuntarily soil myself.
After a few seconds, however, once my rear stopped hurting, I could sense that I had made no new extra friends, and continued on in my snowboarding adventures (I would later land that jump – a feat which is, of course, not captured on film).
Not gonna lie, though. When I got home that evening, I did check my boxers for any skid marks traces of souvenirs from the terrain park. Fortunately, there were none.
