So at 1:30 Chris and friends come into my room and invite me to go sledding on the local hill. So we walk there, and I don’t even get down the hill the first couple of times and when I do, I get turned around. There’s a divot halfway down that the front of my sled got caught on so I went from sledding to sliding my ass down a muddy frozen hill headfirst, ending up with dirt on my boxers. I blame my sucky abs which can’t adequately control my center of mass. Not until the last run down Slayter Hill did I finally slide all the way to the bottom and my “sled” was stopped by the concrete curb at the bottom of the hill. Well, the sled stopped. I kept going, bouncing off the concrete lip and sliding across the icy tiled patio above it. Unable to stand up again, I was furiously rubbing the bruise on my ass where it hit the curb.
We called it quits after that and started walking home. So I pick up a piece of black frozen slush off the ground that I thought was cool because it sorta looks like an arrowhead. I throw it at Chris who swings at it with his “sled”. The chunk fractures and one piece goes straight forward and hits me in the head. Do I ever get a glancing blow or a graze? No. The projectile hits me in the middle of my forehead. Apparently, the way I fell was the most comical it could have possibly been according to Dylan; my arms flew backwards and one foot went into the air and I landed on the asphalt flat on my back, black snow melting into my eyes.
That takes me back.