Downhill racer

Following a straight path to stupidity is not easy. When I left you about 6 weeks ago, there was the possibility of surgery on my injured shoulder . I soon learned that the surgeon's knife could likely be avoided with rehab, as long as no further trauma ensued.

About 3 weeks later, in a follow up visit with the doctor, the issue of the resumption of my skiing was broached. "If you don't fall, then you can go for it". While I doubted this was a serious suggestion, I chose not to search for the true meaning. Even though my injury was far from healed, the next day I was back on skis.

The first run took me back to my earliest days on the slopes. The beginner hill had transformed itself into an Olympic challenge. Our perception of reality is our only reality. For me, fears that had long ago been relegated to the recesses of my mind were now my companions. With the weight of the doctor's words making my skis heavy beneath me, I began my descent.

Everywhere around me danger lurked. Sounds of other skiers approaching from behind put me into a panic. Didn't they know that I was injured and was not to be distracted? How could they possibly not understand that this was my space and invading it was a capital offense?

In my mind, the run took several days to complete. However, when I reached the bottom of the hill, only a few minutes had elapsed from start to finish. I had survived. I was thankful that my lack of common sense had not, for the moment, resulted in another visit to the doctor's office. I took a deep breath, made sure my ability to reason was safely tucked away, and got back on line for a ride to the top of the mountain. My idiocy has no boundaries.