Waiting to Inhale

I was in my early twenties when I first thought, "This must be what dying feels like. I'm going to die." I didn't die, obviously, and not only am I fine, but I walked away from the experience a mere 10 minutes later. Still, it was one of those moments that you never forget, no matter how hard you try.

I was a novice waterskier, skiing behind my dad's boat on a board wide enough to float a small cooler. And what I lacked in talent, I made up for in style...wrecking style, that is. I went down hard, right into the wake and expelled all of the air from my lungs with such brute force that they decided not to work for a staggering 1o seconds or so. It's a frightening thing, not being able to breathe. And like so many things in life (really, I need to make a list), it's one of those things that no one ever tells you until after it happens. ("Oh, yea (ha, ha), if you hit the wake like that, it can knock all the air clean out of your lungs. You'll be OK in a minute.") Gee, thanks.

Well, I did survive and however stupidly, continued to ski until it became not a hobby but more of an obsession. I have had many wrecks that make that first one pale in comparison. Of course, it's that first time that you never forget.

Ryan now has a brand new ACL (carved from his own hamstring) all because of our mutual obsession. While I haven't done quite that much damage, there have been times when I had to be hauled into the boat rather than climbing in under my own power. Today was one of those days.

Ryan calls it a "cingular" (think little orange guy with arms and legs spread wide) because when you have a great wreck, well, that's what you look like. I didn't think this one was a "cingular"; it was more like the back of my head and the back of my legs decided to have an emergency meeting. The result was me moaning and crying...first because I had no oxygen and couldn't convince my lungs that taking it in again was a good idea, and second because my back felt like it had been run through a pasta machine.

And here I sit. Still moaning and unwilling to do anything that makes me hurt (which is just about everything except type). I can't take a deep breath; I'm pretty sure there's some rib damage. So, what am I thinking?

I wonder how long it will take before my back feels good enough to ski again? I know, I know. I deserve it.