Quip: Melting snow is like Christmas decor the day after Christmas. It was pretty for a time but now you’re ready for it to be gone. #becauseweneedtogetbacktonormal
Not sure how many of you have ever participated in night sledding but let me tell you; it’s a whole different ballgame. I don’t know if it’s because it’s dark or because it’s more frigid, but sledding at night just seems more dangerous, err, exciting. It’s definitely not for the littles. Night sledding is when boys become men and men, well, they revert back to being 12-year-old boys. These guys were getting a running start to basically catapult themselves down this icy hill on their Radio Flyers. I’m pretty sure somebody clocked them going 35-40 mph. Ummm, that’s wicked fast! (Ya’ll like how I channeled my inner Bostonian by describing it as “wicked”?) If you read my last post, you have a pretty good idea of whether or not I partook in this activity. For those of you who are new, just picture me standing by the fire pit. Spectating. Spectating is my jam. We had a fire pit and chairs at the top of the hill so we could observe comfortably. And one of the guys had their truck parked at the top of the hill with his headlights on so we could see the sledders who clearly had a death wish.
I’m sitting there with my neighbor friend watching these men and commentating on how crazy they are, how fast they’re going, etc. when my neighbor says, “Court, let’s do it but let’s go down together on the plastic sled.” Ah, yes, the plastic sled! I can totes do that! We were using one of those sleds that look like a canoe so we could fit…sort of. I get in back and hang my feet out either side and my friend sits up front because she’s the daredevil and clearly I’m not. We get our bearings and lift our feet off the ice so the sled can get moving. Everything goes beautifully for about 30 feet, or about 5 seconds. Then we start veering to the left. We both lean to the right to try to get back to the middle of the street.
I look to the left and all I see is our neighbor’s yard which is a steep, downhill slope. Like wicked steep. Oh and guess what’s at the bottom of the hill? Just a big fat brick house. No big deal. Never mind that I watched a little girl go flying down this very hill only to end up hitting the BRICK porch and flying off her sled. Minor detail.
My neighbor and I are both trying like mad to redirect our little canoe when we finally succumb to the way of the ice. It takes us off the asphalt and into our neighbor’s yard. I was kind of hoping now that we were on icy grass we would start to slow down a bit. My reality crushed that hope almost instantly. Did you know that 2 inches of ice on grass works the same as 2 inches of ice on a street? Who knew?
We. Were. FLYING! This was almost worse than the street because you know what doesn’t grow in the middle of the street? Trees. We were now praying we didn’t plow ourselves into a tree. It was becoming increasingly evident we were going to have to bail.
(Side note: I had no idea this was a sledding term til last week. #TNwinterprobs)
Ok, moving on.
Bailing from a sled when you’re by yourself is one thing. Bailing from a sled when you are riding with someone is significantly harder. I’m inclined to think it was particularly hard this time around because I had been carb loading all week. And no, it wasn’t because I’m training for a marathon. It just so happens carbs help you make it through the day when you’re trapped at home. It’s a scientific fact. Pretty sure.
Then there’s my partner in crime/death sitting in front of me. She has no idea that my foot will most likely take her head off when I try to flip myself off this sled. She’s had a good life though. She’ll be missed greatly but I’ll take care of her children. Everything will be fine.
Ok. So I can’t wait any longer. I have to get out of this sled. I hope she’ll be ok. It’s now or never. So I sling my leg up as high as I can so I won’t decapitate her then I flip off the sled. I can’t remember if I landed on my stomach or back. All I knew was even though I was off the sled I was still sliding down the hill. But slower, much slower. Obviously my carb loading was doing its magic of turning me into a slug. After I came to a stop, I look down the hill to see if my friend was in the snow or plastered against the house. Thankfully, she too had been able to bail before colliding into the house. We were both laughing hysterically as we tried to make our way back up the hill. Then she says to me, “If this doesn’t make the blog I don’t know what will! This is definitely a blog post!” So here it is, CB, I hope I did it justice. Do comment if I have left out any details!
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