[This post contains graphic material.  I'll let you know when you're about to get to it.]

Since we’re getting married soon, C and I have been in well-behaved-money-saving mode for two winter seasons and have not purchased the full Colorado ski pass – which sets one adult back about $600.  Plus, there’s the drive up from Mile High (gas, time, more gas, traffic, more time) and the stress of getting back in the car at a decent hour on Saturday or Sunday so you can beat the traffic back to the city.  It’s no longer a pleasant day trip.

Of course, to add to those up front costs, there is also the meals and the inevitable apres ski beer(s).  Add to that, the guilt of not going up to the resorts every weekend and using the heck out of the pass after you’ve spent a fortune on it.  I’m one of those who, at the end of the season, likes to sit back and say, “Gee whiz!  I skied 38 times this season.  That’s $15.79 per day!  I rock.”

What we did this year was purchase a four-pack of ski passes to Winter Park and spend two full weekends skiing and staying overnight in town.  We used the last two passes last weekend and had two very good days (considering the weather has been warm and lovely and it’s almost a crying shame to leave the city when the parks are filling up with hipsters rocking hula hoops and happy running dogs and quilts and picnics).  I’m becoming more comfortable with bumps and C took me down one of his favorite runs on Mary Jane – Outhouse.  It’s a vertical black (black diamond to you East Coast skiers).  I made it down with C ahead of me and just as I was about to come off the run onto more flat snow, I watched him fly off an icy patch and yard sale.

Both skis and one pole flew off into oblivion.  He landed…on his face.

We wear helmets in Colorado.  This is a good thing.

[Graphic reading ahead.]

When I got to him, he’d picked up his head and was running his tongue along his bloody teeth.  The good news here is that he was licking his teeth and they were still attached.  I mentioned we’re getting married this summer, right?

“Is it bad?”  C asked me as I brought his skis back to him.

“It’s less bad and more bad ass,” I explained.

He was happy with that.  I was happy his teeth weren’t loose and his head wasn’t broken.

I love this boy and want to keep him in tip-top shape.

Anyway, the point of this story is that my graceful, back-country skiing soon-to-be fell on a black run and I did not.

This is a photo I found of Outhouse on the interwebs. Good thing I didn’t see this before I agreed to ski it.