Good morning everyone! Today, I’d like to thank my new friend Sophie for inspiring me to write this post. That’s right, you read it in the title: I’m an ‘extreme snow-tuber’. Okay, so I’m not actually into extreme sports… or sports. But today’s post is about one time I basically was in one, according to my teacher.
It was around the time I was in 10th grade- my special needs school took all of us kids to a mountain on a snowy winter day. I can still remember the snow crunching under my boots, and I remember having a friend pull me across an ice patch so I wouldn’t fall, only to lead to him falling.
But honestly, what I remember most about that day is what’s made me decide snow-tubing isn’t for me. And it starts at the very start of your usual snow-tubing adventure: going up the lift.
If you’ve never been snow-tubing, you probably don’t know what the lift is like. Basically, you get in a tube and it’s hooked to the top with something akin to a bungee cord. Well, halfway through my ride on the lift, something unusual happened- my cord came off the powered rope thing that pulls us up. And so, I suddenly went sliding down the lift path, bouncing against all the people behind me in a frenzy.
That wasn’t the end of it, though. Shortly after that, a teacher grabbed hold of my tube and helped pull me up. I was so happy not to be falling down that bumpy path again! But when we got to the top, where we get our tubes taken off the lift, there was a bump… and it made her lose her grip enough that I went tubing out of control like an air hockey puck, bouncing off my classmates like you couldn’t believe.
The third time was the charm. I finally made it up that god forsaken hill, and I was ready to tube. I got in my tube and slid down as gracefully as one can in an inflatable rubber tube. But when I got to the bottom, I realized something.
That wasn’t fun- it was terrifying.
I’d gone snow tubing before, mind you. This wasn’t my first rodeo, but it was my first time going down the lift instead of the hill two times in a row. Or at all. I had plenty of pain in my butt, and decided enough was enough. I turned in my snow-tube, and had the principal helping my shaky body to the lodge.
He returned after he knew I was safely inside, but I wasn’t alone. My teacher was there as well, as if she’d been waiting for me. Having seen the whole thing, and seeing me shaking, I think she knew what was going on in my mind. So, with a smile and a laugh, she told me, “Don’t think of it as a bad thing. Just think of it as extreme snow-tubing.”
And that’s what I do now. I avoid snow tubing, mostly because I can’t afford it, but the memories still haunt me and make me uneasy. Getting back on a snow tube is a lot like getting on my bike since I was hit by that car in 8th grade. It’s terrifying, and it leaves me feeling shaky and stiff, both at the same time. I can’t imagine going down that slope again, and I can’t afford it anyway… But I’m happy to skip it. It’s a memory I laugh at now, but somehow, it’s also a memory I can never get over…
Tell me, friends. Do you have memories like that? The ones where you were hurt so badly it traumatized you almost, but you learned to laugh at it and maybe even fight through? I’d love to hear your thoughts, your stories, and any tips you may have for me to overcome this fear. But most of all, I just like hearing from you guys in general. You’re all wonderful- never forget that.
