Claire Conger

It’s been two weeks since I was mowed down by a speeding snowboarder and I’m still not back to my usual activites. I’ve been knocked down half a dozen times in as many seasons and this is the only time I’ve been hurt.

What’s interesting to me about this accident is that, although it was totally Mr. Speedy’s fault (the downhill rider, me in this case, has the right of way), it didn’t make me angry. I was on the backside of the mountain on an advanced run where people do, on occasion, go strait down the hill, unwise though that may be.

A spray of snow (Mr. Speedy was applying his brakes), whop! and I was spinning down the hill on my back. I slid to a stop, sat up, and suddenly a really handsome guy was next to me making sure I was OK. And I was, mostly, except for my toe. Mr. Speedy was down the hill about 50 yards sitting with his buddy. I think that’s where he landed. They sat there a long time.

I was knocked down last year on the bunny run. It pissed me off even though I wasn’t hurt. I just didn’t feel like cutting any slack for a 6 foot plus 200 pound young buck who didn’t care. He ran me down when I was practicing going backward, slowly among the beginners. Anyone paying the least bit of attention (and having the least bit of skill) would have avoided me. Young Buck had the nerve to say that I’d come out of nowhere. His girlfriend, to my astonishment, yelled at me. (Now there’s a problem.) Then he said, “Go find someone who cares about you.” I stared up at him in wonder. Where did he learn to say such a thing?