Well hand me a joint and call me a boarder

Yesterday I had my first crack ever trying out snowboarding. 'Crack' does seem to be a good word for it. I'd always been told that it's very hard to learn, but what I hadn't realized was that they meant it's hard to get back on your feet again after hitting the ground - hard. But I did - and I did - only to add fresh bruises to the existing internal bleeding in my backside a half hour later. I can say that I have some seriously rumpled tail feathers today but I can also say that I managed to learn the basics before calling it a wrap for 2007. Now I understand when boarders get labeled as potheads - the judicious use of marijuana would help give the perseverance to keep going when your body wishes it were dead.
It's particularly daunting to start from zero when three days prior I was doing any run and every run on skis. On Boxing Day, I was standing at the top of the aptly named Elevator Shaft looking straight down (at the eagles soaring amongst the clouds below) with no choice but to go down or to climb back up the hill to the last fork with my skis on my shoulder (the walk of shame). After many minutes of deliberation, I chose to go downwards. When I conquered that fear (we would have needed a crowbar to pry the poles out of my hands during that white-knuckler), I felt like I could do anything this province has to offer. But yesterday, looking down just the little Bunny Hill with my feet shackled to one plank, I once again knew the fear of God.
I can really see the appeal - once I got the basics down, I really started to enjoy it. But I think this dog is too old to learn new tricks and to take the many bangs involved on the learning curve. Once I can stand upright again maybe I'll consider revisiting snowboarding. I just hope that I don't crack my skull open before even getting to Whistler in a couple months!