Pain for pleasure.

I went snowboarding for my third time ever today, and oh-boy did it hurt… I can’t wait to go again. Is that wrong? Should I not like the fact that I can’t sit down without groaning? Should it alarm me that I fell on my arm once so hard that it tingled and went numb? Is it not cool that I flipped onto my back and hit the back of my head on the hard snow so hard that my hat flew off? Well too bad, because these are the prices that I am willing to pay for the exhiliration of ripping down a slope with my eyes watering from the cold wind, or for the thrill of some sweet air, or for the feeling that you get when you realize you have to jump off the chairlift to the ground 6 or seven feet below cause you didn’t get off it for some reason or another and it didn’t stop moving cause nobody realized that you were still on and so you just jump off and look like a dumbass (it happens pretty much every time I go), or hell even for the feeling of helplessness you get when you realize that you’re rolling around awkwardly and you probably just broke your left arm when you rolled onto it. What can I say, I guess I’m crazy.

But at least I didn’t bust my face on the TUBE HILL. Who does that, seriously? (Hint: It was Pat.)